St. Crispin's day.

I looked to heaven tearfully this morning as I poached eggs and brewed coffee for breakfast. "Mom, can't you just pull some strings up there and get me to Italy? I believe I would really be happy in a villa," I said to my mother. I was thinking about the fresh food and the sunshine. "You could have fresh food and sunshine here," I thought, but I knew it just wouldn't be the same. No olive groves. No Campari and soda for two. No people whose entire English vocabulary seems to consist of "No problem, no problem." I like, to no end, when someone tells me "no problem" to my requests.

I carried coffee and eggs to my husband in bed, and Tea With Mussolini just happened to be playing on our television. A sign. She always did have a sense of humor. And she always did do all she possibly could for me.

The English ladies on the screen were reciting the St. Crispin's Day speech as they put a little Italian boy on the train bound for Austria in 1935. "I should have that speech memorized," I resprimanded myself half-heartedly. "So much for my liberal arts education." I think I'll set about learning it today. And I've decided to try to learn Italian while my baby sleeps everyday. What wild aspirations this little Georgia housewife has.