Tombola Chicken

I won a hen while playing Tombola. Well...no, I take that back.. I actually won a lovely little pair of expresso glasses, but I couldn't resist gleefully trading them for an atrocious, ceramic, chicken sugar bowl. (at least I think it may be a sugar bowl...) I sat with twenty or so people, around a large, festively decorated table, cluttered with wine and soft drink bottles, enough food for a small village, huge quantities of shredded orange peels and a pile of terribly wrapped "gifts" in the center. I listened intently, holding a tiny bit of orange peel in my hand, as a young boy shouted numbers out to the room. I purposefully searched the Tombola cards in front of me before setting my orange peel over the number I hoped was called. Occasionally though, I lost my focus.

I sat back in my chair and memorized the scene around me. Warm yellow walls covered in beautifully framed art surrounded us. A merrily twinkling Christmas tree filled one corner while a lovingly placed nativity scene sat nearby. Blissfull smells of pizza, arancini and sweetbread floated in the air as a baby was passed around. Children unabashedly tugged on the arms of adults, demanding piggy back rides or an impromptu wrestle. People touched.. a kiss on each check, a warm hug, an arm around a shoulder, a hand on a leg, a teasing shove. I caught snatches of conversations, talk of work, of dinner, of new shoes, of a new engagement... but sometimes, I stopped hearing words. I simply listened as waves of beautiful, lyrical Italian washed over me.  Just a few hours earlier, I had not met any of the people around me, but yet, I was seated at their table, devouring their food, sharing their Grappa, teasing their children, and cherishing their joy. I was not out of place. I was welcome.  

I reined in my sentimental thoughts, turned my focus back to my Tombola cards, placed my last orange peel and proudly made the chicken mine...