Contradictions

By Shannon Cartier

In a country full of towering cathedrals, steeples, columns, and gestures, it seems Italy has the market cornered on tiny things as well:  tiny garbage trucks and street sweepers, mailmen on motor scooters, short doors, narrow stairwells and streets, miniature cars like the ones Shriners drive in circles on parade routes, little glass Coke bottles, doll-sized espresso cups.  I order two cappuccinos each morning just to equal the amount in one kid-sized cup at a stateside Starbucks.  

It has been said many times before but bears repeating:  Americans have grown so accustomed to large serving sizes, we forget what is considered prudent.  If you have a 32-ounce drink, do you really savor each sip or do you feel you have more than you can possibly enjoy so it isn’t as special?  I have learned to have a “coffee experience” each morning at the outdoor cafe.  Each taste of the precious four ounces of coffee I am served feels ritualistic, to be revered. Scooping up the airy foam, I honor each delicate spoonful.  It will be gone too soon.  

I fantasize that when I get home, I will stroll the eight blocks to the main drag of Coeur d'Alene, procure a passable latte, and sit outdoors, savoring the familiar taste.  In reality I will zoom through the drive-thru at Starbucks and slam down my typical 20 ounces of espresso, milk, and artificially-flavored vanilla as I race through another day.