Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri

Lost Words

LOST WORDS – BONDMAID Ramblings for the end of the week. No more than ramblings for that’s all I can do this week. Since the book I’m reading is The Dictionary of Lost Words, I decided I should look up rambling, although it isn’t one of the lost words. Rambling. Lengthy or inconsequential. (Typical of Trump I add)Continue reading “Lost Words”

People and Pigeons

There they are, a gaggle of ladies sitting ìn a row on the long metal bench under the portico of San Andrea. There’s an odd male between one contingent and the other. There used to be a florist here, with her offerings of calla lilies, fuchsia cyclamens, carnations, and roses from Israel or Holland. ItContinue reading “People and Pigeons”

Thanksgiving

THANKSGIVING. TO WHOM SHOULD WE GIVE THANKS? Really don’t know why, as a family, we celebrated Thanksgiving. Or even Christmas or Easter in a household that is eminently non-religious. Although Thanksgiving is not a religious occasion. I suppose Columbus called what we call turkey, pavo, in Portuguese or Spanish. The Puritan invader who arrived onContinue reading “Thanksgiving”

Sunday

For this week, just a thought. Not only are books friends, but they are also what helps make new friends and what connects friends. A way of keeping conversations going when you don’t see each other every day. Or perhaps have never even seen each other. They are such important parts of our lives. BothContinue reading “Sunday”

Three Books

There are three books half covered by a quilt next to a box of Kleenexes on my bed. Judi Dench on her delving into the psychology of the Shakespearean characters before bringing them to life on stage, “Held” by Anne Michaels, short stories in Italian by Camilleri. How differently one reads them! Most of myContinue reading “Three Books”

Not a Madeleine

But a Mounds bar. Coconut and dark chocolate. A Mounds bar from the vending machine along the side of the station sidewalk while I wait for the train to come swooshing in. The year 1952. A subway station in New York. I have always liked coconut but it has to be paired with dark chocolate.Continue reading “Not a Madeleine”

Three Beginnings

What shall I write today? It is already Tuesday. Perhaps about Judi Dench and Shakespeare since I’m reading Judi Dench the Man Who Pays the Rent. Each night four or five pages of bedtime reading, no more. Of marveling how Judi analyses each of the characters she then brings to life on the stage. How she inhabits,Continue reading “Three Beginnings”

Day After Day

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF AN ALMOST 97 YEAR OLD LADY WHO HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO FALL AND BREAK HER LEG A YEAR AGO Hard to realize I’m no longer independent. Hard to realize my lovely dog has crossed the rainbow bridge. Now who invented that idea? I find there is a real rainbowContinue reading “Day After Day”

Immigrants

Once upon a time Beginning in 1892, Ellis Island in the port of New York began receiving immigrants, replacing the Castle Garden station. Steamships unloaded their third-class passengers where they were processed before being allowed into what to them was the gateway to a land of opportunity. Immigrants flocked from Ireland, fleeing famine, from Italy,Continue reading “Immigrants”

La Magna Via

Some books I read and then read again, leafing at chance through the pages. Not for the plot, not for the characters who have become acquaintances or friends. What entrances me may be the words themselves, the poetry. Most often though it is the philosophical thoughts that have made an inroad in my brain –Continue reading “La Magna Via”

The Sagra Part II

Local pop groups have set up their acoustic guitars and drums and a singer is trying out her repertoire. They seem to be popular despite their rather deafening volume as people start dancing. There may also be theater representations with plays in the local dialect and with improvised actors. In other words, an evening ofContinue reading “The Sagra Part II”

The Sagra Part I

I’ve had my supper and turned out the light. The sky is still pale for the moon is full as I visualize my friends at the Sagra del Bosco with the local families lining up to pay for their orders before finding their assigned tables. I have decided not to go, afraid it would tireContinue reading “The Sagra Part I”

Notes in The Night

Whenever a thought occurred to me that I didn’t want to lose, whenever I had what you might call an inspiration, I used to jot whatever it was down on a bit of paper. Particularly in the middle of the night. I would switch on the light and scribble whatever it was, hoping I couldContinue reading “Notes in The Night”

The Quick Brown Fox

8:30 a.m. My son has just finished giving his 17-year old cat her breakfast. Now he turns to his 96-year old mom before making his way upstairs to his computer studio via the spiral staircase that brings to mind an Austrian chalet and not an Italian farm house. The stairs reflect my father’s Germanic originsContinue reading “The Quick Brown Fox”

Lugnano

Lugnano in Teverina (August 1993) You have to know it’s therebut even soit takes you by surprise.A tiny hilltop townwith down belowa far flung valley of olive grovesand fields of wheat. We are politely informedwhere to leave our car.A narrow spiral staircase takes us to the road.We cross and entera meander of streetsin an apparentlyContinue reading “Lugnano”