Darby Girl's Perspective

Day Twelve: No history lesson. Today I was a celebrity. The hair. I have a lot of it and it is beginning to look pretty bad after all this travel. Caesar arranged that I meet stilista extraordinaire Alessandra Martella and have a salon morning. His nephew Fabio Pennoni joined us and I never had so much fun waiting for my hair to process, listening to all theee of them and trying to follow the conversation. When we finished up around eleven, we all had coffee and dolce and then went on a scavenger hunt through the market for a particular kind of baby bib for our grandchildren that the moms at home love, laughing all the way, particularly at my inability to remember the word for bib. Bavaglino. Nearly time to meet my kind and thoughtful cousin, Danilo Toscani Del Nibletto for pranzo at one of my favorite local places located high in the hills. Fabio offered to drive us and Alessandra agreed to join us too and Caesar decided to take credit for arranging for me to have a stylist and dri...

It is my birthday. It is nearly Thanksgiving. The two celebrations dance around one another each year, occasionally landing on the same day. That is appropriate. Being born. Being present another year. Even the tough years, I am grateful for the experience of being alive. Born and reborn again as time changes some things, but not everything. At least not at once.   So, on the anniversary of my birth, I wish to thank the people who make this fragile but resilient thing, we call life, a happy one for me. For the gifts they give me each day of the year. Thank you to my children, Ali & Mark, who have grown into adults who rescue kittens, help old people, say hello to everyone and are optimistic about the future. You give me hope. Thank you to my partner, Caesar, who walks alongside me even when I am literally and figuratively tripping over myself. I can’t think of a more patient person willing to consider my “brilliant ideas” nor a more adventurous companion to m...

Watching from a second floor window as you walk to the school bus, I am ashamed at my impatience with you. If you were not so easily distracted you would not have noticed the bluebirds flying in the trees between the houses, whose yards you shortcut through. I pray that Mrs. Kennedy is still sleeping on this Tuesday after a holiday weekend. Hope that she won't notice you again walking on her finely manicured lawn. Especially now, since you have slowed down to watch the Bluebirds dance in her Bradford Pear tree. The dew clings to the grass beneath your feet and I am sure your ankles must be wet and I consider how uncomfortable I'd feel walking in damp shoes all day. I remind myself that none of this, Mrs. Kennedy, wet shoes or imminent bus, weigh even slightly upon your head. The way the sun is coming up behind the houses makes you look almost golden. Your red baseball cap climbing the hill now as you turn to watch the birds fly into the woods behind our house. Big, yellow schoo...