Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,1

mythic proportions. He and Nana had developed the hots for each other on our trip to Ireland, but they hadn't wanted to raise eyebrows back home, so they'd kept the relationship under wraps. They'd been thinking of this trip to Italy as an extended date, until the unthinkable happened.

My mom got talked into coming along.

Nana went up on tippy-toes and in her best imitation of a periscope in search of enemy vessels, scanned the cavernous depths of the basilica. "You think I've lost her? She's been stickin' to me like denture cream ever since we left Des Moines. I swear when we get back home, I'm gonna strangle your father."

Dad had meant well. When Nana's assigned roommate, Bernice Zwerg, had to cancel her reservation to undergo emergency bunion surgery, he'd suggested my mom take her place. "It'd give you three girls a chance to spend some quality time together." I'd been a little frightened by the idea. Nana had nearly swallowed her dentures. I'd had to perform the Heimlich maneuver just to get her breathing again.

Nana wrung her hands beside me. "How's a mature widowed lady s'posed to carry on a serious flirtation with a fella when the woman's kid is taggin' along?" It didn't seem to matter that the "kid" in this case was fifty-eight years old. I guess the theory was, once your kid, always your kid.

"There's George," I said, spying his bald head, tartan plaid shirt, and chino pants at a second holy water stoup across the way from us. I pointed him out and aimed her in the right direction. "Remember to guard your pocketbook."

She massaged her oversized bag with a reverent hand. "We don't have to worry about no criminal element in St. Peter's, Emily. This is the safest place in all Italy. It said so in a travel guide your mother checked outta the library."

"Well, be careful anyway."

Mesmerized by the sparkle and glitter in every corner of the basilica, I dug my Canon Elph out of my shoulder bag and spun in a slow circle, dazzled. Wow. I studied the holy water font in front of me. In my parish church back home, holy water was dispensed in a metal container the size of a soup bowl. Here, it was dispensed in a marble shell the size of a man-eating clam and supported by two cherubs whose heads were as big as wrecking balls. I pondered the cherubs. Weren't they supposed to be itty-bitty creatures with tiny little wings?

Obviously, I'd been confusing them with Tinkerbell.

I wormed my way through the crowd, looking for a shot that would capture the essence of the basilica, and soon found it in the ceiling above me -- a gold-toned mosaic of a wave-tossed boat jammed with apostles. Outside the boat, a haloed Jesus stood atop the water, his hand extended in an obvious attempt to prevent a prayerful Peter from sinking to the bottom of the Sea of Galilee. Aha! This was perfect. It had everything. Raw drama. Human emotion. Bible-based special effects. I took aim with my camera.

I couldn't fit all the apostles into my frame.

I changed the setting on my camera to panoramic print. I could fit all the apostles into the frame now, but I was faced with another teensy problem.

They no longer had heads.

Okay. So maybe I wasn't getting any great pictures of the world's most famous basilica, but on a brighter note, think of all the film I was saving!

I continued to wander, my shoulder growing numb from the sheer weight of having to shlep my bag around. But I was an escort. I needed to carry a lot of essential stuff. Over-the-counter medications. Itinerary information. Pocketknife. Sunblock. Address book. Post-it notes. Maps. Cosmetics. Cell phone. The bank had decided to spring for the cell phone to spare my having to battle Italy's notoriously bad phone system in case of emergency. It was a really good one, too -- the kind that could handle transatlantic as well as local calls. I was carrying my passport, money, and credit cards beneath my clothing in a neck wallet that the tour company, Landmark Destinations, had sent out to all its guests. They suggested this was the only sure way to protect currency and travel documents from the pickpockets and purse snatchers who preyed upon summer tourists.

At a side altar mobbed with people, I saw a glossy white sculpture perched high on a plinth behind a glass enclosure -- a depiction of Mary cradling the lifeless