It's been an interesting few days. Mom called early Saturday morning saying she needed to go to the doctor's office, so I took her to the clinic at the hospital. She's got pneumonia so they admitted her for treatment. Every day she's getting better, but I've been unable to focus on just about anything what with running to get things for her, visiting her, and generalized annoyance/worry that my routine has been interrupted. But I decided last night that I should at least be writing to a prompt every day so my fingers don't get rusty or my brain cells go on the blink, so here's what I wrote last night.
January 25--Hvar, Croatia. Like a little slice of Italy, the village of Hvar perched on the edge of the sea with its orange tile roofs and white stucco buildings. The town crowded right down to the paved strand where the blue of the Aegean lapped at the ancient limestone blocks, old when the last doge sailed back to Venice. Hvar was a refuge for the middle class of tourists who couldn't afford the rates on the Costa Brava or the Cote d'Azur but felt compelled to spend a holiday by the sea. Enterprising natives had turned a few old houses into guest houses and hostels, and a few wives made themselves famous for old family recipes served with the chewy local bread and jugs of hearty red wine that should have aged for six more months.
Look, writing!
--Barbara
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