Tag Archives: Venice

Mystery Surprise

I’ve never much liked mystery novels.  I get either helplessly confused by the third chapter (Smiley’s People) or impatient that no one else figured out early on that of course the wife did it (Presumed Innocent). In fourth and fifth grade, I collected Nancy Drews, mostly to try to understand the intriguing world of teenagers, for which Nancy’s life, with her little blue roadster and her boyfriend named Ned, did little to prepare me. Tattered-jacketed copies of The Key to Rebecca and The Russia House sit on my bookshelf, as do biographies of the Romanovs and Winston Churchill.  Books I’ll … Continue reading

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Rising & Falling

I can’t get a certain floor out of my mind.  It’s tiled, worn, and – the best part, the part I can’t forget – undulating.  I’d attach a picture if I had one, but the entire time I stood on this floor, marveling at it and the gold mosaics around me, an officious guard with Nordic hair and a uniform one size too small kept calling out, in a harsh, beleaguered voice, “No photo!”  Many others disregarded him (as well as the prominent signs showing a camera with a slash through it), but I’ve always obeyed orders.  Just as well … Continue reading

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