"...she always strove to repair the small tears in the fabric of society to make things better, to leave things better than when she found them."
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While we watched an Italian game show, we packed. So it was extra easy the next morning to take off after breakfast. Of course that was after I spilled a whole bottle of water on the breakfast counter “ho sbagliato!” (oops) Linate is always the super facile airport. It’s like venti minuti – twenty minutes to be there, super easy everything. The plane was fast and we arrived at Napoli. Così pazzo. So nuts there. Thousands of people. Our driver found us. Paola. Come si aspetterebbe— As one might expect there were at least six quasi-incidenti – almost-accidents before we even emerged from the parking lot. We chatted in Italian for the whole more-than-an-hour. She drove…
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There is a place I have wanted to go. But last time I was not mobile and it was not possible. It was great to be there. Nothing crazy, nothing fancy. Just joy. Stone steps, antiquities. Religious frescoes (why oh why do I love them so much?). I go to the garden. Hydrangeas – ortensie, hosta, ferns – felci, come nel mio proprio giardino — as in my own garden. Beautiful comfort. I peek in on the sculpture class in the studios. I am reminded of how we chip away at our lives, adjusting, adjusting, always adjusting. There is a story I have heard of Michelangelo…
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It was many years ago during a dermatological excision that we, in our family, learned that Nancy Sinatra could be associated with surgical procedures. At the time, the doctor, a 70-something eccentric, loved to listen to his music — loud — while holding a scalpel. So, “Summer Wine” and “These Boots were Made for Walkin”, previously favorite Nancy Sinatra songs from my childhood, took on new meaning, involving Tylenol, gauze, well – you can imagine. This association is so ridiculous — that we cannot hear these songs without glancing at each other and grimacing. It’s a type of pop-song-flavored PTSD. So…
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We did it. We flew. The first day I always think — I am fine. But it is not until the third day that I understand that I was not fine. But I will be. I always am. We are here deliberately to soak up inspiration. Beauty. Joy. We are here to hold hands and to dream. Not knowing how to begin again after the world changed, we just took off walking, trying to wrap the city around us again. This block, that block, street by street our former life began to unfurl itself. More and more things familiar. We…
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I am not the first to write about a wedding and neither will I be the last. My story is personal. The story of life cycle event in pandemic. The story of entitlement, perhaps. The story of change. This is the story of what we do, sometimes, while we process, process, process our life’s transitions while the world is in flux. Our daughter, Bells, told us from the beginning that everything would be blue. That I would be wearing blue, my husband’s suit was to be blue — that flowers would be blue and my shoes would be blue. Everything…
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It was a hundred years ago and it was ten. It was a time when the world was a certain way — before it became a different kind of world, a certain other kind of way.
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Faccio un casino. I am a bit of a mess. Time zones, eh. I am meeting B, of ambulance fame, for lunch. (L’ambulanza italiana) Our epic ride together forged an already burgeoning friendship. She is brave. So very brave. Walking the blocks towards the Crocetta station, boarding the train towards Comasina. I get off at the Duomo. Greeted by its morning glow…and armed soldiers. It whispers to me “benvenuta!” Benvenuta. Welcome. Benvenuto — I whisper to the train as I get back on towards Reppublica. We share an almost three-hour lunch, walking back through the markets near Porta Garibaldi, looking…
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We were in this country for so very long before we made it down to Roma. So many other things were pressing…so many other places were closer. And yet I felt the draw of Rome. Allora — siamo andati a Roma. We went to Rome. Another surprise…on our way from the train station to our hotel I was very moved by the very fact of being a Roma. I cannot even explain it. Non posso proprio. I just can’t. But so many feelings. Of all types. Of course we ate good food — we went twice to…
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It is my first time in England. Me, who called our rabbit King George because he thought he was the boss of everyone. I have so many small observations — so I am just gonna lay them here. On Doppelgängers: There is a doppelgänger here for almost every person I know back in the States. Are you all Brits from back in the day? The Tate Modern museum in London is named for the guy who invented cubed sugar. Ain’t never gonna see sugar cubes again without thinking of the Tate Modern and how R couldn’t wait to…
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Being Human - Blessings - Darkness - Difficulty - Family - Fear - Hope - Light - Loss - Safety - This really happened.The Fire and the Roses
Eleven years ago we were getting ready to leave the house for the first seder at Jane’s house. Russ was just finishing the mowing of the lawn, our table was set with china and crystal for the next evening at our house. I heard a crackling sound coming from the kitchen. I knew that I wasn’t cooking that evening…so as I entered the kitchen I saw about a foot of smoke undulating at the ceiling above the door to the garage. I went outside and found the wall between the house and the garage aflame. Quick-thinker that I am, I…
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When the taxi arrived the driver was anxious to share with me that he was from Lebanon – and that his mother died three years ago. He told me that she died alone, in a dark room, hastened by the neglect of his sisters and this, he would never forget. He wanted me to know that he believed in Karma. That he believed in Kindness. He said that with Karma there is no guarantee that things will come back to you…”but you never know,” he said. I wouldn’t say that he was the most careful driver, weaving a bit between…
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I wasn’t looking for drama. I really wasn’t. But that morning they left me at the table, reading the paper. I finished the puzzle. I did the Jumble. Took me almost no time at all. It was a good day. I pushed away from the table and stood up, putting all my weight on my right foot — not realizing that I could not feel it and that my foot had dropped….and stepped onto the top surface of my foot, upside down. I heard a crack. I screamed. I threw myself onto the couch, elevating my foot.…
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I woke to a dream where I was on the street in twilight. With my little child. A son or a daughter, perhaps. The sky was losing light. The day had been long. It was much too late to be out with such a baby – it was time to be home. But this one had their arms up in the air and was crying, “book, book”. “up, up.” We were outside the library. Its doors closed to the day. “Book, book”. They cried. There was the memory and allure of story time – a part of a perfect morning…
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I recently read a piece from Maya Angelou: she said that although she had a large house, she retained a hotel room in town. On the desk of the room she had only a deck of cards, crossword puzzles and a pad of paper—and a pen. She would take herself out of her comfort and her distractions and would sit and pretend to play solitaire – to trick herself into writing. Reading this was an enormous comfort to me. Here I am thinking that once I stake my flag in the sand saying that I will always be brilliant…