A good sign.

I take and revere Italy. Any way I can get it. Even without speaking much Italian. Wish I could master the language. As well as I speak and write English. But that won't happen. Not at my ripe age. Maybe if I were younger.  Yes, I find excuses. And blame too much on age. But still, I walk 10 miles. Daily. And I write. Daily. And I travel.  Cavort, too. While flitting back and forth. Between Minnesota and Sardinia. Sometimes, I settle for observing life. But mostly, I participate. It's a little like talking and listening.  One must strive for a delicate balance. Fortunately, I have a bilingual Italian true love. A very good confidante -- and translator.  Where I'm weak, she's strong.  Helps, too. That where she's weak, I'm strong.  We balance each other. That makes for a good relationship. I'm an American. But I'm feeling like an Italian. That's a good sign. --Jim Broede