How Am I? So Glad You Asked

I'll be fine, really

At our last monthly Ambulance Association meeting, Bernie, our EMS chief, announced that flu shots were available to those members of the crew who wanted them.  Apparently, EMTs are eligible for free flu shots or something.  Actually, I’m not entirely sure what Bernie said about the shots because I felt that it was important to inform those around me that I’ve never had a flu shot.  ”I’ve never had the shot and I never get the flu,” I whispered to K, who was seated to my right. (I’ll protect the privacy of all EMTs in this story except Bernie). K whispered back, “Me neither.  I don’t think I’ve ever had the flu in my life.”  Then M, on my left, offered, “I’ve never had the shot either. I never really get sick.”

New Beautiful Things (and Old Things Go)

Photo by Devin Leary

AUTUMN MOVEMENT, by Carl Sandburg

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.

Photo by Devin Leary

Happy Anniversary Ploughshares

Do you all know about Ploughshares Magazine? If not, please  allow me to introduce you to one of our country’s most lauded literary journals.

In 1971, at the Plough and Stars pub in Cambridge, Massachusetts, DeWitt Henry ( a former Emerson teacher of mine) and Peter O’Malley created a magazine that would be a platform for diverse literary passions by inviting established writers to guest-edit most issues of the magazine. Forty years later, it remains Ploughshares’ mission to provide a national forum for the work of emerging writers and new work by established writers.

Le Cose Belle

We’re back from our trip to Italy. I only had the iPhone for photos, and I wished, once we arrived, that I had brought a real camera, but honestly, the scenery and light in Italy are so extraordinary that it’s impossible to take a bad photo, no matter what camera you are using.

We have been to other parts of Italy, but this was our first trip to Florence.  Our plan was to spend 5 days in Tuscany, and then to take the train to Naples and then a car along the Amalfi coast to Positano, to visit our friends Carla and Antonio Sersale, the owners of the fabulous Le Sirenuse hotel, and two of our very favorite people on earth.

Now We Are Here

Positano is heaven, even in the rain

Il Palio

Yesterday we took a little tour of the Tuscan countryside, courtesy of a very charming Florentine driver named Salvatore.

First we visited the beautiful medieval town of Siena which is famous for Il Palio – the summer horse races that take place in the astonishingly small town square. I had seen the races on American television and have always been amazed at the talented jockeys who ride the horses bareback. Yesterday, Salvatore explained that there are 14 horses in Il Palio – each representing a contrade or district in the city. People become very competitive with each other during the season and good friends will suddenly not speak to each other if they are from a competing region.

Such Bargains

Denis has no understanding of foreign currency rates. Fortunately he has me along to explain what bargains we’re getting. 2 euros is equal to 1 dollar, right? More or less. I’m pretty sure it’s something like that.

Bellissimo

Last Night Walking

Under Packed

Denis and I always make a big deal about the fact that we never check in luggage and we always carry on about carrying-on. We actually believe it says something about our moral superiority that we can embark on a journey to two European cities with a few pairs of underwear, some jeans and a dress (in my case, Denis prefers a kicky skirt). When we arrive at our destination we shake our heads with pity at the poor, overburdened souls who must descend the escalator to the God-forsaken baggage area (I’ve actually never been to the baggage area bur Denis assures me that it’s a veritable snakepit) and we skip off to customs with our tiny satchels and itty, bitty case with wheels.