Red Leather Gloves

 It's dusk. I'm hustling back to the Metro. And then...I see it. Out of the corner of my eye, a shop the size of a closet. With leather gloves. Italian leather. And, the prices look real. Something in me yields and knows. This is the real thing. I'm standing in front of something important. Stop. Enter and open to this. I step in and am welcomed by a warm, lovely woman---in her seventies, perhaps. Charming in a non-fussy, non-chic way. Right away I sense that she is a glove professional. I ask her about the red kidskin gloves in the window. She smiles, says yes, finds a box (now it's a little like a shoe store) and out they come.

Here's where it gets really cool. There is a true art to this. She gently removes them from their cello package. And then----she takes what looks like a long old wooden double rod, and places it into each finger, and opens it a tad. It's a custom device I've never seen before.  Now---it's time for me to place my elbow on the padded counter---and hold my arm and hand straight up. Firmly. She does the rest---plying the soft leather over my fingers. If I go limp or try to help, she chastises me in the most loving way. No---I must let her do it. There is a grace to this lost art.

The glove is now on and the fit is stunning. She rubs and pats my smooth, gloved hand, and we both know that they are perfect. And meant for me. And divine. An intimacy has now grown up between us. I ask her her name. Alberta she says, and I, of course, share mine. She then answers the question I've asked. She's been selling gloves from her own factory since 1971---to people all over the world. I am now one of them. Part of her forty year legacy. I take the Euros from my hand and place them in hers. She carefully counts my change. Then, as we put our heads together to take a picture...I feel moved by this moment. This vibrant, unassuming woman bringing continuous joy. This opportunity to touch another so gently. To connect across cultures,  generations and so much more. This daily blessing of the hands.

If you ever find yourself on Corso Vittorio Emanuele in Rome---there's a treat awaiting you at 18/a. Put out your hand, introduce yourself to Alberta---and do tell her that Lynn with the red gloves from America sent you.