In Love with France, At Home In Italy

While at the surgical supply store to rent Jim's crutches and wheelchair after he busted his fibula, I met this beautiful lady who was there to be fitted for some special shoes.  She was adorable, impeccably groomed by her loving daughter, and eager to share some stories. They did not hesitate for a moment when I asked permission to take their photo. It was a lovely interaction. Although to have to deal with the aftermath of a broken leg is no picnic, the opportunity to meet these very dear ladies was an unexpected pleasure.  A friend who has known me for 46 years asked a simple question:"So how does it feel to be the grandmother of such an adorable little person ?"  He realized what I should have:that I have taken hundreds of photos of the baby, but that I hadn't said what it feels like to be able to take them. When we first moved to Italy, I used to only half-joke that I aspired to be one of those Italian grandmas in the black stocking...

Looks like an ordinary mower, right? But let's take a closer look. Still doesn't look that special. And what's that white tag on the handle? There's a sad story, here, since the tag says, "return to customer. We can't fix it." Maybe it's defunct, but it still merits attention. After all, it was good enough for the Queen. Not every mower comes with its own royal seal, complete with a coat of arms and French slogan. Even if it can't cut any more, it deserves to be immortalized. REVIVAL The inevitability of endings has been leaving me bereft. But I am beginning to come to terms with them. When approaching the end of our rope, we often hear The end is in sight, Buck up. You are close to the Finish Line. After all the chromatic meanderings, think of the relief that accompanies a resolved chord. And there can be some surprises. Today while mowing with the new mower and lamenting the passing of its predecess...