Our truck was parked in the mud, hidden behind the kitchen building on private property, so a repo driver looking for it could not easily spot it. Would they even find us? Did the truck have a GPS tracker we didn’t know about? Technically, it wasn’t our vehicle anymore, by then it had fallen back to the bank because we had been unable to make the monthly payment we had agreed on. A contract on a piece of paper, isn’t it like a promise?
Husband and wife who had been separated see each other again, and they fall into each other’s arms. They exchange a passionate kiss, they hug and hold on to each other, then they walk into the sunset, holding hands, happy to be reunited again. That’s how it would be in the movies or in books. The perfect scenario of a married couple still being in love after so many years.
In what kind of sickly world can you be overqualified for any job. Mother Theresa and even the Pope sat down and washed the feet of people we like to call undeserving -weren’t they overqualified? Some kings and leaders in history have purposely traded places with their servants. Yet, here we are, we live at a time were you cannot get a job because you are overqualified. Exactly since when do we punish people for their education?
The next time you see a homeless person on the streets remember me, please. As vulnerable as I come across writing about the time when we were houseless, they all feel the same way. Everybody has a story. Now, let’s continue mine.
I had never heard of ‘Sausage Kitchens.’ Turns out they are everywhere in Louisiana. You can even buy homemade sausages at some gas stations. Just like slices of pizza are sold on the streets in Italy, the people in Louisiana enjoy their Cajun sausages everywhere -and in many variations.
I have a disease that can take up to fifteen years off my life expectancy, and I happen to find this highly inconvenient. I have been setting the age of my demise at 80′-something, so fifteen years less would mean I could say bye-bye with 65, which is just not an option. Don’t you dare cheat me out of my years!
Last week I met an older lady and her senior Wiener dog. She had brought the dog with her, “He doesn’t like waiting in the car,” she informed me and I told her it was fine with me. Our dogs were sleeping somewhere in the house.
“What’s his name,” I asked her and started padding the dog.
“Martini.”
The smell of fresh baked cookies was lingering in the air. We were playing outside and the scents coming from my Grandma’s kitchen drove us crazy. I don’t think there is anything more tempting to a child than warm, fresh-baked cookies.
The first time I visited Rome the Capital City of Italy, only 6 hours away from our farm in South Tyrol, I felt at home. I had never been there before, but had walked the streets of Rome for many hours in my mind at school, when we learned all about the Roman Empire. I had wept for the innocent and poor who were tortured, or were just a human toy in the brutal games the rich invented to entertain themselves and the masses.
When the sense of smell is lost you can almost get depressed. Anosmia is the clinical term, something I knew nothing about. Sadly, now I do. Four months after my husband and I tested positive for COVID-19 I still can’t smell a thing.
Sometimes for a split second, I think I can smell my perfume or my husband’s aftershave. When I get our beds ready for the night and spray my favorite room spray, which is supposed to help us to relax and sleep well, I seem to catch a short sensation of Eucalyptus and Spearmint but it instantly fades away. My brain playing tricks on me?