The days passed punctuated by moments of sun and of fog. Yet I was not as alone in Italy as I had been in Germany, despite relatives. Wherever I looked, there were long-standing friends, somehow soul mates, the pink and yellow toy houses in the hills, the rows of dark cypresses, exclamation points indicating aContinue reading “The Watcher: Florence continued II”
Author Archives: Erika Bizzarri
Boat On The Arno
A lonely boat floats on the reflections in the slow-flowing silveryArno. Every morning the man lowers his long-handled shovel into thewater, a proboscis feeding on the sand, then to be disgorged on thebottom of the boat. Behind him, many of the buildings, facades lost tothe all-too-recent war, reveal their innermost secrets. Upstream alatticework cast-iron arch, replacingContinue reading “Boat On The Arno”
The Cat
Six a.m. Thump on the bed. Over to the window sill. The cat sits herself down and looks outside. Immobile, she stares out the window. I raise my head and look out too but all is calm. The leaves hang motionless, suspended, waiting for a breeze. Almost imperceptibly dawn merges into day. The cat Continue reading “The Cat”
The Watcher: Florence
A quiet car until Bologna. My fellow travelers were an interesting group, to be observed as they observed me. All men and all Italians, except for a tall thin American. An older mustachioed man in an air force uniform, two fat, short typical businessmen, a young priest, slender like a reed, a small tired-looking man.Continue reading “The Watcher: Florence”
For Sally’s Grandmother
Written for Sally’s grandmother around 20 years ago “Suddenly there was no more pain. It just stopped. Like when one stops breathing all of a sudden. For a moment, without the pain, she felt lost. So blessedly unaware of the body she had become accustomed to in the long years in which it had beenContinue reading “For Sally’s Grandmother”
The Watcher: Germany
For my Kreuznach relatives my trip was regarded as a natural step in my educational process. My field may be art history, but I’m afraid I didn’t feel drawn to the truly scholarly way where regardless of what else of interest the town might hold, all that mattered was the one painting by the artistContinue reading “The Watcher: Germany”
Corner of a Room
Captured on the film of memory a corner of a room. Time-bleached photographs are ranged askew against a wall of ghostly patterned stripes. Shadows from the past stare out, pensive self-conscious unawares. A print of a saint, hands clasped in submission hoping for an answer to his prayers, holds the place of honor. The smallContinue reading “Corner of a Room”
Tea For Two On Tuesdays
A great title. Heralding a friendship. One of those some people say can’t happen. Why? Well because I’m over 90. One doesn’t make new friends after a certain age I was told. If I were less of a lady, I’d say Bull… I made new friends when I was 70, and when I was 80.Continue reading “Tea For Two On Tuesdays”
The Watcher: Vezelay
Leo was back and we began our pilgrimage of Romanesque churches. Vezelay. It is July. Hotel Le Cheval Blanc overlooks the valley where at noon each olive tree is cradled in its shadow. We can’t wait to see Sainte Marie Madeleine. Not the façade of the abbey church but the narthex evoking Bernard of Clairvaux,Continue reading “The Watcher: Vezelay”
Newfound Friends
Every so often – shall I call it a chance encounter? It’s happened to all of us. “I’d like you to meet…. I’m sure you have a lot in common.” It starts like that. You gradually discover that the other and you think alike, or that what the other says is something you may havewantedContinue reading “Newfound Friends”
The Watcher
In July of 1955 I boarded a steamer for Europe. This year abroad was documented in sketches, photographs, and many pages written on this Olivetti 22 portable typewriter, bought in Florence, Italy, a constant friend thanks to which I can now share with you Europe (and myself) of 1955-56, so keep reading. Inspiration is sometimesContinue reading “The Watcher”
Biographies and Autobiographies
Other people’s lives. It’s not that we are peeping Toms or voyeurs. It’s just that if we know something about that “other person”, we can understand them better. Biographies and autobiographies. I could tell you about my life too for each of us has a story to tell, and writing things down helps us understandContinue reading “Biographies and Autobiographies”
Hats
November 17, 2019 THE HAT THAT GOT AWAY It was a light brown fedora type hat.Worn to protect its wearer from the rain.Worn because the wearer no longer had that mass of lustrous hair of 50 years ago. On her way along the cliff to the elevator and well aware that the wind would loveContinue reading “Hats”
Embrace The World
The child on the empty beach runs, arms outstretched, to embrace a ball. Her past lies there behind herfor she has felt her mother’s cheek warm against hershas heard her mother sing a ballad at dusk. The child on the empty beach with arms outstretched is running with the wind to embrace the world.
A Mother and Her Child
A mother and her child. I try to decipher her gaze and, entranced, have fallen under her spell.She could be a Madonna, holding a babe in swaddling clothes, safe inits mother’s arms and not yet aware of the world outside. What are those eyes and that enigmatic smile that lingers on her lipstrying to tellContinue reading “A Mother and Her Child”
Words Words Words
Words, words, words. What we feel and want, demand, require are all expressed in words. The written word, the spoken word, modem, internet are ways to know each other. Words engender words. Create, produce, grow like a vine around a thought. Define its shape, explore, insinuate, envelop. A word – an offshoot – of theContinue reading “Words Words Words”
Lost Books
Looking for a book. A specific book. It happens to all of us. We think we know where it is on our shelves, we pull down every single book, but it isn’t there. So maybe we had lent it to someone? Very likely. Especially if it was a book we were enamored of. Sure youContinue reading “Lost Books”
Dust Jackets
Book jackets or dust jackets. Call them what you will. Most of my books no longer have them, if they ever did. Those with hard covers, however, fall into another category. But since what matters is inside and I couldn’t care less for what it looks like, often I’d rather get a less expensive softContinue reading “Dust Jackets”
Golden Legend, Holy Bible, Vasari and Others
On the top shelf of what is more or less a guest room, overlooking the valley below, The Golden Legend and the Holy Bible sit side by side. Not far away is Vasari’s Lives of the Artists and a dictionary of art terms. You might think this black-bound bible – now why is it alwaysContinue reading “Golden Legend, Holy Bible, Vasari and Others”
Lockdown
Time passes. I have barely gotten used to living “in town” when the corona virus makes its appearance. We all go into lockdown. Orders are to stay inside unless you have to walk your dog. Shopping? My two sons, duly masked, see to that and leave my groceries on a table in the entrance. EverythingContinue reading “Lockdown”
Erika Bizzarri 