What I Don’t Know (could fill a book)

02 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by in Education

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I start filling up this book with “Flintstone.”

(Actually, there’s an historical exhibit back in the Rome Hotel which holds the place of honor: a wall-to-wall series on “Economic Rome,” with a separate plaque about Roman slave labor, worth the “photo op” to me at least.)

But I was saying, before Truth broke in with all her matter-of-factness about the exhibition, I’ve no idea if there’s flintstone in these here hills.

(For a real travelogue, take a side-trip to The Shady Forest by clicking here. [A note bene to the wise: great story, wrong region: alas, and alack, my kingdom for an “i”!]  Or else carry on with this “shaggy dog” of a story here.)

Since anyone who shares the peccadilloes of a misspent youth knows our cartoon set is laid in Bedrock.

10 Hours a Captive

31 Sunday Aug 2014

Posted by in Travel

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In the span from Charlotte to Roma, a person finds the time to grow old.  Ask an aching body, a weary mind.

In the span from Charlotte to Roma, that old person spares the electronics to fuss with the paper and to stare into space.

In the span from Charlotte to Roma, the one in retro phase nods off once or twice, but far too briefly.

In the span from Charlotte to Roma, other odd pairings come along: a) two meals to pick at; b) two flicks to check out; c) etc., d) my dear old “etc.”

In the span from Charlotte to Roma, neither one of us can see why “Beam me up, Scottie” shouldn’t work.

Touchdown: Eternal City, an hour late.

Flight 720: From Here to Eternity

24 Sunday Aug 2014

Posted by in Travel

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I’ve been thinking about our upcoming flight from here to eternity (or Charlotte to Rome, as the attendants at US Airways would say).

I’ve been thinking about slow travel, the kind that lets us nestle in Spoleto for seven weeks with just a few side trips.

I’ve been thinking some about another grand adventure from Here to Eternity, the Commedia I will carry with me on an Air Book.

I’ve been thinking about family, the dear friends we’ll be leaving behind at home, and the close ones from afar that we’ll meet up with at Venice Mestre.

I’ve been thinking about this prompt, overused to the point of driving home the point of a carriage return in this first post.

I stop for now, awaiting the many connections that lie ahead.