Pausa

by Elizabeth C. Millar

During pausa one day in Cagli, I thought the small grocery store might be open, so I wandered down Via Celli to find out. The truck blocking the storefront didn't discourage me, and despite the fact that I have gained some pasta weight, I was able to slip through the door and peek inside.

The employees were stocking shelves and talking amongst themselves. I felt like I might have intruded, but I didn't pick up on any verbal or body language cues.  At some point it occurred to me that they might be closed, or were thinking about it. I grabbed the things I needed and approached the amiable store clerk.  I looked at her with a confused facial expression asking her if the store was closed, or about to close. She replied in Italian with a non committal response which I translated as 'sort of'.

As an American, the pausa is so foreign it's hard to get used to and so it is cultural dissonance in action.  With the rush of life in the US, it would be nice to take a pausa every so often, but that will never happen.