Segesta is a magical archaeological site, located in the high hills of Northwestern Sicily.  A visit in the late afternoon, when other tourists were heading out, allowed a mystical impression of a very special place.

Apparent facts escape me at this moment.  Only that Segesta was occupied by various peoples, over thousands of years.  The Greeks, of these parts, built the unfinished Doric Temple.  The city, eventually conquered by other Greeks from Syracuse, was given another name, but was later won back, and returned to its old name of Segesta.  In time, the Romans conquered Segesta, and because it was associated with Troy, they lifted the tributes most cities needed to pay, and gave it vast expansive lands.  Segesta turned into the most powerful city state, in all the Mediterranean basin.  In later centuries it was occupied by the Normans. There are even traces that Muslims resided this land.

Mainly, I was left with the exhilarating sensation, from climbing the high mountain to the Amphi-theater.  The sun, lowering on the horizon cast a soft light on the many shades of lavender, white, red, and yellow flowers that swayed in the breeze, and lined the pathway.  The arduous walk up the mountain afforded beautiful views of the surrounding valleys, and looking back, the splendid Temple, rose up to the sky.

A final walk down the hill and back up to the Temple, completed the experience.  I stood in front of the golden structure, of thirty-six pillars, and walked around all four sides, with less than six other straggling tourists.  The sun was even lower, and soft shadows rested against the golden colored stones.  An un-explicable feeling of lost time, lingered in the air. It was then time to venture back, and leave the park.

View of the Temple, from the hillside.


“Someone sent me flowers.”

There are gifts that stay with you, for as long as you live.  I still remember the surprise I felt for dolls I unwrapped for Christmas. Will never forget when my brother and his girlfriend showered me with small gifts for my golden birthday.  There was a colorful piggy bank, wicker nested suitcases, and candy sticks with stripes.

Many special gifts color my memory, in time. Last year, someone surprised me with a picture of flowers on Mother’s Day.  Here they are!

Mother's Day '17 dd
Happy Mother’s Day!




Friday afternoon on a plaza of a working class neighborhood in Rome. The recorded history of Testaccio goes back to 2BC.  On the south side of Rome, early on it was a place to store discarded remnants from imports. In the nineteenth century it was industrial and lacked adequate sanitation, electricity, and water. Living conditions were abhorrent.

During the 20 century fascist regime of Mussolini, it became the home of middle class office workers.

Today it is becoming gentrified. Attracting a few tourists it is still untouched by crowds of people, and retains a pure Italian culture, and lifestyle.

In this neighborhood are the non catholic Cemetery, and the Faculty of Architecture of Roma Tre.