Ann Leary, author of The Good House
Author of The Good House
I am thrilled to have found a site, online, that has posted all of Mark Twain’s Innocents Abroad, unabridged, chapter by chapter. Below is a little sample, but you should really read the rest of the chapter because Twain goes on to write about how outrageously he and a few of his friends begin to abuse their hapless Italian guide by playing the part of the stupidest Americans to have ever set foot on foreign soil.
Usually, before a trip to Europe, I like to reread one of my favorite books – Mark Twain’s classic, Innocents Abroad. Yes, I borrowed this title for my book, An Innocent, A Broad. If you’ve never read Twain’s book, I implore you to do so, (likewise mine).
Here’s what you do in paradise.
You wake up each morning to the warm music of a Mediterranean coastal village – the distant sing-song voices of children from the beach below, the quiet droning of motor boats and then the quaint clap of bells from a nearby chapel. You open the doors to your terrace and the sky and the sea are all around. The sea is blue. So, so blue. The sea here in paradise is the deepest and truest blue I have ever seen in nature.
In the mornings, Denis works on his computer for awhile. I gorge myself on fresh fruit. I bathe in a tub that seems to float above the sea. I slather self-tanner on my skin and then flit around the room naked, for fear of staining the white upholstery in this delicious blue and white room. I fret about the children and worry that my life is too blessed, that tragedy will soon follow. Then I put on a robe, walk out onto the terrace, drink it all in and delude myself that I’m worthy. That’s how we begin each day, here in paradise.
Yes, yes, yes, we’re in Positano! You’re all so good at geography, maybe you’ll be able to answer this: There are three small islands that we can see from our terrace. Here’s a photo from a restaurant in our beautiful hotel – you have to look carefully to see them. Can anyone name the islands and the famous person who once lived on the largest?
Some of you correctly guessed the country, but can you guess the town/region? Here are more photos. The poems are clues too. Later in the week, I’ll reveal the name of our hotel, which is, now, our new favorite hotel on earth. We decided today that we must come back here every year. But more on that later.
Today, the owners of this exquisite hotel took us out for a ride on their vintage, wood-hulled speedboat.
We toured the coastline:
Well, we’re on our little holiday now. See if you can guess where we are. Here are some clues.
Yes, that’s me in above photo. Even I didn’t recognize myself at first. My hair was a little weird from the flight. Likewise, my face.
A poem for today.
Current
by Anna Piutti
Fibers,
flesh. Electricity
transudes through a
sigh.
Sun-bordered clouds migrate from
your eyes to my core:
swooshing of curtains, temples
like drums.
Hypnotic pulsations mark lines
between dreams
and life, as
time contracts in us.
And with the last loud blink
of a light bulb,
the shadows withdraw,
and kaleidoscopes convulse.
I was in in Manhattan the other day and, as is usual when I’m downtown, I kept peering up to see what was going on with the new High Line Park. Mayor Bloomberg has done some great things for New York City, but the greatest, in my opinion, has been the development and improvement of parks in and around the city. The coolest of these is the High Line Park, which, I believe, was mostly developed with private funds (David Bowie was a major contributor). It’s now semi-complete and runs above the streets and over rooftops, on what used to be elevated train tracks. Here’s some info I lifted from the High Line website:
Taking the camera out for a test
I stuck the elf upon a wall.
She thought it not the safest nest,
Snoopy, wide-eyed, was appalled.
And then a poem came to mind,
As I gazed upon the stones and elf.
So I present it forthwith, (yes, I’m kind).
Who knew that Frost believed in elves!
Mending Wall
by Robert Frost
Yesterday I went to Steep Rock twice. In the morning, I took Mark. It was sunny and so chilly that I had to wear gloves. Perfect riding weather. We came across my friend Helen and her son Rowan on the trail.
Helen competes in triathlons, and her son is obviously a swift little fellow. Mark is still on the tubby side and we were left in their dust. My friend Leah started jogging past and we kept pace with her for awhile because Leah and I needed to chat. Eventually, I said goodbye to her and I steered Mark over to the old railroad bed that runs along the road.
This weekend, in addition to attending my friend’s son’s graduation party (he’s our dear friend too – congratulations Adam) and trying to install a garden, I met Lauren Lipton and Marie Bostwick for coffee. Marie and Lauren and I first met last month, while doing a reading/panel discussion for the Litchfield County Writer’s Project and we all had such a great time that we decided to keep in touch. Yesterday, we were just settling down in Marty’s, the local coffee place, when Davyne Verstandig, also a writer and the head of the LCWP wandered in, and the four of us had a three hour gabfest.
