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The Florentine
Every Sunday morning, a foursome of ladies in their eighties comes to squawk beneath my windowsill as if they were seagulls looking for bread. Actually, only two are seagulls. The other two flit rather than swoop-and to be fair, their comments sound much more like chirps than shrieks. Nonetheless,
The Florentine is turning 100. In issues-not years-and to celebrate the occasion, Marco, one of the four men who still begrudgingly pay for the paper to get printed, has demanded I write a fatto bello that suitably commemorates its birthday. Our conversation was not that simple, of course,
‘A marriage is not just between two people-it’s between two people and everyone else,’ my Italian friend told me a week before her wedding. And thankfully, in a sudden stroke ...
Italian singer Ligabue has set several of his rock songs in a bar called ‘da Mario', and if I ever find it, I'm stepping inside. It's where desperate people decide to either give up or buckle down and where lovers find Valentines even when February's over.
My family doctor sees no evil and hears no evil. If you don't believe it, stop by his office with a wild case of whooping cough and ask him to eavesdrop on the rise and fall of your lungs. Truly, his stereoscope won't find a wheeze in you.
Italian weddings are sorely lacking in bridesmaids. In fact, in Italy, the ladies who stand beside the bride are called ‘witnesses' and they simply wear an elegant version of their everyday clothes. Elegance is the only thing Italians understate. In all probability, however, the day I get married,
by Linda Falcone I have two mothers who happily reside in the same body. Not that my mother could be guest star of a freak show featuring the likes of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, or that schizophrenia is a prominent part of her gene pool. This dual disposition
In real life, I'm much more private than I am in print. While hidden behind an ink-filled page, there is no downside to divulging one's innermost reflections. But ask me what I ate for dessert last night and I'll fidget about chocolate being far too personal
Once a week, I force myself to turn on the television. Something might be happening out there, and I might need to know about it. My fleeting desire to be ...
Geoff and I met years ago, during a training program in Florence, where I was the teacher and he was the student. Slightly younger and substantially smarter than me, he always did his assignments well and often waited for class to end to tell me I'd gotten something pitifully
