I'm safe. An arm's length away.

Maybe it's that I'm more cognizant of hand gestures. Because I don't understand very much of the Italian spoken language. So I watch the gestures. To try to catch a clue of what's being said. I can't ever recall seeing so much gesturing in America. Or anywhere else, for that matter. And maybe the most vociferous gesturing I've ever seen came the other night. From my Italian true love's handsome brother, Massimo. I was captivated. As if he was directing an orchestra in a robust piece of music. Nothing less than incredible. I almost felt like applauding. His arm and hand movements were scintillating. Occasionally reaching for the sky. And he'd swiftly extend his hands. And bring them back and forth. Coming close to pounding his chest. And he wiggled his fingers nimbly. Turns out he was mostly discussing politics. Massimo also had a scarf wrapped thickly around his neck. Indoors. Giving him a classy look. Maybe it was a little cool, or maybe he was catching a cold. And occasionally his massive hands covered his entire face. He's a tennis player. A good one. And those hands probably give him a firm grip on a tennis racket. With a little wrist action, he'd have tremendous power in his swing. Anyway, when Massimo talks, I try to play it safe and stay an arm's length away. Just in case of a far-flung hand gesture accidentally going awry. --Jim Broede