Her second day in LA, Fiorella nearly destroyed a rabbit-headed, peacock-tailed, angel-winged byzantine ostrich charmingly concocted by Younger Son's friend Pam. Trying to snuggle up to the cutie, Fio bumped it off balance. She grabbed for the neck to stabilize it and the head came off in her hands. Fio was aghast at what she had wrought, but Pam said it was repairable. (Thank you, God.)
Fiorella does not like the protective glass imposed over artwork in museums such as the Norton-Simon. Not only does light glare off the glass, but the barrier muddles the depth. The paintings look flat, dead--dead and embalmed. Fio thinks paintings should be allowed to breathe.
If you haven't gotten an e-mail you were expecting from Fiorella, it's because she seems to be able to receive messages, courtesy of the motel's hook-up, but not to send them. Chalk it up to either Fio's electronics-negating super power or the Rocky Mountains.