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Why does a rose grow? 0

Dear Bradshaw,

I’m currently sitting on some cobblestones in Piazza Navona, about twenty minutes before my next lesson, so I’m taking advantage of this time to write you, buddy old pal of mine. I love days like this. Beautiful weather days, where you can just sit in one spot and breathe in and out while thinking about being alive and, more importantly, taking the time to realize you’re alive. Too much time (mine at least) is spent worrying about what I have to do tomorrow or what I should have done yesterday while running around and making plans and organizing my day. It seems I’m always going to or returning from work. If not that, I’m working. Otherwise, I’m sleeping or eating or showering or shaving or brushing my teeth or cutting my fingernails or buying groceries or paying bills or doing laundry or dishes or anything other than thinking about the fact that this is my life happening right now. Not enough time is spent sitting and relaxing and marveling at the miracle of existence. I don’t mean why we’re here or what happens after we die. I mean just understanding that you’re here now and wow! Isn’t that astonishing? Why ask why we’re here? After all, why is your hand here? Why does a rose grow? Why must there be a reason?

As I said, the weather is wonderful today, and good (not to mention wonderful) weather is a commodity in Rome, as far as California is concerned. Currently, a jazz band is playing at this end of the square and they’ve got a good crowd, me included. There are five musicians in the band and they really can jam. Opposite them, about twenty yards away, someone is dressed up as the Statue of Liberty. His face is painted gray and he’s wearing a long gray gown and holding up a plastic torch. There’s another one toward the center of the square dressed up as the sarcophagus of a pharaoh. I’ve never really understood human statues, but they’re doing their thing in big cities all over the world so they must be making money.

Well, that’s it, Shaw, nothing else to say today. I feel calm, as if I’ve had a glass or two of wine but I haven’t. Not before work, buddy. Can’t do it. There’s nothing worse than drinking wine and then having to work. No sir! I leave the wine until after work, as a reward of sorts. Anyway, it’s almost time to teach.

Hi-yo, Silver, away!

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