In Love with France, At Home In Italy

Mamma Natura really threw us a curve ball on the second Saturday in August. This has been a record hot summer with temperatures in the high 90's, all of which has led to fabulous produce--football-sized luscious tomatoes, my new purple pole beans, beautiful white eggplants, peppers, peaches, yellow plums. But then we had a crazy hail storm that caused a "domino effect" on my normally invincible tomato and bean supports. ZUT! NUTS! OY! PORCO MISERIA!   These poles used to be vertical! What's wrong with this picture? Everything! Still attached to those crooked poles are loads of heavy tomato deliciousness. Whatever you do, DON'T try to sit here! (This was part of my incompetent attempt to solve the problem) Now what? It's definitely time to call for reinforcements! Our neighbor, Farmer Galli who, except for his magical aged sheep/cow manure normally keeps us out of doodoo, had surgery tha...

To be the lone dissenter in a "do not resuscitate" order–that's one place where one's voice counts. That was the situation when my father was in the hospital after what seemed to be a terminal event. My ever-kind baby brother disagreed with my position of lone dissenter who was not ready to give up on dad. I understood where he was coming from when he said, "Would you want your last memory to be of someone frantically pounding on your chest?" No, but if it turned out not to be my last memory--that I would live to have a few more--I might be grateful for that. In dad's case, the cardiac arrest situation fortunately did not present itself, and we did get an important two-and-a-half more months of vital memories. Was the disagreement over whether to resuscitate part of the drama of the eldest child – which tends to include certain reservations about sharing? As I continue to try to focus, develop and print this "p...

First I'm going to flush my toilet, and then I will explain.   And keep in mind that all of this is after many things went bump in the night. The weather gurus predicted a middle-of-the-night thunderstorm, but little did we know what would accompany it. Our pump—the very one that brings water to the house to be used for functions such as toilet flushing—was in need of an electrician. When you live in the middle of the countryside where electrical problems occur with regularity, you need a man in your life like our Mirko. And of course his work partner of the moment. But no visit from Mirko would be complete without an update on his pretty partner in life.   Portrait of the Electrician as a Young Man So here come some highlights from what was at the time the latest chapter in the amorous adventures of Mirko and Nicoletta. (Full disclosure: this piece has been gathering dust in my iPhone Notes for the past three years--kind of like the marriage plan...

HOW ABOUT HERE, INSTEAD OF IN THE CYBER-MUSEUM OF HALF-BAKED IDEAS THAT IS THE “NOTES” SECTION OF MY IPHONE ? I used to think that handwritten stuff on yellow pads was safe from oblivion/extirpation, but now I see that that was my naive, techno-dunce Luddite self, speaking. That self-description hasn't really changed, but having had a lot of those yellow pads go missing over the years, I am starting to see the error of my ways. Even if they do resurface, then what?  Rather than continue to be haunted by these poor, unanchored bits, I've decided to give them their moment and see what happens.  In the storied writing course where I am both teacher and student, the course chair tells us that to write is a discipline. No lolling around waiting for the Muse. You're the one who's got to show up! But to have a limitless-seeming space like a NOTES section on my phone is an irresistible invitation to hoarding and procrastination. In this type of t...