Merry Christmas, Signora.
Buon Natale.
They say they built the train track over the Alps between Vienna and Viennese before there was a train that could make the trip.
They built it anyway.
They knew one day the train will come.
Any arbitrary turning along the way,
and I would be elsewhere.
I would be different.
What are four walls, anyway?
They are what they contain.
The house protects the dreamer.
Unthinkably good things can happen even late in the game.
It's such a surprise.
Fefe said you have to live spherically in many directions.
Never lose your childish enthusiasm.
And things will come your way.
Dear mom, it's market day in Cortona.
The piazza is an ongoing party, and everyone is invited.
Cliches converge at this navel of the world.
You almost want to laugh,
but you can't help feeling these Italians know more about having fun than we do.
I eat a hot grape from the market,
and the violet sweetness breaks open in my mouth.
It even smells purple.
I wish I could stay longer, but the bell reminds me of time.
“Ding-dang-dong" the bell says, instead of "ding-dong"
I wish you were here.
To my surprise, I have become friendly with Mary.
I think it started the night she stood by me through the storm.
Knowing full well I'm not a Catholic.
Yet, somehow, she seems more like Mary, my favorite aunt, than Santa Maria.
Aunt Mary is everywhere here, her calm presence assuring us
that all things will go on as they have before.
Merry Christmas, Signora.
Buon Natale.