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When people think of Italy, they often conjure up an image of Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday. There they were, zipping through the streets of Roma on . . . what else, but a Vespa. One of those classic, sculptural little motorini, motor-scooters that are synonymous with the very word, Italy.

But what is a Vespa, besides a well known brand? What does the word mean anyway? Is there a Mr. Vespa somewhere? No. Vespa actually means wasp. The classic little scooter took its name from the sound that it makes: that of a frantic buzzing wasp.

Italian Classic

Interesting. Right? Well, if you’ve ever been waiting at the traffic light to enter Piazza Donatello when the red goes to green, you’d swear that you’d just stumbled into a hornet’s nest. The surrounding buzz is thunderous.

Ever had a wasp circle your head? The sound is unmistakable. It’s sort of a medium-low drone—more than a bit menacing, causing me to instinctively duck under cover or clear the path, or maybe I should say the airspace. I typically give a wasp all the clearance it needs, so we can comfortably avoid each other. But lately, I’ve noticed something troubling. Despite my best efforts to evade them, they seem to be getting closer—like into our bedroom—regularly. By regularly, I mean daily. They do a few swooping circles and then disappear. BUT, we can still hear them, even if we can’t see them. Then the sound becomes a little different, sort of like they’re agitated. Maybe more like a muffled dentist’s drill. So, we felt compelled to track them down.

It seems that the wall between the sliding doors of the bathroom and closet is hollow, and they’ve discovered the space. So, in they fly, disappearing near the bathroom door and begin that frantic buzzing. It actually sounds like they’re building something. Apartments? A home away from home? Inside our hollow wall.

Last week I slid the closet door closed only to find 4-5 of those dreadful little mud cylinders that indicate wasps have set up housekeeping. In a reflexive swoop, I dashed them to the floor. They were dry, brittle structures that crumbled upon impact. Good, I thought . . . gone. Then, only moments later as I stood in the closet, in flew Ms. Wasp, carry something. What? What do they carry? It looked like the abdominal section from another wasp. Are parts interchangeable? Had I inadvertently happened upon Dr. Frankenvespa at work? And where was she going with that insect part? I casually observed her from a safe distance, pretending to sort my socks. She hovered just above the hangers and then dropped out of sight, right into one of Em’s collared shirts. What? Why? I imagined an already well established wasp colony along his shoulder seam. Quickly, I grabbed the shirt and shook it vigorously. Nothing happened. Nothing came flying out. Where did she go? I searched for a few minutes and then gave up. She had once again mysteriously disappeared without a trace.

Vespa Colony in Door

I shook my head and went on about my day. Hmmm. Where’s my aqua sweater? Oh yeah, I left it in the car. I hummed a little tune as I sashayed to the car where I spied my sweater through the back window. I opened the door. And there, to my surprise, was a cluster of wasp houses—inside the door, along the frame, just beside the black rubber strip. What? How? I couldn’t say. But the bigger question was WHY? What on earth would prompt a wasp to claim the space just beneath a rubber gasket inside a car door? Did she imagine her wasp-lings on meaningful road trips?

Too Cool!

My recent disturbing encounters with the whole buzzing vespa family had somewhat tarnished my romantic notion of those beautiful little motorini, cobblestone streets and Italian fountains. Then this morning, we received an email photo from a friend, taken at a sidewalk cafe in LA. His legs were outstretched, as he casually relaxed at a street-side coffee bar. On his feet? Red Ferragamo loafers which made me smile. And in the background? A classic mint green Vespa scooter!  I was instantly awash with the iconic meaning of the word Vespa and the romantic notions it conveys. Ah, sweet Italia!

Reposted from 2011

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The quiet story—you know, the one that runs alongside the main one—attracts and inspires us.

We often set our sites on going somewhere “interesting,” or doing something “meaningful.” Those things definitely happen, but what we’ve discovered time and again is that there’s always an unexpected happening that shows-up along the way that we call the “quiet story.” And it’s the quiet one that usually stays with us and means the most.

Dario Cecchini

On a beautiful day in Tuscany, we decided to drive an hour south of Florence to the small town of Panzano for lunch at the restaurant, Officina della Bistecca (workshop of the steak). The owner is Dario Cecchini, who has earned the reputation of being the most famous butcher in all of Italy. That’s quite a statement. He’s been included in some American cookbooks, is known throughout Italy and is a living legend. He’s tall, confident and out-going. His staff has been well trained in the sweet art of conviviality (cheerful and attentive). Dario has such a large personality that when he enters the room, everyone is immediately drawn to him. But here’s the thing—he’s a really nice, caring and generous man and it doesn’t take long to realize that.

Josh, Italian dreaming

We went to the Officina because we knew somebody who had taken an apprenticeship with Dario. Josh held a dream to study the fine art of butchery. Circumstances led him straight to Dario. He wasn’t alone. There were 4-5 apprentices there, from the four corners of the earth. Dario had said “yes” to each of them. He said “yes” to helping them follow their dreams. Josh was smitten with Italy and the Italian people, and rightly so. The only thing better than holding a dream is having it come true and it was happening right before our eyes.

As we sat watching the drama of the moment, Dario quietly stole away from the cheering diners to embrace and nuzzle the face of his older brother Stefano. I don’t think anybody noticed besides us. We relish an endearing expression of affection. After all, what we enjoy most is the quiet story.

Related Video

This short video will give you a glimpse into Dario Cecchini’s world. Going to Panzano is one of those experiences you’ll never forget. When you get to the part where Dario is holding up a bistecca In each hand he is proclaiming that “To beef or not to beef, that is the question.” The crowd roars with approval!

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Life is a puzzle.

Iris the Master Puzzler at work

Our daughter Iris has earned the moniker of “Puzzle Master—Master Puzzler,” for a simple and very good reason: that girl can really work a jigsaw puzzle like no one else! She’s been known to stretch across the table to pluck a piece right out of someone else’s hand if necessary. The small cardboard cutouts fly fast and furiously as she pops them in one right after the other. She uses color and shape seamlessly, rarely referring to the box lid for guidance. Upside-down, sideways, sitting or standing makes no difference. Oh, and by the way, she ALWAYS pockets one piece to insure that she gets to make the ceremonial closing play. That’s important to her for some reason, so we all automatically glance her way when searching for the last missing piece. She protests at first, then innocently checks her pockets, suddenly feigning surprise. Voila!! She produces the missing piece and righteously pops it into place—definitely one of our best family rituals! 

Each day a new piece

Of course, we see a similarity in our tradition of working family puzzles and working through the “puzzles of Life.” After all, every moment of every day we locate a new piece of the “Life picture”—like an opening into the future, an inviting doorway. We carefully check for fit and color-match, experimenting and perhaps asking, “Does that look right?” Even squinting or shifting perspective can leave us with doubt as we ask the person next to us, “I can’t tell, does that piece fit or am I forcing it?”

Rainy day discovery

While on an early morning walk after an evening rain, Em spied something curious on the brick sidewalk downtown. Oddly enough, it was a single jigsaw puzzle piece. How strange! But in that instant, the lonely lost part flipped a switch in his brain. He had been working through one of Life’s conundrums—searching for a clue, a missing piece or two that would lead to a logical conclusion. Suddenly, everything fell into place. Ahh! That’s the way it magically happens sometimes.

However, we’re not all master-puzzlers and we don’t always magically find the missing piece we’re looking for. Wouldn’t it be nice if Life came packaged in a box with a specific number of pieces and a picture on the front? Would you ever agree to work a puzzle without a picture? We think not. Yet, we patiently fit our lives together, piece-by-piece with very sketchy, if not absent information, all the while knowing that we basically have to work it alone. 

The missing piece of Life’s puzzle

Let’s face it, our little puzzling metaphor has its limits, but there are still some valuable insights: 1) Even though some pieces my be difficult to find, we have to be vigilant and patient to get just the right match; 2) don’t hesitate to reach across the table if necessary when you finally see what you’re looking for; 3) sometimes we need to shift our position to get a fresh perspective; and 4) humor with some good old-fashioned belly laughter is essential. But remember that there may be a trickster among us. Don’t get discouraged—because someone may have just slipped a critical piece of your puzzle into their pocket, momentarily hiding it from view. Rest assured that eventually all of the pieces will fall right into place. 

Following is a song we wrote a few years ago about this very process, called: “Fitting Pieces.”