A Bookish Affair: Review: Botticelli's Muse by Dorah Blume

A Bookish Affair: Review: Botticelli's Muse by Dorah Blume

People's March in Boston on January 21, 2017

A groundswell call-to-action to the people, by the people, for the people.

Mr. Trump, you owe us the courtesy of a response! We're all waiting . . .

Rome, then home, and back to the familiar

My last night in Silvi Marina I visited a miniature Luna Park, a name given to any place with a few amusement rides.

The next colorful sight was this street art in Rome just a few steps from the actual Vatican wall.

One of the biggest highlights of my visit to Rome was our trip to CineCittà where so many sets have been made for blockbuster films. Can you guess which two of the five shots of buildings are the real thing and not a façade made out of fiberglass?

Gatwick to Pisa to Florence to Perugia to Silvi

Words aren't coming easily tonight, so here are some pictures with captions to get current.

My one souvenir from London—a canvas bag commemorating the Queen's 90th.

My first view of the Arno from the bus from Pisa Airport.

The painterly view of the Umbrian countryside
from my room in Rancolfo.

The castle near Perugia where gifted artists spend six weeks
working on their projects. Civitella Ranieri Foundation.

Vanishing perspective on the tracks in Perugia
waiting for the first of three trains that brought me
to Silvi, a beachfront town on the Adriatic.

View from a beachside restaurant near my hotel in Silvi.

Crowds wait their turn to buy freshly made mozzarella and yogurt
at today's street market. 

A storm threatened but never broke.

European Adventure 2016

This all started when I moved to LA for April and May and rented out my Boston place as an airbnb destination. Can't go home again now until July 29. So I've been on the move enjoying my adorable granddaughter in LA and now finding long time friends in Europe. The European leg started on June 4 in London, continued on to Perugia, and since the 21st, I've been holed up in a little known seaside town called Silvi Marina where I'm attempting to "work" on the final stages of my novel Botticelli's Muse, which I'm expecting to release as an ebook by the fall of this year.

Rather than one long meandering post, I think I'll chop things up a bit with pictures and notes, starting with LA and London and catch up with the rest if I can do this on a regular basis. Do add comments, preferably on this blog or on Facebook. Climbing a steep learning curve on social media in an effort to be ready to launch the novel electronically, I've tiptoed into Instagram and Twitter and hope to get a better grasp of those vehicles (unlike the Tesla, they're not self-driving)....

Allora, here's a tiny piece of LA and then on to London where I was from June 4-15th. Thanks for tuning in.
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We've all heard of dog walkers but "People Walkers"? Only in LA

Granddaughter Raquel's first birthday cake, March 26, 2016

There's my son Michael (far left) at the conclusion of Foreigner concert at the Palladium
in London on June 7. Got to have him all to myself exploring London together on June 8.

Headless couple at London's famous Portobello market:

From a stall at Portobello Market

What drew me to London in the first place: a visit to
the Victoria & Albert Museum to see the show,
Botticelli Reimagined

Good writing can make the most mundane occurrence profound

Anime in Boston. Again.

Certain activities in my neighborhood mark my city calendar in my head telling me that time is passing. Spring brings Anime Boston, the Marathon, and this year the melting of the ice on the Charles River. Out walking a couple of days ago, I saw this guy in the open water negotiating between the floating blocks of ice. Then a few days later the street was dotted, then crowded with hundreds of folks young and older in full character.

Optimist or Masochist: bring on more snow!

I'm not one who's won much, but gaining the title of having lived in Boston during the worst snowfall in recorded history would be some kind of badge of honor, especially when the rest of my family is on the West Coast. And who wants to be in second place? A few more inches of the white stuff will take us to the top of the charts. Bring it on!

On March 7, 2007, on a balmy day that promised an early spring, I slipped on some invisible black ice and cracked my head open. Eight stitches later my body felt bruised and beat up, an outer manifestation of my crashing economic and romantic situations at the time. What appeared to be a beautiful day turned into a "whack on the side of the head" that got me moving in a new direction in my life.  What's the point here? I like what I can see. Not the invisible black ice hidden in some imaginary scene of happily ever after.

So when I go out walking in sub freezing temperatures like today, I relish the patches of gleaming ice I can carefully avoid. I like "snow days" when I can slow down the pace, eat junk I normally avoid, in short, get to enjoy sick days without being sick. Or it's like playing hookie without any penalty. I admit I have spent days streaming obscure TV series on Netflix without getting out of the pjs, but that luxury soon led to insomnia from lack of exercise. So I put on my trusty yaktrax, as you know from earlier posts, and resumed my Boston walking.

Today I saw these prickly nuts—excuse me I don't know the correct name—dotting the snow mounds along Massachusetts Avenue beside the Church Park apartment complex. I picked up several and took a picture of them (above) once I was back in my cozy apartment. A moment of beauty amidst the graying snow becoming more ugly with dog urine stains, cigarette buts, and assorted trash. Some new snow will cover the dirt, get us closer to first place, and maybe even give us a few more snow daze.

Counting "Smoots" is moot when you're trudging across the Mass Ave bridge.

More runners than you might expect are out doing their thing no matter the temps.

Perhaps I can be so cavalier because I do most of my work from home, and I gave up having a car over two years ago. I don't own a shovel and I'm proud of it! Condo living has its benefits and not having to dig out a car, go into a skid, or find overnight parking on days and nights of parking bans has gone a long way in my ability to remain unphased by most of this white stuff. Uber and Lyft have helped out as well as Enterprise Car Share for the days when I need a car.

Never retrieved since late January

There is an expression in Buddhism, "When the conditions are right, blossoms appear." So hold on because in a few long weeks we may actually see the crocuses bursting through the melting snow. But in the meantime, I say see the snow blossoms, the prickly inscrutable nuts dancing on the snow mounds and the invigorating air that can clear my head enough to see the beauty of the race for first place. We're expecting more snow tonight and into tomorrow. We're so close! Just a couple more storms and we can get the trophy.

My feet think I'm at the beach . . .

Yesterday when I ventured outside for a walk I broke the spell of being officially snowbound. As I was walking with my Yak Trax cleats I noticed that even along the sidewalk my feet were getting more exercise, more massaging than I would normally when walking cleatless on a flat surface. Wobbling through the heavy snow it felt like walking through a sand dune or deep mushy sand at the beach. Today since it was a balmy 30 degrees I ventured out again around 4 p.m. as the light was beginning to fade. When I got to the Mass Ave bridge I saw that the path was totally like deep sand and opted out of that to walk along the river. Here are some shots from that. My camera which has been dropped and abused over the years decided to freeze on me and I had feared that I had lost all the images. But sure enough they were all there and the lens finally went back inside the camera body once I entered my cozy, overheated apartment.

Like walking in deep sand with the bottoms of my feet purring even though they were inside my boots

A tiny spot on the Charles under the Mass Ave bridge along one of its supports

The entire Charles River was a blanket of uninterrupted white.

How deep? Deep enough to cover the benches.