The cold, light drizzle, like a heavy mist, envelops the van as it pulls from the curb outside the Banco di Roma below our apartment building. In the rear window, we can see the seven blond heads bobbing in their seats as the scuolabus carries them off for another day at the American school, 33 km north of town. I turn to Carol, and give her a hug and a kiss. Continue reading
This week, the Freewheeling Freelancer resumes his ride along the Danube, riding from Vienna to Passau in Germany. Come back here tomorrow for another sea story.
Thanks,
JT
Right after Christmas 1985, I kissed my wife and son goodbye, and flew to Naples, Italy, for my second NATO tour. Carol stayed behind to sell the house, while Daniel finished the school year. Continue reading
This week, the Freewheeling Freelancer resumes his ride along the Danube with a visit to Vienna, Austria. Next week, come back here for another sea story.
Thanks,
JT
Springtime. In North America, the trees sprout that lighter green that Carol calls her favourite colour in nature. In Italy, it has stopped raining for weeks on end, and the sun kisses the terracotta and tufa gently, not hinting of the burning heat that lies ahead in the summer. In England, the grass is greener than ever, and the days are cool and sunny. Continue reading
