Easter Sunday

Today a young boy - too shy to speak as he left his gift beside me - gave me a little chicken in a nest he had made for me. The chicken is fluffy, and the egg shell it is "emerging" from is real. It is quite beautiful.

His younger brother explained to me how the snail that was supposed to clean their fish tank had eaten 25 little fish overnight, and now sits in "gaol" in its own part of the tank while the new fish swim freely.

The apartment was modern, huge, open plan. There were four apartments in the building, one for each member of the family. Best of all was the "rustic" kitchen, additional, communal, on the ground floor. I think by rustic they meant traditional, large and accommodating. It certainly didn't look "rustic" in the sense that I would use the word. It was huge, the table would seat 12 to 20 people. It had a large oven, a big fireplace, and room for the children to play. To me it represented all that is good about Italian culture. In building this new apartment block for his family, the grandfather had ensured the continuity of togetherness.

I am grateful that today he also invited a lone Kiwi to share his family. And grateful to all of them that they were caring and patient enough to speak slowly and simply, rephrasing when necessary, so that I could join in the conversations.