Mornings fool you. A lingering damp chill in the shadow of the buildings. I always hesitate, maybe I do need that jacket after all. If you visit, trust me, you don't. The sun is the brightest I've ever witnessed. It almost bleaches everything into white. Except skin of course. I'm a little smarter, I never leave without sunscreen. But those poor souls so enamored with the glare — now red-faced and purple-hued. It seems that the travel agencies setting up these jaunts through Italy fail to mention simple protection. (And clearly these tourists are not reading Rick Steve's.)
But I can understand the love. After months of freezing, sneezing, coughing and chill, I feel naked in short sleeves. All of this new warmth bouncing off of me. Seeking crowd-less shade and knowing the importance of sunglasses. Blinded and pasty, I've emerged to the surface again and found being exposed in the shimmery glare worth the winter.
A few notes: women who would like to help construct a guide for detecting the wrong sort of man please check out Shelby's blog. Anyone who knows how to remove mold from old books without damaging them, let me know (yes, I've checked online sources). And if you like dancing cats, check out this link supplied by the fantastically funny Sarah (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpA2tMrQ4RU). Everyone needs an oddity for the day, yes?