First Thoughts

In the month prior to my return to Italy this year, and every day there, my thoughts strayed and settled on Alberto, the friend whom circumstances once obliged me leave behind in Italy. Deep indeed is the memory of that precious friendship, intricate and strong the stitches in the bond I shared with him. A native of Italy's Veneto region, he was, and I am confident still is, a man possessing a heart as pure, as strong, as humble, as perceptive, and as kind as I have ever known. When I last saw my friend in 1994, I knew our parting would likely never see a reunion. I left him, and Italy sorrowful, but not in vain. I knew that my heart was made for Italy, that my life was meant for Italy, and that my voice would find its deepest range in Italy. I just didn't know how, didn't know when, and certainly didn't know why. I was packing my bags for home, filling them with Alberto and the Italy he held within him, storing up for the dry season ahead.

Fifteen years on, I am happy and privileged knowing that twelve days in 2009 Italy can be lived joyfully and thoughtfully enough to conjure memories of that blessed friendship. Happy and privileged to know that twelve days lived well can bridge 365 days x 15 in a snap, and reveal to suspecting souls a new wealth of cultural and personal epiphanies.

For reasons I hope you will discover in the reading, I dedicate this journal of Italy to Alberto, wherever he may be. His birthday is August 7, a day dedicated to San Casciano, a happy coincidence I realized only after the fact.

Avanti!