"I had leave the house of self-importance
To doodle my first tattoo
To realize a tattoo is no more permanent
Than I am, and who
Ever said that life is suffering
I think they had their finger on the pulse of joy
And the power of transcendence
Made its grace a practice we can employ "

So this dove and me, we're going to be together for the rest of our lives. When I grow old (hopefully it will come to that) and wrinkly and my hair is gray and my skin sagging, I'll still have my little dove. She can remind me of who I was, or hopefully who I still will be. And of Italy. And of Chio, the Brazilian Italian who needled her onto me. And perhaps I'll get tired of explaining to people what "pace" means. "No, I didn't misspell peace . . . No, it's not a homage to Pace Picante sauce, though I do love Pace Picante sauce . . .No, I'm not particularly found of pacing . . ." It's peace. I lived in Florence when I was 21.

And here is a picture of me and my roomies on Halloween, sans Melissa who is taking the picture, and Isabel, who owns the pink hair I'm wearing.

None of us really dressed up as anything in particular. We just dressed fun. My pink hair created quite a reaction wherever I went.