The journey continues . . .
Scrittrice. . . The Italian word for a female writer, and extremely difficult to pronounce. Sometimes when I power walk along the canal I say it…
The magic I have . . .
It’s raining in Milan, gray and dreary. I wonder if the weather has anything to do with how I feel, missing home. I talked to my…
The magic is everywhere. . .
Sipping my coffee, I assess the postcards that lay before me on the small counter top. I am purposeful about choosing the right card for the…
Thanks for the love . . .
My Faithful Friends, Tis the season to show some gratitude . . . and give a little love. I am grateful to all of you for…
Keeping the faith . . .
Since arriving in Italy, I have spent a good amount of time visiting churches, cathedrals and even an abbey. It’s not unusual for me to pass…
Thanksgiving . . . Italian style
Thanksgiving . . . my favorite holiday This year I will spend it far away from my family, my home, my country. Traditionally, my family cerebrates…
So far . . . pretty good
Not sure of the time, but I know I am calling it close. Racing down the station steps, the familiar rumble and long slow hiss of…
The nearness of you . . .
A light breeze blows through the kitchen of my uncles’ home, a little relief from the hot steam rising above the iron as I press a…
Bare Naked in Italy . . .
I quietly dig through my suitcase, trying not to wake him with shuffling and organizing. I glance over my shoulder and he is fast asleep, face…
A path along the way . . .
I have chosen a new path these days, or perhaps the path has chosen me. The coastal breeze of the Pacific Ocean no longer cools me,…
