Once upon a time it was, and a cloudy day in Venice, when, at the Piazzale Roma, Emily and I found each other. Or perhaps the other way happened--when meeting for the first time an old friend it is difficult to know what is found and what already was.

Emily is as nice to look at as she is to correspond with. She has long brown hair which is just a bit wavy, a round face just a bit freckled, and brown eyes just a shade lighter than her hair. She was dressed in an ankle-length floral print dress whose small pattern of browns and oranges was helped by her hair, and whose lower buttons were done and undone as we entered and left churches. Her sandals where not the current fashion for Italian women, but her large, colorful purse was.

Pop-Pop stayed in the Piazzale while we walked across some bridges and slightly into town, talking about what mail the other had last received and how Angelo's family helped me to find her and what I thought of Rome (which on the phone she had asked me to remember).

She likes the carving, and I am somehow even happier.

On the bus back to the hotel, the rest of the tour group back from a gondola ride, Roeland announces our "new guest Emily"--everyone cheers and she is embarassed. They have heard about this fairy tale.

Waiting for dinner we catch up on personal gossip. Emily has an interesting habit of alternately being overwhelmed and overwhelming other people. In both her home and Italian societies there is no respect for the need to say, "I'm a bit overwhelmed now, please take my apologies and I'm sorry if I'm not able to be responsible for a while," and this extra space would have saved much grief this year. Emily also makes the enlightening comment that pessimists are also idealists, which I had never pieced together on my own.

During dinner I was quick to adopt her superior pasta-eating style of placing fork tongs inside the pasta tubes instead of trying to pierce the cylinder. While asking for a vegetarian dish (Emily is kosher, which translates to vegetarian while in Italy) I was first treated to her Italian. In Madrid, and in Rome, speech was loud as well as fast (very fast in Madrid). In northern Italy, Emily and those she spoke with did speak quickly, but softly: poetically instead of lyrically.

After dinner we mostly talk. Downstairs at the piano I explain about trying to play Think of Me for Jennifer, and Cora's Song, while at each hotel on this trip (if I can). Emily once played a little, but not this time. We try walking outside since the rain and lightning has stopped, but only go around the hotel once. Trading backrubs works better than the walking did; Emily has a good back. It is a good thing to make each other feel good physically as well as emotionally.

Pop-Pop is already asleep; before our walk I made a bed for myself from both bed's over-comforters. For a bedtime story Emily has this book. Emily has a boyfriend in Italy, so after a good-night hug, and a kiss on the forehead for good dreams, we must be in separate places. She is asleep before I could count to one hundred, and I follow once I get settled in my makeshift but comfortable bed.

The next morning Emily would rather sleep later than have more backrub. Unlike Pop-Pop and I, she wakes slowly. Having a guest at our morning scheduled routine is amusing. Breakfast lacks fruit. The tour group travels by bus and water-bus to San Marcos Square, where the three of us become independent for five and one half hours, until two p.m..

Emily has just finished classes in Venetian art and history, and explains the city as we progress through it. San Marcos Square has the duke's palace and cathedral as well as a museum and clock tower. The cathedral is not open yet, so we walk to the Rialto.

Venice is a city of two islands, the north one split by the Grand Canal. Three bridges cross the Grand Canal: the Rialto is the oldest, shortest, and most famous, lined with expensive shops and bordered by an open-air market. At this market we buy peaches and a cantalope, and I finally find a good birthday present for Kami: a donut shaped, flat stone necklace. [These become common to see later on, but Kami's is the nicest.] In Pisa there were thimbles for Italy, so our shopping errands in Italy are now done.

Venice is a city of a gazillion little streets. The canals make these into a maze, for many will dead-end into waterways or courtwayrds. There are no cars or bicycles, right angle intersections are outnumbered, and only in plazas and courtyards can you see your shadow to confirm a direction. Windows and doorways are rectangular or with Persian-shaped tops. Gondolas are everywhere, as are cute shops. Through this we find our way back to the duke's cathedral. Emily had warned us the Venetians were fond of gold, but it was ridiculous.

Then, with map and street signs, we manage to find a newly restored church and guildhouse in the center of town. The saint whose stories most of the paintings depicted was unknown to us. Amusing to me to see in a church in Venice was a painting of Jesus throwing the money lenders out of the temple.

Lunch was pasta at a little restaurant with caperto and a singing cook. Eggplants can be done well, I found.

Then it was time for goodbyes as we went back to San Marcos Square and Emily went to the train station.

When will we meet again?

Fortunately, I have well learned not to miss what was never mine. But I do look forward to our next exchange of letters. Hm. I can send her postcards now.