December days are still getting shorter and the afternoons bring a chill. Time to rethink and reorganize.
I am determined not to lose the sense of expanded time and space and light we had wandering in Italy.
Since my first art history class in 1970 I have been waiting to see Siena. For one week this stone house built eight hundred years ago will be our home.
But still, don’t lose today. Today is always the only one we’re in.
Siena, Lucca, Elba, Venice and Rome. We’re taking the trip I’ve been dreaming of since art school, forty years ago.
Day after hot dry day under the enormous blue skies of northern New Mexico we dug into the past.
Totally delicious retirement time. Time of my own. Then the phone rings.
What’s the trouble with change? It keeps moving around, that’s the trouble. And it rattles me. You’d think I’d learn.
An artesian well with a long handled pump for water, a rain barrel for outdoor showers. No electricity. We lived with the hours of sun
Clothes: all worn for important occasions but now unworn for decades and totally unlikely to ever be worn again. And then there’s the closet that holds everyday clothes – no, not today’s everyday clothes.
I have more faith in an organic garden than I do in a pill laboratory with wondrous financial incentives.