In Love with France, At Home In Italy

(I've been writing about a different kind of shots in the context of J's medical situation, but when I heard two loud bangs this morning, this next post is what came out.) Yesterday our Italian valley was totally tranquil. Today's gunshots tell a different story:it's the first day the hunters have license to shoot birds. That means it's no day for a walk in the woods. My slender brother, Leigh, who last September at 63 died suddenly of a heart attack, loved birds. As kids, we used to watch excitedly what appeared to be the same sparrow family nesting atop a pillar on our front porch. Leigh never outgrew that  passion, continuing to feed birds from wherever he lived. Now he lives in the Sons of Jacob Cemetery in Minnesota. I still love birds, but less loyally than he. On the other hand, at our 44th anniversary lunch which coincided with the ceremony for the unveiling of Leigh's headstone, something made me decline the offer of the guinea fo...