Happy Sunday. It's overcast and rainy here in central Florida--a perfect day to curl up with a good book. Enjoy today's preview and consider making "A Sign From Heaven Sent" your choice for an entertaining read.
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“How long can you stay this time?” His dry tone of voice expressed his unvoiced disbelief at my glib remark.
“A few days, few weeks, I don’t know, Paolo. I need to recharge my batteries, and make a decision about what comes next. My experiences as a cultural anthropologist in the combat zones of the Middle East over the past two years have wearied my soul. With luck, I’m hoping this trip will give me the solace I need to answer the question, what next—and that simple question includes plans for what to do with the rest of my life.”
I read sympathy and understanding in his dark eyes and I had to look away. “Do I go back to teaching anthropology at the University or do I retire, grow tomatoes, and preside over elegant salons? I guess I’m waiting for a sign.”
“Oh, yes, un segno de Dio, the old Italian standby. What do you suppose will constitute this sign?”
Although his comment and tone of voice mocked my superstition, he grinned at me as he took a sip of his drink. I grinned back at him and felt a small sliver of normality slide into my heart.
“Mi scusi, Signore, do you wish to order your dinner now?” The waiter approached the table, and we turned our attention to the menu. When he left, Paolo took my hand and placed a light kiss in the palm.
“What is that in aid of?”
“The months in the desert have taken their toll, cara mia. Now I see you, I don’t wonder you feel so burned out, and have a desperate need to find yourself, and your place in the world to which you have returned."
“Thank you, amico mio, I knew you’d understand. This is why I’ve come here to Venice instead of returning to the University. I know what my team and I did made a difference, but now . . .” I broke off as the waiter placed our dinners in front of us. The food smelled wonderful.
“Così, per la signorina—il vitello Marsala, e per il signore—il saltimbocca. Va bene?”
“Si, grazie. Niente più.” Paolo dismissed the waiter and turned his attention back to me.
“You must rest and let me take good care of you while you are here. Allora, we will enjoy our dinner and talk of breath, fire, and glass, not of war or universities.”
I appreciated his words and wished it could all be that easy.
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Thank you for visiting with me this afternoon. The direct link to Amazon for this story is