After three weeks in Italy, I can often grasp what is being said to me when I am having a conversation in Italian. At my best, the conversation flows a little faster than does that between a five year old and his or her mother. At my worst, when I am exhausted or too confused to translate and process the information entering my brain that seems to come at 90 miles an hour , I just say ‘si.’

I was in the countryside of Aqualagna at a gathering of ten Italian families. In total, there were thirty some children. To me nothing is more beautiful than family. It was like a movie that was all around me. I stood there with my video camera as children ran fanatically in and out of the kitchen. The mothers were all talking simultaneously, causing an uproar of Italian chatter — flavored and textured.

It truly was overwhelming and at moments of climax where everyone seemed to be smiling at once,  my eyes became wet. Never did the wetness leave the contours of my eyes to touch my cheeks but it was there hanging on the edge of the cliff.

I tried to take it all in. The countryside was expansive and the afternoon light made the undulations glow with greens and yellows. In different corners and spaces children hugged their parents and squeezed all the love out.

Dazed but in peaceful felicity,  I breathed in the deepest, freshest breath. Then bam! I jumped as one of the mothers suddenly appeared in front of me with her hand up to my nose. When I finally focused my vision on her hand,  I realized she was holding a summer truffle or “tartufo.”

She spoke rapid Italian; the words emanated from her mouth as quickly as her eyebrows bounced up and down demonstrating her excitement.

Because I was caught off guard,  the Italian translator in my brain was not switched on.  Thus, I only picked up one clue and some gestures. I processed that she wanted me to try the truffle.

I took the truffle from in between her fingers and hesitantly moved it towards my mouth but before I could make a noticeable space between my teeth she forced my hand back.

“No, not to eat; smell,” she said cheekily and she snickered a little. “This a lot of money; don’t just eat, have to grate it over something.”

My cheeks turned red but not because of the way I had reacted to the truffle; it had never even touched my lips. A few other mothers and children looked on in amusement. We all had a good chuckle together.

At that moment, I was no longer a bystander but a part of the family because we had  had an experience together. Laughter is so much more worth it than perfect comprehension.