The Sunday before I headed for the States for the holiday, our choir convened to perform Britten’s Ceremony of Carols at a lovely church in Ca’ Savio all the way up on Cavellino (complete with a brilliant harp accompianiment; we’re repeating it on January 9th in Venice somewhere if anyone’s around). Following the concert, the church offered us a rinfresco downstairs; after an hour’s rainy travel in motonave e bus coupled with a rather intense rehearsal and concert, refreshments had definite appeal.

Now, being a) American and b) from the south, and the Bible Belt to boot, you can imagine my delight and surprise when, among offerings of Fanta orange, tè freddo, and sparkling water, was sparkling Prosecco as well. How sane is that? Catholics are such practical sorts.

A sip of prosecco is just the thing to quench a singer’s thirst, I’ll have you know. I felt like I was getting away with something, though, as I come from a country were alcohol in and of itself is suspect, and furthermore, a region where even if you have a social gathering at your own house, you wouldn’t think of serving liquor if you’d invited folks from the choich. Or if you did invite them, you’d never think to bring out the hooch until every last one of them had moseyed on out the door. Whew, I thought they’d never leave.

Of course, it was almost impossible to explain to my friends there why this charmed me so, as they would never get the joke. You don’t serve prosecco in churches? Ever? Why not?

Got me (but we all know how I am). Can’t wait to tell the folks back home – or maybe I just did.