THE GIFT OF TIME--"IL FAUT CULTIVER SON JARDIN," SAYS VOLTAIRE

WHILE MY COLLEAGUES ARE BUSY EDUCATING BRIGHT, YOUNG MINDS, I HAVE THE PRIVILEGE OF WORRYING ABOUT WHAT TO DO WITH OUR TOO MANY WHITE PEACHES AND THREE VARIETIES OF APPLES THAT, DAILY, FALL FROM THE TREES. IN THE PROCESS, ITALY IS EDUCATING THIS NOT-SO-BRIGHT OLD MIND. I USED TO THINK OF FALL AS HERALDING THE END OF THE WORLD, WITH ME POISED ON THE EDGE OF A PRECIPICE. IT'S GOOD THAT IT'S POSSIBLE TO TEACH AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS.

And speaking of dogs, our rescue dog, Murray, now 91 dog-years old, whose rascally misadventures you may have read about before (See 

• MURRAY THE WONDER DOG (WHO WILL JUMP THROUGH HOOPS...) is now on his third summer sojourn in the Italian countryside, where he's become a new "man." Like my favorite childhood animal, Ferdinand the Bull, he's learned to lie back and just "smell the flowers." 

He's come a long way from being abandoned on the streets of Puerto Rico, where he was a monolingual "sato," Spanish for "street dog who needs to survive by his wits." Now he's a suave multilingual dude who understands, but only responds when he feels like it, to commands in English, Italian, and Slovene (especially when my skilled daughter-in-law gives him training sessions with the encouragement of a sausage tucked into her bikini top.)

Yes, Murray and I are both so grateful for this gift of time.