We hit a snag.
It was an ordinary evening—or so we thought—when the dinner discussion morphed into a mild debate, which then turned into a significant disagreement, just before the fight broke out. Now, it seems to have been a strange topic that neither of us really remembers at this point. We do, however, recall in crystal clear detail the feelings that accompanied the fateful conversation that seemed to go on and on and on. (more…)
Everybody wants to watch the sunset, don’t they?
Whether we want to or not, it won’t happen for us because we live on the shady side of the hill. That means the days seem much shorter because shadows start creeping in early from the late afternoon sun. Sometimes it feels like dusk, yet when we drive around the hill there’s a beautiful sun-filled day still underway, with seemingly hours left to go. (more…)
C’era una volta, once upon a time . . . in the Tuscan hills just north of Florence, Italy, lived some very poor farmers. Their homes were usually one room, built high in the mountains, where both family and animals dwelled together. Life was difficult, but they were thankful for what they had. (more…)
We both saw it at the same time—a squalo, shark swimming across the late summer turquoise sky. I’m serious. Now, don’t tell me you’ve never seen such an outlandish thing. It happens all the time. In the summer when the air is warm, sometimes they come out for a dip. They love to glide through the calm sea of the sky. In fact, there are all kinds of things swimming around up there! (more…)
Rolling fog. Watch and wait. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does, you have to be ready. There can be nothing more important. Drop everything you’re doing, just let things fall where they are because something very special is about to happen—lasting only minutes at best. I quickly needed to move into position because the fog was rolling in. Usually, it works its magic when no one is watching, so only those alert and ready can actually bathe in its cleansing mist. (more…)
Monday morning Italy wakes up.
Saturday is considered a work day, but usually only until lunch. Then shutters are drawn, metal doors rolled down, and phones are silenced—all in anticipation of Sunday, when everything seems to be closed. Trying to find a loaf of bread on Sunday is like a squirrel searching for an acorn in December. (more…)
“Maybe we should collaborate! After Scott’s wonderful 10-day visit with us in Tuscany, that simple phrase about a collaboration appeared in an e-mail. Hmmm . . . our curiosity was piqued, so we tacked on a p.s. at the end of our response saying, “By the way, what is it you were thinking when you mentioned a ‘collaboration’?” A week later a message appeared in our mailbox, punctuated with an attachment, entitled Proposal. (more…)
Candlelight over the valley.
After a long hot day of working on our stuff, we settled into the usual chairs at the old table outside the kitchen door. Dusk was steadily creeping up over the hills, touching our bare feet, cooling us down on the now shady terrace. Shadows deepened within the underside of the grape arbor, as a breeze rustled the white paper napkins held still by our favorite blue-handled utensils. This is the time of day to give up all striving, surrender to the sound of an unknown chatter in the nearby woods and soak it all in—breathe as if to allow insight or the gift of ancient wisdom to arise.
That is how our world was yesterday evening at 9 pm. (more…)
“Check that latest draft message and send it on if you’re ready!”
Morning voices bounce through the hard-surface stairwell with collaborative news. We each sit in front of our own computers on different floors typing away. We are once again reminded how connected this life has become. Most of our e-mails are signed “c and e,” making it difficult to tell where one starts and the other leaves off. This, of course, is a tricky balancing act—how to keep healthy individuality in the midst of significantly integrated lives. But for us, it’s a challenge worth taking given the possibilities. (more…)
After an hour and a half hike, we found it!
The ancient stone structure was tucked into the mountainside—moss covered its roof. The old wooden door had been replaced with an iron grille denying our entry. Curious to see the inside, I inserted my hand into the small square window to the left of the door and snapped a couple of photos. Hopefully, the camera flash would light the inside of the stone cottage and we’d be able to at least visually enter the space. I withdrew my hand from the shadowy recess and pushed the review button. (more…)
Uncommon promise 