When I was eighteen, my cousin Umberto visited us from Italy. I sat in the passenger seat of Umberto’s rental car as he sped through a red light at a busy intersection in Hartford, Connecticut. I shrieked, “Stop. Stop. You’ve got to stop!”
Umberto smiled. “In Italy, red light is optional.”
Umberto wasn’t kidding. When my husband and I visited Tuscany last fall, we discovered that some Italians considered all rules of the road optional.
If you listen to our programs on a regular basis, you know Gerry Krueger – the Albemarle County resident who has spent much of her life watching and writing about the geese on a pond near her home, including one disabled bird named Charlie.
She also taught school and tutored children with special needs, like Sean, who lived with his deaf mother and struggled to speak, read and write.
Today, she’s retired from teaching but has not stopped writing about the birds and about Sean.
There are delightful surprises sprinkling the path to falling in love again at my age. I’ve always been something of a romantic, but in the last few decades that blissful trait has been buried under the weight of getting older, crushing some of the sense of delight and discovery necessary to maintain the magic.
In the past few years, I’d not even entertained the thought that fresh and adventurous romance was a possibility. I didn’t miss it because I didn’t expect it.