Dated, and sent from me to me, the postcard signals the beginning of an adventure: The menu from a dinner enjoyed in the Umbrian town of Perugia follows, reminding me of how delicious the Veal Escalope with Red Chicory was that night.įinally in a smaller box labeled PARIS, I find what I'm looking for: a postcard with a view of the city's loveliest bridge, Pont Alexandre III. Next comes a ticket to the Museum of Garden History in London, and the receipt for a pair of black silk pumps with four-inch heels, bought in Milan and worn once. And here's a program from a student production in Oxford of Much Ado About Nothing. Here, for instance, is the bill for the ten-dollar cappuccino I drank one morning in Venice at the Caffe Florian. Although I've been searching for a particular item, it's fun seeing whatever turns up. This morning I got out a box containing some reminders of where that decision took me. Six years ago, on a winter's day not unlike this one, I sat at the same table and made a decision that, for me, was quite daring: I decided to take a chance and temporarily jump ship, so to speak, from the life I'd fashioned for myself. An ice storm passed through Baltimore last night, and I can hear the evergreen trees outside my window creaking under the weight of their glazed branches. I write this sitting in my cozy kitchen on a wintry morning, my old cat dozing beside me on the warm, hissing radiator.
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