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I GIVE YOU MY THOUGHTS. I GIVE YOU MY WORDS. I GIVE YOU MY VOICE. Thoughts are always in the form of words. I can hear them in my mind, enunciate them. You too can hear them. But it is how they are said that matters. There’s a difference between giving you my thoughts inContinue reading “Voice”

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”

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. 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”

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”

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”

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”

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”

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”

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”

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”

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”

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”

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”

I am in my shop just off Piazza Duomo when Carlo stops by. If you don’t have anything better to do, I’m going to see a friend in a small town in the hills. Want to come? Well, yes. I don’t have anything better to do and my sales assistant will see to the shop,Continue reading “Xenia”

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 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”

Back to the beginning, two There are no barriers to where your thoughts will take you. I was back once more in 1957. Perhaps it wasn’t so strange after all that I should be a little afraid. Up until now everything seemed to have moved with a kind of fatality that made every act seemContinue reading “Memory II”

Back to the Beginning There are no barriers to where your thoughts will take you. After finding the villa a friend had lent us for our honeymoon, Mario and I stretched out in the sun. I had already walked along the shore and photographed the fishermen hauling in their nets. Now, with nothing special toContinue reading “Memory I”

That evening in Mario’s family home we prepared the confetti or sugared almonds which were to be given as thank you favors for the presents. Good luck symbols, five sugar-coated almonds wrapped in a white net bag, tied with a silver cord and with an orange blossom, to be laid in a porcelain dish, orContinue reading “Wedding II”

Europe but mostly Italy People, art, landscapes, the culture As a child in the thirties and forties most of what was happening in the world had passed me by. I preferred wandering barefoot in fields and woods, alone. I would lie down in the grass, among sun-kissed wild strawberries, and watch the clouds move slowlyContinue reading “Wedding I”

TO A SPECIFIC STREET IN A SPECIFIC TOWN When I got married, we moved to a specific street, in a specific town, in a specific part of Italy. It was not simply a village but a real town with several thousand inhabitants and I discovered that it was the people with whom I identified moreContinue reading “Belonging II”

To place, to who we are. Belonging to the many places we have lived in. Places that have become part of our story, part of our lives. Immigrants over the years. Or emigrants. Places where fate takes us, sometimes we find it has been drawing us like a magnet ever since we were born, placesContinue reading “Belonging”

It’s that time of year. Bees and bugs and butterflies. Beetles of various shapes and hues. There were two of them who came to pay me a visit. One appeared on my flower pot outside, the other one was inside, trying to get out. The first was black and really handsome, his long antennas wavingContinue reading “That Time of Year”

A friend comes to visit. Yes, I know that’s what last week’s post started with. And what do we talk about? Books. Yes, we still talk about books. Not ones we have read, but those we have listened to or watched. These are books we have “seen”, and include a third person, not just theContinue reading “Never-ending Books”

Things shared Experiences Words Books Things heard, things seen: these can be simultaneous. But not touch or taste. For those they must be translated into words. A friend comes to visit. And what do we talk about? Books. We might have shared experiences, things heard, things seen. But it is books that connect us most.Continue reading “Books”

Inside and out. Clock, bed, lamp. Fireflies. Lights in the dark of night. I think of Pirandello’s story of the light across the way, the story of a solitary man fascinated by the scene he saw in the house across the way where in the evening when light enveloped the family seated around a tableContinue reading “Lights”

Birdie with a yellow bill, hopped upon my window sill The birdie with a yellow bill I saw just now hopped . . . upon the branch of a chestnut tree, and chirped away looking for a mate as the wind ruffled his feathers and the leaves around him. Inside, on my window sill, aContinue reading “Birdie”

January or February. A winter month. Down by the gate a network of bare branches rising from the imposing trunk of the chestnut tree is silhouetted against a sullen sky. At night stars glitter, pin-pricked against a pale moonlit sky. There may also be the moon before it wanders elsewhere. On each branch, Nodes, almostContinue reading “The Tree”

Snails are molluscs or gastropods and they have only one foot. In my house in the country I had not only mice but snails perambulating around. Of course, with only one foot one can’t really say they walk. They creep or crawl. Maybe even slither. Which they do of course.  There have even been snail races.Continue reading “The Snail”

Years ago, when I lived in the country by myself, I had to lay down the law for mice. One can’t help liking these little creatures, until one sees the havoc they can create. Yesterday a piece of chocolate left over from an Easter egg displayed a series of tooth marks on one edge. Aha!Continue reading “Mice or Mouses?”

Same concept, dfferent language Don’t know if it is a matter of age, but when one is what can be considered bilingual, and the equivalent of a word in that other language refuses to come to mind, one starts worrying. At least it takes time for that word one is looking for to surface. IContinue reading “Bilingual”

FREEDOM ABOVE ALL Of the various comments on my post, Homeless by Choice, a particularly lovely one was in the form of an email from Marilyn, a former student of mine when I was teaching at Gonzaga in Florence in the 1970S. She stayed with us in Orvieto that summer and we remained in touch. Now aContinue reading “Postscript to Homeless”

a post that is a bit overdue Easter is late this year but it doesn’t really matter unless you depend on school holidays. Particularly if your father is a teacher. And I always seem to be a bit late with my posts. With a family that wasn’t particularly family oriented, holidays like Halloween for instanceContinue reading “Easter”

Camilleri, the father of the Italian police commissioner Salvo Montalbano, which became a series of mystery stories published by Sellerio, was originally a stage director and playwright. It is tempting to compare him to Pirandello, the Sicilian author known for his plays and short stories and awarded the Nobel prize in 1934. Camilleri died atContinue reading “What Happens to Montalbano?”

Gaunt, with a straggly flowing grey beard and hair, he sits huddled in the doorway of the bank at the crossing of two of the main streets in town. Or you may find him on the short street that leads to the market where he is more sheltered from the wind. Wrapped in a blanket,Continue reading “Homeless by Choice”

Hah! It’s not the if only of several weeks ago. It has to do with the ould verbs. Could, would, should. Will have to check the etymology. Is it subjunctive? Oh dear, here one gets into Old English. I could have, I would have, I should have. None of which is what I did. However, this led me toContinue reading “If only or what if”

If only he hadn’t wanted to finish weed-wacking that field. He’d put in a new cutting string that whirled around and effortlessly did away with what most people called weeds. Some were and some weren’t. He knew the difference and most of them, in one way or the other, were edible. You might have toContinue reading “Francesco”

Finally old age has caught up with me. I had thought of it as an inevitable disease, but about which we can do little. It is there,lurking and waiting to surface, like shingles. It may not appear for a long time, but it’s there. Sooner or later we will all be getting older. It dependsContinue reading “Old Age”

Perks or unexpected aspects of what happened. Well, not exactly a perk but a way of looking at the positive side of having broken my leg. My computer screen, in addition to the usual trademark Apples, accompanies them with the words “We love you”, a reminder of the presence of my sons. Thanks to them,Continue reading “Perks”

After my operation, for a few weeks I am in a clinic or struttura as they call it, named after a saint. The nuns who manage it recite their morning prayers before helping the inmates (I suppose that is what one can call them) begin their daily activities of coloring a line drawing of aContinue reading “The Clinic”

It was two,o’clock in the morning. I was asleep and Teah my dog barked. just once. She needed, or wanted, to go out to the patio, a few steps up. I let her out and on returning, the light goes out and I forget that there is a step. Suddenly I am on the floorContinue reading “Accident”

February 15, ninety six years ago just after midnight I was washed and dressed in what might be called swaddling clothes. Now almost a century later I am still being washed and clothed.but it is no longer the same for the roles, have been reversed and it is not easy to accept that it isContinue reading “Ninety Six”

It’s Christmas! or Hanukkah, of whatever you like. It’s a time to celebrate family and love. I can’t say peace and prosperity since that seems rather far away in the world at this moment. So our best greetings from the Orvieto gang in the person of Costanza. Let’s hope for the future, which is aboutContinue reading “Christmas 2024”

Fleeting encounters I remember, but do they? One never knows what life will hold in store. Throughout the years we cross paths with people of all kinds, for all kinds of reasons. Perhaps I was more likely to have a variety of encounters since I had a shop on the cathedral square, since the localContinue reading “Encounters”

It must have been in the seventies. A friend of ours, one of several Marios around, was teaching a course on Romanesque art in Florence, for which a tour of France, Sardinia and Tuscany  had been organized. First a word about Mario Bucci, a professor we all loved, perhaps because of, or in spite of, hisContinue reading “Romanesque Memories”

One wonders sometimes what life would have been like had we taken a different road. One can’t help but thinking of Robert Frost and the road not taken. If only … I could have … Why didn’t I? Everyone has a story to tell. Everyone is what one is because of a life that perhapsContinue reading “Roads not Taken, Lives not Lived”

By its very nature, the printed word is an incommensurable subject.  Books are a never-ending delight. Well, maybe not all of them. There are certainly some you may wish you’d never encountered, books that haunt you when you would rather sleep. Yet sometimes it is the other way around. Those nagging thoughts of what you didContinue reading “Books once more”

Time has come to figure out what to write for next week’s post. Once I get one done and sent to my editor, it’s time for the next, which will probably mean I’ll stay awake half the night “thinking”. This time I have been rescued by my son, God bless him. Undoubtedly, it’s thanks toContinue reading “Shopping with Ma”

As a new friend, met as usual at Blue Bar, which is becoming a sort of expat Casablanca, you’ve asked me for suggestions as to what to read. I don’t really know where to start as I now sit here at my computer, having finished lunch and waiting for my “dogwalker” (I can still readContinue reading “Books I’ll Read Again. “

 On January 30th of this year, I wrote a poem about a rose. I called it the last rose and, in the end, said I would throw it out. “… an everlasting rose so beautiful in its essentiality   that I hesitate to throw it out, despite the fact that it is no longer in its prime.Continue reading “Last Rose Musings”

It was the morning of June 14th, 1944. While a peace treaty with the Allies had been signed, the Germans were still hanging on and Orvieto was one of their strongholds. The not too distant Viterbo had been devastated and Major Heseltine, leading his squadron of British tanks, was approaching the city of Orvieto. HisContinue reading “Orvieto Open City”

A life not lived. New York City. 1950 more or less. I was in my early twenties. In my family, one listened to classical music, Mozart, Bach, Debussy. My father frowned on so-called popular music and, well, I don’t remember what he said about Frank Sinatra and, I imagine, jazz. Time had passed and atContinue reading “Jazz”

It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. The sun streams in through a window in the wall that overlooks the square. Plants on the windowsill cast shadows on the floor, shifting shadows that change shape as two becomes four.  White curtains hang quietly on either side without a breeze to stir them, kept at bay byContinue reading “Windows”

Who is looking at whom I suppose that’s a good question. John Berger writes about seeing, and touch as one of our initial contacts with the world around us. We touch, we see, and eventually we will use words in out attempts at communication.  We see, we look at something, historically for various reasons.  But we areContinue reading “Looking”

Our loving faithful unquestioning friends. You’ve had a dog. You’ve had a cat. Or maybe several. You’ve loved them all and they’ve loved you, each according to his nature. Dogs will welcome you upon your return from town, probably wondering why you hadn’t taken them along. Jumping up and down and wagging their tails, theyContinue reading “Friends”

Until you try it yourself, you have no idea what’s involved in translating – perhaps the most challenging is poetry. Of course, you have to know both languages but then you realize what’s involved. Meter, rhyme, and all those other things such as enjambment, whether you’re writing a poem from scratch or translating someone else’s.Continue reading “Montale”

Once the dark of night was dark, a black sky with stars and perhaps a moon. Now, what nature had intended as a time of rest, has been usurped by man-made lights. Those outside my window betray the never-ceasing activity of man. As I lie there on my bed, attempting to shut out the light,Continue reading “A New Poem 2024, An Old Poem 2004”

Alternative version thinking of Luca Signorelli’s frescoes in the Cathedral. The breeze came down from the topmost spire and wrapped its arms around her, sweeping her along and up the stairs. There on the topmost step, with the great bronze angel  looming up on high, she stood and looked at the figures  carved in whiteContinue reading “Story For a Girl with Copper-Colored Hair”

The breeze came down from the topmost spire and wrapped its arms around her, sweeping her along and up the stairs. There on the topmost step, with the great bronze angel  looming up on high, she stood and looked at the figures  carved in white marble. And then she wasn’t sure whether they came downContinue reading “Story of the Copper Haired Girl Part II”

Part I: In the middle of the ocean in the middle of the sea in the middle of the plain a great rock rises up. Cliffs, smooth walls, there’s only one way in. One road you have to find as you wend your way along amidst the boulders and the cracks. Up high there’s aContinue reading “Story for a Copper Haired Little Girl “

Even though the weather report says otherwise, the heat doesn’t show signs of abating. An early morning walk is still quite tolerable, perhaps to pick up a few groceries, go to the pharmacy or the bank. Otherwise, I stay home, where I realize it is time to get my next post in. In a senseContinue reading “August’s Heat: Part II”

Because it’s August and because it’s hot Inspiration doesn’t seem to like the heat. Or maybe that I’ve been writing my blog since 2019. And sometimes I feel I don’t have anything new to say. Yes, it’s hot. But it was also hot when I was a child. Probably not quite as hot but thenContinue reading “August’s Heat”

A few weeks ago, a friend and I were leisurely walking the cobblestoned streets of my town, talking of this and that. At a certain point, our discussion turned to love and loss. “After a loss,” I said, “one has to sort of reinvent oneself. Find out who one is.” You looked at me andContinue reading “In The End We Are Alone”

Oh, ma! Your mom is always your mom. My son dropped by – he’s in his sixties – and handed me a shirt and — a button. I suppose he could have attached it himself, although my eyesight is a lot better than his despite my years. My younger son would certainly have pulled outContinue reading “Oh, ma”

Pre-dawn mental wanderings, images of things seen, read and remembered It is still dark enough, early enough, for the street lights to be on. How luxurious to stay in bed, knowing the day’s tasks can wait, not yet urgent enough to force me to get up. I pull the covers up around my shoulders. MakesContinue reading “Mental Wanderings”

Someone left a bouquet of field flowers by my door. Flowers picked along a country lane. Years ago, my granddaughter picked a fistful of English daisies that insisted on growing on the lawn. They were not weeds for me, and for a day they smiled at me from the glass where I had put them.Continue reading “A Bouquet of Summer”

Visitors to Orvieto walk the streets and wonder why there are so many signs telling passersby to move from one to the other sidewalk (if there is one). Sudden indications of a one-way street, leave the visitors unsure in which direction to turn their car and whether they can get around the upcoming corner. Really,Continue reading “The Town Walker”

The day is drawing to a close. It’s dark outside… Too early to call it a day as I reach out for a book from the rickety bookcase beneath the window. Three shelves with lots on Shakespeare, quite a bit of poetry, essays, a few novels, old favorites, some going back to over forty years.Continue reading “Bedtime Readings”

Seems the Japanese are particularly good at that, aside from Marie Kondo. Keep only what you really need, what is essential. Two pairs of jeans are quite sufficient – one to wear while the other one is being washed. Coffee cups? Generally, you and your partner need only two. If friends come they will haveContinue reading “Minimalism”

One who seeks an answer to the eternal why of life. One who loves words and the sound of words, the meaning and the structure, the way in which they inter-relate, attempting with words to build something finite where nothing can be added and nothing can be subtracted.  But what then are words? They areContinue reading “A Poet”

A photo. One of many in my computer files. Past, present and future. Like all photos but some more than others. Two people, friends, in front of a house. The house is gone but while the friends have aged, they and their scarfs are still around. It’s Christmas. There’s a wreath on the door. TheContinue reading “Final”

At times I do get into philosophical thought. While I’m not into philosophers, occasionally something does make me think more deeply. When I was at NYU, we were told to write an essay about our philosophy of life – I remember thinking – but do I even have a philosophy of life? Perhaps that wasContinue reading “More Thoughts: Seven”

The importance of memory. I’m not sure where I read this piece by Borges. Knowing that the author was blind, made it particularly poignant. While it didn’t apply directly to me, I now realize how, as we age, memory will be our life. Borges – L’Artefice “He (Hector) had never lingered over the pleasures ofContinue reading “More Thoughts: Six”

Then there was the guard at MOMA where I worked as a student when I was attending NYU. Before becoming secretary to Monroe Wheeler, my job was basically simple  – working in the ticket booth or selling books. That didn’t stop me from looking at the paintings whenever I could, or looking down from the rooftopContinue reading “More Thoughts: Five”

Since Augustine did not become a saint till later in life, this may very well be by him. Dancing with your whole body and mind is after all surrendering yourself to life. I’m not sure, though, whether his mother, Monica, would have approved. I would have left the angels nonplussed, for I never really learnedContinue reading “More Thoughts: Four”

If life is generous and the moment is right, a dear friend may suddenly surprise you by telling you about a poem by Mary Oliver on wild geese, introducing you to this poet of nature, a nature that you miss now that you are no longer privileged to be part of that world. Or youContinue reading “Three”

Once upon a time, say 20 years ago. When did it all begin? –and I don’t mean the eclipse. I mean when your life turns from being only what you plan and starts to include a dependence on what others think you should or shouldn’t do. Yesterday it was you who was boss, now graduallyContinue reading “Second Thoughts on Starting Anew”

It hits you all of a sudden. I’m no longer young. That’s one way of putting it. And then your sons are no longer young either. Not like me, but taking their share of pills and medicines. What strikes me most, perhaps, is the lack of inspiration. Oh, it will come, my friends say. SoContinue reading “Starting Anew”

Resurrection on the way. Thanks to a pacemaker and the patience and love of friends and family.

Life’s ebbs and flows occasionally necessitates a step back — a respite to reflect and to recharge. While Erika has recently hit the pause button for her blog, rest assured, it is only temporary and soon enough she will return to her digital canvas. To her loyal readers, Erika offers her heartfelt gratitude for everyone’sContinue reading “Some Updates”

Once upon a time there were small towns where the buildings, the people,  communicated with each other. But this is after all Italy where even now one lives surrounded by the past.  Stairs used to be outside – now they are almost all inside. Houses still touch each other as they march along the street,Continue reading “Arches”

You never know what lies behind a door. That’s the point. A door may conceal what was never meant to be seen. The odds and ends, the remnants,  of some magnum opus. The mundane residue of what once was grand. An open door may suddenly reveal three levels of  brick arches, piggyback one on theContinue reading “Doors — Who Knows”

A door is just a door. A gate is something more. Concealing. Revealing. Separating in from out. A door might be humble or it might be ostentatious, A gate may be one or occasionally the other.  Doors are shut, enigmatic, attempts to keep us out. Gates welcome February snows  or burning summer sun. When facedContinue reading “There Are Doors and There Are Gates”

Overnight it had gotten cold. No, it hadn’t snowed although some years it had. It was time to get up – one couldn’t stay in bed all day. She pulled out the first sweat suit she could lay her hands on. Not that she used it for jogging but just to keep warm while theContinue reading “Fire and Trees”

It was the last rose.  The deep red blossom  had not opened all the way  or perhaps had no intention of opening. Still I found it beautiful.  That was weeks ago.  Even now the rose sits there  in its vase.  The petals brown and withered. Yet even so I find it beautiful.  Not simply theContinue reading “The Last Rose”

One can also go from the so-called Villa to Orvieto by car. Once upon a timeshe lived in a stone house overlooking a valley. Almost every day she would cross overto the town on the other side.She might walkdown the cobblestone roadwhere in the past wagonshad rumbled, bearingwheat and wineand workers.Or she might drive hersmallContinue reading “Drive to Town”

While from my house, I could once walk on my own two legs down that cobblestone road called Tamburino, immortalized in Brockedon’s early 19th-century guide,  with a view of the town in the distance,  these days I need three, as in the sphinx’s riddle. But since even that, as things go now,  has become tooContinue reading “Walk Down Tamburino”

She sat alone  in the front seat of the car as it moved swiftly  through the hills, oblivious to the chatter around her which she could barely hear. It was night. The moon was playing hide and seek with the clouds.  Turner and his moonscapes came to mind. Tall ghostly grasses heavy with seed pods,Continue reading “Journey Through Memory”

New Year 2024 2023 has left us many memories of good and bad. It is now up to us to make new memories for the coming year. May the New Year open the door onto a new world, answer many of your questions and give you the strength to keep on going along the pathContinue reading “Happy New Year”

If you haven’t grown up in a religious family, you still celebrate Christmas. Although you may also celebrate Hannukah and Kwanzaa. To me Christmas is really a celebration of the family, of the joy of giving and receiving, anticipating what might delight members of the immediate and the acquired families. It is thinking of others. WhetherContinue reading “Christmas Memories”

1980s We all have memories. Our lives are basically memories of what we did yesterday, creating new memories for tomorrow. How little we know, of others, or ourselves. We may think we know, but do we? The world we have lived in. The people we have known. How we interacted. We can look back atContinue reading “Memory Two”

One of the most moving accounts of the past and memories is Tony Judt’s Memory Chalet. Succumbing to Lou Gherig’s disease, he gradually could live only within himself, within his memory. There he could relive the story of his life, a life that had moved through space and time, now captured in those countless roomsContinue reading “Memory One”

Camilleri. Thanks to Camilleri, his police inspector Montalbano and the small Sicilian town of Vigàta have become what might be called household words. Albeit the town so familiar to the devotees of the mystery series shown on television is a collage of various Sicilian towns, there is no real town by that name. Although CamilleriContinue reading “The Voice of the Violin”

I know I’ve written about the Blue Bar and its owner before, but this is a bit different. Besides which I have also discovered that he spells his name Antonny. For someone who has never frequented coffee bars (or any other type of bar), just to hang out and wile away the time, my relationshipContinue reading “Antonny and the Blue Bar”

A memorable cat. Her name was Thelma although I never did find out why my granddaughter chose that name, presumably thinking of Thelma and Louise. Over the years there was no dearth of cats in the family. Cats of all colors, from black to white to grey tigers. They had a variety of names: RadicchioContinue reading “Thelma”

It can get complicated when you have more than one friend with the same name. I’ve solved the problem by calling them James 1, James 2, and James 3. James 1. The meeting with my first James goes back to the 1970s in Florence when he was a student in my art history class.  MostContinue reading “My Three James”

As dusk falls, as the years gather like clouds, I sit at my desk searching, reaching for thoughts and words that sometimes seem to hover out of reach. The cat on the windowsill knocks softly on the pane. “Oh come on. Please let me in. It’s getting cold out here. It used to be funContinue reading “So Says the Cat”

Further thoughts on the book Pages flutter through the years. Their time-worn state betrays the fact that they were loved, meant something. Woe to a book, to a life untouched by time. The written word. Once impressed in clay, meant to be permanent. On papyrus, on parchment, paper, too easily devoured by fire. Now onContinue reading “Further Thoughts II”

The book. A repository of words, reflections, reduced with time to torn and mangled dog-eared pages. Ideas, words, thoughts on the verge of disintegrating. Set in print Before it is too late. What we had once thought ineffaceable gives way to that fugacious vocal surrogate, no sooner said than gone.  Before it is too late.Continue reading “Before it is too Late”