Lola

When you hear the word 'nun' what immediately comes to mind? My guess is that images of old women in black habits stroking prayer beads or donning a ruler would be the most conjured up image. At least that's what movies and TV have engrained in us as far as imagery goes. Well, let me tell you that the nuns here, or at least those in our convent, are not at all that way....save one.

Lola. She is old school. No, she doesn't wear a habit, but I can easily imagine her cracking a ruler over some sassy boy's knuckles or assigning a girl whose skirt was too short 100 Hail Marys. She is feisty at 70 years old and never hesitates to correct you when you are wrong. When I mispronounce something in Spanish, she corrects me. When a woman on the bus doesn't have her purse zipped closed, she corrects her. When the police officer at the cuestera office gives her the wrong form, she tells him. Watching her in action is entertainment in and of itself.

Today, Lola took me and Lynda to register with the local police station. Once again, Italian laws at their finest...they don't look at your passport when you arrive, but you must register with the local police. Let me tell you that having to go through the legalities of obtaining a visa is not easy nor is it fun. The Italians have a ridiculous amount of hoops they want you to jump through and it has been my experience that each office has a different hoop! Anyway, we went to the police station where Lola asked the young police officer for the necessary forms. (May I just interject here and remark on the favorable appearance of the officer? Mama mia. :) )When he gave her the forms she disputed with him about whether or not they were the right forms. Realizing that she could argue forever, he quickly sent her off to speak with his superior.

Lynda and I quickly surmised that if Lola ran Italy...well, let's just say that things wouldn't be so convoluted and this country would run like a well oiled machine.