Today. And every day. Forever.

I was in no hurry. Visiting La Maddalena Island off the north coast of Sardinia. Strolling along the waterfront. My Italian true love leading the way. A little too fast for me. I like to take my time. Observing. I'm an observer. I insisted we sit down. On a concrete bench. Along a palm tree lined promenade. Facing the harbor. On the Mediterranean Sea. I could have stayed there for a long time. If not forever. Watching the people. The activity. The scenery. Things I might not have otherwise noticed. Unless I focused. Became aware. Conscious. I glanced back. Over my shoulder. At the woman walking a black lab. Or was it the dog walking the woman? The black lab wanted to become acquainted with a German shepherd. Finally, the woman relented. To the pull of the leash. The shepherd's owner noticed. Beckoned the woman and her black lab. Soon the two dogs were sniffing noses. They could have become friends. The lab was a female. The shepherd a male. Old. Gray around it's mouth. A loose muzzle around it's neck. The shepherd later limped away. I suspect it had hip displacia. So common with shepherds. I glanced down to the next bench. Two men, maybe in their 70s, chatting. One wearing a beret. The other a visor cap. His leg awkwardly crossed. I wondered about their conversation. Out of curiosity. Told my true love I'd eavesdrop. If only I undertsood Italian. I would have liked her to listen in. And translate. But she wouldn't do that. She respects privacy. I don't. Maybe it's because I was a journalist. For almost my entire life. Earlier, we were seated on a long bench across from the La Maddalena city hall. A man with a Tolstoy-like long beard at one end. I took a digital photograph. Without him knowing it. My true love cringed. Thought I should have at least asked his permission. Across the way, a stylish woman in high boots was standing, talking to a middle-aged couple seated on a bench. Took another picture. My true love cringed again. I like the freedom of noticing and recording people. I'm for privacy, too. Within limits. I talk to strangers, too. That ain't invading their privacy. Anyway, back to the promenade. Two youngsters stumble by. Having fun. As their mother traipses behind. Looks like a family outing. It's Tuesday. Not a weekend. But it's a religious holiday in Italy. Lots of religious holidays. Seems like one every week or two. That's an exaggeration. But I like to kid my true love. This holiday is meant to honor and remember the dead. Loved ones. Italians flock to the cemeteries on this day. But there's no cemetery in sight of the waterfront promenade. Everybody is very much alive. The way I like it. I have no desire to focus on the dead. I zero in on the living. Making it a living holiday. Oh, I remember the dead. But at my convenience. In my own way. I don't need a holiday for that. It's late. The sun low in the sky. Reflecting off the jagged cliffs across the waterway. Seems like a sign from a holy spirit. Maybe from a dear loved one. From Valhalla. No need for me to visit a graveyard. Because her spirit is very much alive. Today. And every day. Forever. --Jim Broede