This week in Italian class we got to pick our own names. We each had to pick an Italian pseudonym to call each other during class. Down the line we went, Antonia picked Antonia, Mary chose Maria, Joe went with Giuseppe, Chris translates to Cristoforo (careful, if you pronounce it wrong it means Christopher Columbus). And then there was me.
I consider myself lucky in this respect, because there is no Italian translation for Robin. I was hoping Professore wouldn’t say Roberta, as I really don’t care for that name. Instead, I got to pick whatever I wanted. Oh, the possibilities.
And then it dawned on me. I asked her if it had to be a Proper name. She said it could be whatever I wanted. Well, I wanted Sognatrice, which means dreamer…because I dream of Italy and in honor of my dear friend Michelle over at Bleeding Espresso. My pronunciation must have been a little off, because when I asked her, she said.." oh, one who prays, a prayer?" Uh, well, no, not exactly, at least I don’t think so. So, I tried again, this time emphasizing the ya in Son-ya-tree-chey. That must have done it because she smiled and said, "Ah, dreamer, veddy nice-a!"
Meanwhile, the rest of the class were busy sounding out my new name. They were all moaning and groaning, while realizing that they will have to now address the former easy-breezy named Robin, as the now more complicated…Sognatrice. I think a saw a few dirty looks and perhaps heard an "oh, brother" from the far corner of the room.
Boh.
Photo: A trattoria in San Gimignano named Chiribiri…which really doesn’t translate to anything. It’s just a happy sounding name, obviously chosen from the heart.