Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Written Against the Odds

Except for the Jesus portrait Fiorella did for her brother when he was a child, Fiorella does not do religious paintings. She considers them, even the famous masterpieces, to be fantasies that all too often people take for real and embed with supernatural powers, like the Russian icons, like "holy" water, like religious medals. For Fio, God is all around us, in every breath we take, and the veneration of material items is a mistaken form of worship. (No, Fio would never have bitten off the toe of a dead "saint" and take it back to Rome with her.)
Now that the weather has turned, Fiorella is turning her attention to her rocks again. She emptied the trunk of the car of the bigger rocks she'd filled it with a couple of months ago and filled her little red wagon full of smaller rocks she'll back the bigger ones up with, if any of that makes any sense. If it doesn't make sense, blames it on the scorpion sting and the mosquito bite Fio got while clearing out her rock pile.
WARNING: Dora, la computadora, has been acting up lately and Fio doesn't know what's going on. In case Dora doesn't heal herself, Fiorella might be out of touch for a day or two.

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