It’s October 1993. Our son Ben is working in Boston during a gap year between college and medical school. Stephen, my husband, and I, intending to check out Ben’s apartment and see how he’s doing, pack our bags and visit … Continue reading October 1993
Stories that evoke our deepest pains, like our regret for withholding love from those closest to us, like a need to fill the void of their absence, or our inconsolable calls to their spirits—in the dark, in the shower, or … Continue reading Of Love and Regret
Next to the kitchen’s French doors hung a cage large enough for several uccelli or songbirds, gorging on grains and figs or singing their full-throated calls. Continue reading Birdsong in the Kitchen
Every morning around 7:00 in casa Chellini, Teresa the all-purpose donna, housemaid, and scullion would knock on our bedroom door, ask “Si puo?”which meant, “May I come in?” and after hearing one of us answer, would enter bearing a wooden tray always set with the same objects: several thin slices of stale bread or dry toast, two small slabs of butter, a tiny pot of jam, two coffee cups and saucers, and a small pot of bitter coffee next to a little sugar dish,two tiny spoons, and a small pitcher of milk. Continue reading A Tavola: Breakfast in Firenze
I was nineteen years-old, far from all that was familiar, and immersed in a new language I’d only begun to study seriously a year earlier. I’ve been musing lately about those first six weeks outside Siena Continue reading In Casa Vivante, or a First Stay in Tuscany
As I raise a warm mug to my lips, steam wafts over its rim and carries the citrusy scent of chamomile tea to my nose, a scent never failing to remind me of a very bad day. Decades ago, I … Continue reading The Tea That Saved Me… Sort Of
It was autumn in Europe. I was in Paris. No chestnuts were in blossom. No holiday tables sat under the trees. The sky was overcast, and I hurried through drizzle without an umbrella. I’d taken a break from my … Continue reading Autumn: Paris to Firenze (Florence)
Marie and I, newly arrived in Florence, Italy, were strolling on Borgo Ognissanti and turned the corner to use public toilets at the Excelsior Hotel. Home was still a mile away and we’d had too much coffee at the … Continue reading A Close Encounter of the Italian Kind
(A Less Than Idyllic Day in the Italian Countryside) The first blow to my youthful naïveté fell in Tuscany, a week shy of our group’s transferring from Siena to Firenze (“Florence”), Italy. We were 14 college juniors, young women about … Continue reading It All Went Wrong
“Vachement chouette,” a common expression for wonder and pleasant surprise, in the streets, in cafes, well, almost everywhere in Paris. Continue reading “Vachement chouette” or “Cowly Owl”
