Becoming Italian Word by Word

Butchering (in) the Italian Language

 

macellaio, macelleria 

butcher shop 

The Italian Renaissance had its share of celebrity “top chefs,” but just as acclaimed were the meat men who butchered animals and carved meat at courtly banquets. In Italy meat (carne) still merits a store of its own, the “macellaio” or “macelleria” (butcher shop). The name comes from the verb macellare (to slaughter), but macellata (butcher’s meat) takes on a bewildering number of names and expressions. 

The window of a macellaio in Rome (above) keeps it simple, with cuts of veal (vitello) and beef (bovino adulto or adult cow). Carne can also be rossa (red), bianca (white meat, such as chicken, turkey  or rabbit), macinata (minced) or stufata (stewed). 

Meat is sometimes identified by its source. Carne di manzo, for instance, comes from three-year-old heifers that have not calved or bulls that have not been castrated. Bue refers to a castrated bull that is at least four years old. Rather than the pot calling the kettle black, by the way,  in Italian it’s il bue che dice cornuto all’asino (the bull that calls the donkey a cuckold). 

A vacca is an adult cow that has calved. Latte di vacca (cow’s milk) comes from a vacca da latte (milk cow). Mucca serves as a general term for cow, and the dread disease bovine spongiform encephalopathy is called mucca pazza (mad cow) in Italy. 

Vacca doubles as a coarse insult for a slob, a whore or a woman who is grassa come una vacca (fat as a cow). But it’s perfectly acceptable to exclaim “Porca vacca!” (the equivalent of “Holy cow!”). Federico Fellini gave “vitelloni” (big overgrown calves) a new meaning when he used it as the title for one of his first movies as a derogatory description of aimless young men. 

“Sono io in carne ed ossa” (Here I am in flesh and bone), a friend visiting from Italy once announced. Essere in carne (literally to be “in meat”) is a euphemism for being plump). Rimettersi in carne means to put on meat or flesh—in other words, to put some meat on one’s bones. 

Someone who undertakes too many projects at the same time “mette troppa carne al fuoco” (puts too much meat on the fire). Carne also is the root of carnale (carnal, bodily) and of carnevale, the festive Italian celebration when Christians once said “addio alla carne” (goodbye to meat) for the forty days of Quaresima (Lent). 

My favorite form of Italian beef—bistecca alla fiorentina—comes from Tuscany’s fine Chianina cows. The name, a Florentine waiter once told me, comes from the city’s tradition of serving these tender steaks to the populace on the feast of Saint Lorenzo, the Medici family’s patron. One year English travelers in the throng eagerly cried out for servings of what they called “beef steak.” Italians took up the chant of “Bistecca!” and the English derivative stuck to “la fiorentina.” 

For a mouth-watering video of “la bistecca fiorentina,” click below: 

Words and Expressions 

stufato di carne -– beef stew) 

vacca sacra -- sacred cow (in India) 

vaccaro -- cowboy 

carne della propria carne -- one’s own flesh and blood 

tagliare fino alle carne -- to cut to the flesh or the quick 

Dianne Hales is the author of La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World’s Most Enchanting Language.

The Secrets of a Roman Stationery Store

 

la cartoleria 

the statonery store  

On a blustery winter day in Rome, the bright  flowers and fruits on notebooks, folders, and stationery in the window of the Cartoleria Imperiale at 10 Via Metastasio caught my eye. I went inside to admire shelves of hand-crafted paper products, including carta da lettere (writing paper), carta da disegno (drawing paper), cartoncini d’auguri (greeting cards), biglietti da visita (business cards), cartelle (folders, files, portfolios), and partecipazioni (announcements). 

Italy’s tradition of making beautiful paper dates back to the 7th century, when the Arabs introduced techniques they had acquired in the Far East. In the 13th century the powerful Chiavelli family in Fabriano near Ancona created the first great center of the paper-making industry. Its first official document, dated 1283, was the deed of a public notary recording the purchase of a house by a cartaio (paper maker), witnessed by another six paper makers. 

The Chiavelli family fiercely guarded its secrets, and anyone divulging information about the process faced a stiff fine. However, when only one old maestro knew the family’s trade secrets, local authorities intervened and ordered him to pass them along to an apprentice. Today you can trace the evolution of paper over the centuries at Il Museo della Carta e della Filigrana in Ancona. 

I discovered a secret of another sort at the Cartoleria Imperiale. The owner’s husband, Andrea Ospici, invited me into the adjacent studio where Gabriella Venturi meticulously crafts her beautiful designs. When I asked if he shared his wife’s passion for paper, he pointed to the walls, covered with bold abstract paintings. 

“Dipingo” (I paint), he said modestly. As I looked around, I felt the power of his dramatic compositions. Only later did I learn that Ospici is a widely recognized pittore (painter), born in Rome of Venetian parents. He dedicated much of his working life to Grafica Pubblicitaria (advertising graphics), but has returned fulltime to la pittura (painting), which he describes as “quale coronamento della sua anamnesi vitale” (the crowning of his life’s history). 

Ospici has participated in many mostre (exhibitions) in Italy and other countries and has won il plauso della critica e numerosi premi (critical acclaim and numerous prizes). You can view and purchase his works at his website.  

 

 

Words and Expressions 

scartabellare -- to leaf/thumb/ flick through (documents, books, folders etc) 

carta marmorizzata -- marble paper 

cartaccia -- waste paper 

avere le carte in regola -- to have one’s paper in order, to have the right credentials  

avere carta bianca -- to have total freedom in taking decisions, to have a free hand 

Carta canta e villan dorme -- “Paper sings, and the peasant sleeps.” Its meaning is close to the Latin expression, “verba volant, scripta manent” (spoken words fly away, written words are here to stay). Since written agreements cannot be contradicted, even a peasant can sleep without worries if he has everything in writing.

Dianne Hales is author of La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language. 

The Lure of Leather in the Italian Language

 

la pelletteria 

the leather shop 

Shoes to die for: high heels (tacchi alti), loafers (mocassini), boots (stivali), sandals (sandali). Gloves (guanti) that caress the fingers. Wallets (portafogli) as soft as butter. Briefcases (ventiquattrore) that gleam. And purses (borse) in every imaginable size, color and shape, stunning to behold, sensuous to touch, elegant to tote.

These are some of the delights you may discover in una pelletteria, an Italian leather store. Not all carry a full range of leather goods. Some specialize in gloves or shoes, for instance; others sell only purses. My favorite pelletterie are in Florence, where artisans have a long tradition of tanning hides (conciare pelli) and crafting leather into works of beauty. 

Since Italian leather can be as supple as skin, it’s only fitting that Italian uses the same word—la pelle—for both. But in the language “pelle” takes on a life of its own. A pellaccia is a rogue or a rascal. Amici per la pelle (friends for the skin) are best friends or bosom buddies. 

If you laugh so hard you could split your skin, you’re in danger of ridere a crepapelle. If you’re bursting with happiness, you might declare, “Non sto nella pelle dalla gioia” (a way of saying you’re over the moon with joy). Of course, you never want to vendere la pelle dell’orso prima che sia morto (sell the bear’s skin before it’s dead -- the equivalent of counting one’s chickens before they are hatched). 

Just as in English, sometimes you have to develop a pelle dura (hard or thick skin) and do whatever you must to salvare la pelle (save one’s skin). Levar la pelle (excoriate or peel skin) means to scold severely. Far la pelle a uno (make the skin to someone) is a slang expression for doing someone in or killing him. In dangerous situations, people may have to rischiare la pelle (risk one’s skin or life ) or even rimetterci la pelle (lose their skin or die in the process).That thought alone may be enough to make your skin creep (far venire la pelle d’oca). 

If you want to perfect your Italian pronunciation, try this classic tonguetwister: 

Apelle figlio d'Apollo fece una palla di pelle di pollo; tutti i pesci vennero a galla per vedere la palla di pelle di pollo, fatta da Apelle, figlio d’Apollo. (Apelle son of Apollo made a ball of chicken skin; all the fish came to the surface to see the ball of chicken skin, made by Apelle son of Apollo.) 

Words and Expressions 

la pelle d’oca -– goose flesh 

vendere cara la pelle -- to sell one’s skin dear, to put up a brave front 

essere pelle e ossa -- to be skin and bones 

spellarsi -- to peel off, to flake off (after a burn, for instance) 

vivere qualcosa sulla propria pelle -- to live something right on your skin, to have a direct experience of something, usually negative 

 A personal recommendation: FP Pelleterie in Florence sells elegant hand-made purses that, as the owner assures me every time I visit and invariably buy, you can never find anywhere else—and she’s right. 

Dianne Hales is the author of La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World’s Most Enchanting Language. 

 For a musical tribute to la pelle, click below: 

Getting a Bargain in the Italian Language

 

saldi 

sales 

My favorite sign in any shop window is “Saldi” (sales), and July is peak time for end-of-the-season sales (saldi or svendite di fine stagione), with lots of mark-downs (ribassi). Be prepared for crowds and long lines at the cashier (la cassa), but the hassle is worth it (vale la pena) if you manage to find good merchandise at a good price (a buon mercato). 

Of course, you can find almost anything in vendita (for sale), if not in svendita (on sale), all year round in Italy. A mercante (merchant) may vende all’ingrosso (sell wholesale), al minuto (retail),  a/in/per contanti (for cash), a resa (on approval) or a rate ( in installments). A store is most likely to vendere a buon prezzo (sell at a good price or cheaply) at a clearance sale (liquidazione), auction (vendita all’asta), cut-price sale (vendita a prezzi ridotti) or a sales promotion (vendita promozionale). 

In addition to shops (negozi) and malls (centri commerciali), you can look for offerte occasioni (bargains) at an outdoor market (mercato all’aperto) or a flea market (mercato delle pulci, mercatino dell’usato) that sells secondhand goods (merci di secondo mano). 

Even if you’re only browsing, it’s fun to visit Porta Portese, Rome’s flea market, on a Sunday morning (see video below). I once tried to engage in a bit of bargaining (mercanteggiamento, contrattazione) for a small silver box with a salesman (venditore) who proved to be a better bargainer (affarista) than I. When I tried to tirare sul prezzo (haggle or negotiate a price), he assured me that he was giving me a sconto (discount) and un prezzo speciale (a special price). 

“È un’occasione, lo prendo!” (It’s a bargain. I’ll take it!) I said, sure that I had fatto un affare (made a good bargain). Ten minutes later I saw a similar tray at a lower price. At least I didn’t pay un occhio della testa (an eye of the head, or an arm and a leg) for it.  

If you are tempted by the come-ons of i venditori ambulanti (mobile or street vendors), state attenti (be careful).You may come across un venditore di fumo  (a cheat or crook) or a master of l’arte di vendere (the art of salesmanship).  

Some may offer you una borsa  in vera “finta pelle’" (an authentic fake leather purse, an ironic expression for the imitations that have become so sophisticated that it can be hard to tell if  they are fake or genuine). You could end up with a borsa taroccata (knock-off purse) that falls apart the first time you use it. When this happened to me, all I could say was, "Che fregatura!" (What a rip-off!).

Words and Expressions 

la merce, la roba -- merchandise 

il mercato nero -- the black market 

andare a ruba -- literally to go like a raid, ransack, sell like hotcakes 

spendaccione -- squanderer, big spender 

avere le mani bucate  -- to have holes in one’s hands, to let money run through your fingers 

“Vendesi” -- "on sale" sign for a house, car, etc.   

Dianne Hales is the author of La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language. 

   

It's Raining Words in the Italian Language

pioggia
rain

    After ten days of postcard-perfect weather, I gazed at a blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds and said, “Sta per piovere (it’s going to rain),” to my husband, who looked skeptical.

    “Cielo a pecorelle, pioggia a catinelle!” I explained. According to this Italian axiom, a sky (cielo) with clouds like little sheep (pecorelle) portends rain (pioggia) by the bucketfuls (catinelle).  Sure enough, the next day it was indeed raining cats and dogs (something Italians don’t say).

    “It’s raining” translates simply as piove, but Italian pioggia falls in many varieties, from a soft drizzle (pioggerella) to a heavy shower (acquazzone) to an intense squall (piovasco). This particular June day brought a downpour (piovere a dirotto). Puddles (pozzanghere) of acqua piovana (rain water) formed instantly on the flagstone terrace. Dirt paths turned to mud. The shutters creaked in the wind. Lightning (fulmini) sparked in the distance, and thunder (tuoni) roared overhead.

    “Piove da morire (it’s raining to death),” said Ubaldo, the genial caretaker who showed up in a giacca impermeabile (waterproof jacket) and bright yellow stivali di gomma (rubber boots).  He foraged about until he found a faded pink-flowered ombrello (umbrella, from ombra for shadow) to protect me. I dashed through the rain drops (gocce di pioggia) to the cottage where I write.

    Snug and warm, listening to the rumore della pioggia (sound of the rain) on the roof, I contemplated less literal meanings of Italian’s “rain” words.  “Non ci piove” translates as “without doubt"; "a pioggia," as "indiscriminately." Someone who “fa la pioggia e il bel tempo” (makes the rain and the fair weather) calls all the shots.  If this sort of bigwig makes an irrevocable decision, “non ci piove nè ci nevica” (it  neither rains nor snows on it).

    English-speakers may react to a cascade of troubles by saying, "When it rains, it pours."  Italians have a somewhat similar expressions: “Piove sempre sul bagnato.” (It always rains on the wet.) However, they say this  when fortunate people get yet another lucky break as well as when things go wrong yet again for unfortunate ones. 

    One saying proved true the very next day: Dopo la pioggia viene il bel tempo. After the rain comes fine weather. 

Words and Expressions

sotto la pioggia -- in the rain

piovoso –- rainy, threatening to rain

piovuta -– rainfall

piovigginoso –- drizzling

Il diluvio universale –- Noah’s flood

un pioggia di insulti  –- a rain of insults

Dianne Hales is the author of LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language, now available in paperback. 

Click below for a song to listen to until the skies clear:

Shops and Shopping in the Italian Language

 

il negozio 

the shop 

Department stores (magazzini) aren’t as widespread or as popular in Italy as in the United States. You’re more likely to find negozi (shops), often owned and run by the same family for generations. 

Among the many varieties of Italian negozietti (small shops): 

antiquario -- antique store (above)

 calzoleria -- shoe repair 

 cartoleria -- office and stationery 

edicola -- news stand, kiosk 

enoteca -- wine shop 

farmacia -- pharmacy 

ferramenta -- hardware store 

 gioiellieria -- jewelry store 

 libreria -- bookshop 

 merceria -- knitting, sewing, laces, buttons, small items 

 negozio di abbigliamento intimo -- underwear, pajamas, stockings 

 negozio di arredamento -- furniture 

 negozio di casalinghi -- household items (pans, espresso machines, irons, etc.) 

 negozio di fiori or fioraio -- flower shop 

 negozio di giocattoli -- toy store 

 officina -- automotive repair, body shop 

 profumeria -- beauty products 

 salumeria -- delicatessen (cheeses, olives, cured meat products, etc.) 

Lo shopping in these establishments offers extra delights. Merchandise, like the beautiful paper products in the Cartoleria “Imperiale” at 10 Via Metastasio in Rome, may be hand-crafted on the premises. And the artigiani (artisans) who create them are often willing to invite customers into their back-room studios and describe their work. 

 

Opening hours (orario d’apertura) vary, depending on the type of shop and the region. Almost all shops close for lunch (il pranzo) at 1:00 p.m. and may reopen at 3:30, 4:00, or 4:30 p.m., depending on their location. When they are open, many shops post a sign saying “entrata libera” (free entrance). 

When you enter a shop, the sales clerk (comesso) may ask, “Posso aiutarla?” (“May I help you?”) or simply say, “Mi dica” (“Tell me”—what you want.) If you’re just browsing, you can say, “Solo guardando.” 

European sizes (misure) are completely different from American ones and do not translate exactly. In the United States, my dress size is a four. In Italy, it’s a gargantuan-sounding 40 or 42. So before I buy a dress (vestito da donna), skirt (gonna), jacket (giacca), or a pair of slacks (pantaloni), I always ask if I can try it on (“Posso provarlo?”). 

Sometimes the item is too big (troppo grande), small (piccolo), short (corto), long (lungo), tight (stretto), loose (largo), dark (scuro), light (chiaro)—or just too expensive (troppo caro). I may ask for something cheaper (meno caro) or of better quality (di migliore qualità). 

 When I find something that suits me (mi sta bene), I ask how much it costs (“quanto costa?”) and if I can use my credit card (carta di credito). “I’ll take it” (“Lo prendo”), I say when I’ve made my decision. And because it’s very important to have a receipt for every purchase in Italy, I ask for one more thing: lo scontrino. 

Words and Expressions 

fare un buon negozio – to make a good bargain 

giovane di negozio – shop assistant  

aprire un negozio – open a shop

Butchering (in) the Italian Language

 

carne 

meat 

The Italian Renaissance had its share of celebrity “top chefs,” but just as acclaimed were the “meat men” who butchered animals and carved meat at courtly banquets. On these theatrical occasions, the scalco (carver) played a critical role: He sliced each guest’s serving on the basis of his or her social rank, an exacting assignment that inspired an elaborate vocabulary for cuts of meat in the Italian language. A duke might rate a fesa (a tender cut from the top side of the hindquarters); a lesser dignitary, a scamone (top rump). A piece of the muscolo posteriore (hind shank) or a fettina (very thin slice of meat) might quickly put a vassal in his place. In Italy meat (carne) – long considered a prized luxury by the poor – still merits a store of its own, the “macellaio” or “macelleria” (butcher shop). The name comes from the verb macellare (to slaughter), but macellata (butcher’s meat) takes on a bewildering number of names and expressions. The window of a macellaio in Rome (above) keeps it simple, with cuts of veal (vitello) and beef (bovino adulto or adult cow). Carne can also be rossa (red), bianca (white meat as chicken, turkey, or rabbit), macinata (minced) or stufata (stewed). Meat also can be identified by its source. Carne di manzo, for instance, comes from three-year- old heifers that have not calved or bulls that have not been castrated. Bue refers to a castrated bull that is at least four years old. Rather than the pot calling the kettle black, in Italian it’s il bue che dice cornuto all’asino (the bull that calls the donkey a cuckold). A vacca is an adult cow that has calved. Latte di vacca (cow’s milk) comes from a vacca da latte (milk cow). Mucca serves as a general term for cow, and the dread disease bovine spongiform encephalopathy is called mucca pazza (mad cow) in Italy. Vacca doubles as a coarse insult for a slob, a whore, or a woman who is grassa come una vacca (fat as a cow). But it’s perfectly acceptable to exclaim “Porca vacca!” (the equivalent of “Holy cow!”). Federico Fellini gave “vitelloni” (big overgrown calves) a new meaning when he used it as the title for one of his first movies as a derogatory description of aimless young men. Of course, you wouldn’t want to speak ill of carne della propria carne (one’d own flesh and blood), and a curt remark could tagliare fino alle carne (cut to the flesh or the quick). “Sono io in carne ed ossa” (Here I am in flesh and bone), a friend visiting from Italy once announced. Essere in carne (literally to be “in meat”) is a euphemism for being plump). Rimettersi in carne means to put on meat or flesh—in other words, to put some meat on one’s bones. Someone who undertakes too many projects at the same time “mette troppa carne al fuoco” (puts too much meat on the fire).Carne also is the root of carnale (carnal, bodily) and of “carnevale,” the festive Italian celebration when Christians once said “addio alla carne” (goodbye to meat) for the 40 days of Queresima (Lent). My favorite form of Italian beef—bistecca alla fiorentina—comes from Tuscany’s fine Chianina cows. The name, a Florentine waiter once told me, comes from the city’s tradition of serving these tender steaks to the populace on the feast of Saint Lorenzo, the Medici family’s patron saint. One year English travelers in the throng eagerly cried out for servings of what they called “beef steak.” Italians took up the chant of “Bistecca!” and the English derivative stuck to “la fiorentina.” For a mouth-watering video of “la bistecca fiorentina,” click below: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CYewHSnl3sA Words and Expressions stufato di carne – beef stew) vacca sacra – sacred cow (in India) mozzarella vaccina –mozzarella made with cow’s milk vaccaro - cowboy “Chi ha rubato la vacca può rubare il vitello” -- who stole a cow can steal a calf Dianne Hales is the author of La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World’s Most Enchanting Language.

Caravaggio in Porto Ercole

A 400-Year-Old Mystery

The Baroque master painter Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610) has returned to Porto Ercole, where he died four centuries ago. His remains, contained in a crystal urn, will be on display for several weeks along with a photographic exhibit of the scientific investigation that determined their identity. The bones, exhumed from an unmarked grave in 1956, had been kept in the  ossuary of the Church of St. Erasmo until a year or so ago.

Caravaggio’s death is Porto Ercole’s sole claim to historic fame. I know. Every summer since 1990 my husband Bob and I have come to this picturesque port, named for the mighty Hercules but lacking any distinguished museum, church, or work of art. However, Caravaggio has been bringing fame—and controversy—to Porto Ercole for years.

Acclaimed for his dramatic compositions and bold use of chiaroscuro, the contrast of darkness and light, Caravaggio dazzled Rome with his brilliance. His personal life also oscillated between light and dark. Forever arguing and brawling, he killed a young man in a fight and had to flee Rome with a price on his head.

For years Caravaggio careened around southern Italy until he ended up in a prison in Malta. He escaped, and the fugitive, wearying of life on the run, eventually won a papal pardon. However, his plans to return to Rome with paintings for his powerful patrons went terribly wrong.

Thrown into jail in a small coastal town, Caravaggio bought his freedom with a large bribe, only to discover that the boat with his paintings and possessions had sailed north. He set out in pursuit, traveling by whatever means he could find, including by foot, in the midsummer heat. According to folklore, the desperate artist collapsed on the beach and died in Porto Ercole. The paintings disappeared.

I was swept into the lingering mystery about Caravaggio’s final days through my friend Ludovica Sebregondi,  a distinguished art historian at the University of Florence. A few years ago, as a special privilege, the pastor of the church of St. Erasmo allowed Ludovica to bring the official parish record book to our rented villa for a careful examination.

We gathered around her as she opened the stained cover of the oversized ledger, which dates back to 1590. Ludovica turned the tattered pages slowly until she came to an envelope containing a torn piece of paper.

As she read the bold black script out loud in Italian, I translated the words into English: “Here in Porto Ercole 18 July 1609 died Michelangelo di Merisi di Caravaggio, painter, in the hospital, of an illness.”

The document raised intriguing questions. If it were genuine, the accepted historic date of the celebrated artist’s death—July 18, 1610—might be wrong. If it were fake, who inserted the bogus certificate into the record book? When? And, most perplexingly, why? Scientific analysis has since proved the notice false, but no one knows how it made its way into the ledger.

The cause of Caravaggio’s death has been debated as much as the date. Most assumed that he died of malaria. However, the recent investigation by anthropologists, microbiologists and art historians suggest otherwise. The artist, who also suffered from syphilis, had extremely high levels of lead and mercury in his skeleton, possibly the result of his notoriously messy handling of  paints.

The investigators, who say they are 85 percent certain that the bones belong to Caravaggio, contend that lead poisoning may have driven his already unstable mind over the edge in the final years of his life. Along with infected wounds and sunstroke, it also probably contributed to his death at age 39.

The return of Caravaggio to Porto Ercole has sparked yet another controversy. Should his bones be returned to his home town, the Lombardy village of Caravaggio that gave him his name? Or should they remain in Porto Ercole, where he ended his days?

I’m hoping he gets to stay in the peaceful port we think of as our home in Italy. And may he finally rest in peace!

Parts of this post originally appeared in LA BELLA LINGUA: My Love Affair with Italian, the World's Most Enchanting Language, now available in paperback.

Plumbing Problems in the Italian Language

il tubo
pipe

    I learned the Italian word for pipe the way most of us acquire the vocabulary of plumbing—the hard, wet way.  One evening we spied a small pool of water in a bathroom of the house we rent every summer.  I called Ubaldo, the caretaker.

    “Una perdita (a leak),” he pronounced. “Una cosa da niente (It’s nothing).” He advised me to cover the floor with some towels  (asciugamani), which were soon soaked through.  Within an hour the puddle had trickled into the living room. We began rolling up the rug and moving furniture.

    I reached for my Italian dictionary and again called Ubaldo, who promised to bring un idraulico (a plumber) in the morning.  I feared that by then the entire house might be sott’acqua (under water).

    “C’è già un ruscello (it’s already a stream),” I said. I could almost see him shrug his shoulders.

    “C’è un torrente (torrent),” I added and then elaborated:  “Un fiume (a river), un lago (a lake), un mare (a sea), un’alluvione (a flood)!”  Impressed more by the rising panic in my voice than by my newly acquired aquatic vocabulary, he agreed to come immediately.

    “Il tubo è otturato (blocked),” he declared upon quick inspection. (“The pipe is blocked.”) With a flurry of words I recognized only as parolacce (obscenities), he marched off to retrieve an old-fashioned pick-ax and shovel

    “I tubi vecchi!”  (“The old pipes!”) Ubaldo sighed as he set to work uncovering the network of tubatura  (piping) under the front lawn.  Then this seventy-something-year-old sprite of a man, with a boyish mop of hair and a ready twinkle in his eye, waged battle against a force of nature. There were curses. There were groans. There was much hauling of hoses and turning on and off of spigots. And then there was hand-to-hand combat.

   “Look at what he’s pulling out of that pipe!” my husband said with wonder in his voice.  I, never eager to behold the contents of any drain (tubo di scarico), demurred. Bob, fairly fastidious about such things himself, insisted.

    Ubaldo was tugging with all his might at what seemed to be a mammoth serpent emerging from the ground. It resisted.  He pulled harder. With each renewed grasp, more of a thick, damp brown mass surfaced. Finally Ubaldo staggered backward. A twenty-foot-long root (radice) lay at his feet.  

    “Il nostro eroe,” we shouted. ("Our hero!")  

    “L’eroe dei tubi!”  (“The hero of the pipes”), he said with a grin and hauled the serpentine root away.

Sayings and Expressions

tubo di scappamento -- exhaust pipe

tubetto di dentifricio -- a tube of toothpaste

tubino nero -- black sheath dress

tubo digerente -- digestive tract

non fare un tubo -- not do a pipe (a thing)

Non ho capito un tubo -- I understood a pipe (absolutely nothing) 

Non vedo un tubo -- I can’t see a pipe (a damn thing)

Non vale un tubo -- It’s not worth a pipe (anything)