We all have addictions. I’m not talking about the big ones, after all, this is a family rated story. I’m talking about the daily little ones. The ones that don’t really harm anyone else, and don’t stop us from going to school, or work, or the gym. I’m talking about the mild little secret yens we all have. These are the callings in the middle of the night to sneak down to the kitchen to get “just one” (fill in the blank) to soothe us, to reward us, to help us get back to sleep
That’s my life. Lived through the digits of thumb to pinkie, lifted and released and let loose on those beautiful black and white pieces of slender rectangles that are strung together like a magnificent necklace of magical sounds. I express there - I rage and rant, and pray and become centered. Through those sounds that emanate from the striking of small wooden hammers on a series of strings, I am transcended, moved, made better.
This gift I have been given is mine for lif
We Italians have a gift for melancholy. And Drama –in the living room, at the dining room table, all over the house. We have a passion for good food and opera - for powerful, passionate heart stirring arias by Puccini and big plates of capellini marinara con formaggio. We love a good fight. We love a good, passionate make out session. We are never ambivalent – always black and white, very right or very wrong. We are not indecisive when it comes to feuds. We are unable to bloc