Feeling the pulse of real life.

I'm in a medical clinic waiting room. In the city of Carbonia. In Sardinia. And it's an incredible and captivating scene. I see three old ladies. They look like old country peasants. Wearing babushkas --scarfs on their heads. And wearing long, full skirts. They are crippled. Bent over. One with three-pronged canes. One in each hand. She creeps along. A few inches at a time. Another is assisted by a middle-aged woman. Maybe her daughter, who fetches a wheelchair. And then the challenge of fitting the heavy-set woman into the chair. Four of us rush to her aid. We succeed. And the old woman smiles. In relief. To be seated. To be moved. Comfortably. One wonders about these women. All of 'em lovely. In their own ways. It's as if I'm living in an 18th or 19th century novel. In another time. I feel wonderful. Privileged. To be here this morning. I came to accompany my true love. For a routine medical test. And I'm treated to characters. All around me. Everyone unique. Men with big, full moustaches. A woman with what could pass for a hunting cap. Another woman wearing an immense furry collar. A man donned in a maroon beret and a tan sweater, with hands in his pockets. I am seeing scintillating Sardinians. Feeling the pulse of real life. --Jim Broede