exploring life and love with pictures and words
When I moved to Italy, I traveled light, selective about the contents I’d be carrying in only two suitcases. Yet, a small glass dish, the kind that holds jewelry or coins, made the cut. I couldn’t resist the call of the six-words that covered its surface. WHY NOT HAVE A BIG LIFE? Safely sandwiched... Continue Reading →
“Fa Caldo!” It’s hot! I hear the phrase again and again, as the temperatures along Lake Como have been hovering in the low 90s for days. My cousins and I escape the heat in Mandello, and head for higher ground in Lierna. It’s not significantly cooler, but there is a small pool, a garden hose... Continue Reading →
I wake up long before my alarm, my bladder is in charge these days. I don’t get up right away. Instead I lay in bed and ruminate about those things that are large and looming in the darkness and somehow fade away in the light of day. Shuffling to the bathroom I wonder, why are... Continue Reading →
I slide the window shade up a few inches, careful not to let too much light into the airplane. We are pretending it’s nighttime as we chase the sunset on this flight. The cabin is quiet. I cannot sleep and I cannot resist the view, thirty-eight thousand miles above an enormous snowy mass somewhere over... Continue Reading →
I sit shotgun as my cousin Moira zips down the tiny, narrow streets of Somana into Mandello. Windows down, the mountain air blows through the car. She taps her horn and waves to passing cars and neighbors who brave the walk. They shout Ciao, Buon Giorno! Their greetings trail off as we speed past. I... Continue Reading →
Tapping away on my keyboard, I reread phrases, type and delete words, and feel a range of emotions in the span of a few hours as I write. Sometimes my emotions are a reflection of the content itself. Other times they are conflicting expressions of belief and doubt in my ability as a writer. One... Continue Reading →
Scrittrice. . . The Italian word for a female writer, and extremely difficult to pronounce. Sometimes when I power walk along the canal I say it out loud, repeating the tongue twister slowly, trying to get the sounds exactly right. “Sono scrit-trice, Sono scrit-trice” I am a writer, I am a writer. Sylvia, the woman... Continue Reading →
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 daughter this afternoon and learned it was raining there too. As we chat I can hear my eight month old granddaughter, Aria, babbling to herself and laughing. I smile... Continue Reading →
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 right person, imagining which photograph in the bunch might be their favorite. Luca always gets the unusually shaped ones or those with Italian words written across them. His momma... Continue Reading →
My Faithful Friends, Tis the season to show some gratitude . . . and give a little love. I am grateful to all of you for reading my stories and supporting barenakedinpublic.com for the last three years. Your kind words of love and praise have encouraged me to keep on writing even when the words... Continue Reading →
Bare Naked in Public 