Month: April 2017

Give Way: a dreadful last day in Roma and a surprisingly lovely time in Gatwick and now home

It is 5am and I am up to walk my old dog. Not bad. My clock is only off by two hours. I slip on my sandals and they still have sand in them from Gavitella beach. The moon is high in the sky as old Tartuffe and I stroll around sleepy Little Italy. I am delighted to see that tulips are just coming out now, the cherry blossoms are in full matrimony and the rhodos haven’t popped. My children are sleeping. I am tempted to peek at them both, having missed them muchly. But being teens, this isn’t the…

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Praiano: the path of the Gods

Rough hewn Crosses along the path invited me to think this must be a “stations of the cross” sort of camino. I reverently approached the marble carving near the stairs. Instead of seeing the Christ enduring Roman torture, I saw…two pigs copulating…with…a man trapped underneath? This is either an extreme take on the prodigal son or this is also the path of other deities. The hike from Bomerano to Positano up and across the mountainous cliffs of the Amalfi coast is called The Path of the Gods: Sentiero deli dei. It takes the average person about three and a half…

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Praiano – a walk to Torre a Mare and other heavenly things

I’ve been listening to some soft spoken Italiana singing “Hotel California” as I watch the sun set settle itself all pink and sexy over Positano. I am on my last sip of limoncello after a lobster linguini and a terrific little hike. I am suddenly pulled into the past and into the deepness of a feeling when the Italiana is replaced with Kate Bush. What?! Kate Bush?! Did I listen to anyone else in the nineties? Amazing the feelings that can come with music. It doesn’t matter that I’m 47. It doesn’t matter that I’m in Italy. Kate sings and…

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when I know I’m ready to start a new play

Fireworks went off over the town of Positano along where the luxury hotels are. Must be some celebrity’s birthday. I headed out to the balcony to see and stretch my legs. The quiet doves are tucked into their nesting tree beside me and they could care less who just turned 41. They had the same blasé response to the busses that tried to pass each other on the narrow cliffside street outside my balcony this afternoon and one of their mirrors got ripped off. The doves completely ignored the mother shouting at her children at dinner, “time to come in and…

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