So I got slammed.
Slammed, as in blindsided.
As in knocked a foot into the air, crash-landing on my knee, elbow, and hip.
Momentarily becoming disassociated if not unconscious.

Daydreaming can be terrific. Not in traffic, please.

Daydreaming can be terrific.
Not in traffic, please.

Reconnecting to reality by virtue of the close face of an earnest, solicitous 25-year-old male bending over to pick me up.
“Don’t touch me!” I snapped to prevent further damage, not knowing yet where I was hurting; what was broken.
None of the above, as it turned out.
Well, I was hurting, but I’m pretty good at suffering in silence.

A moment later, he still hovering, I extended my left hand which he reached for while bending to take me under the shoulder as well.
Wanting to help.

“No! Just the hand,” I directed.
He did what he was told.

I stood up, a bit wobbly, and dusted off the impacted areas.
He was properly apologetic, non-stop solicitous.

But I noticed the traffic light had changed in my favor.
“It’s alright,” I repeated twice, and then another time as I left him and his bicycle, crossed the street, and continued my walk to the café.

City born and bred.
Alert, always.
Not on this occasion.

The accident confirmed my suspicion that I shall not die of natural causes.
I mean, today I shall not die at all.
But when it is my turn, I am blessed by knowing how I will take leave of my blog:
Slammed by an auto, never knowing what hit me.

My penchant for daydreaming.
Stepping into the street while my mind is on the Medici family.

In the case of the bicycle, the accident took place as I stepped out of the Public Garden onto the sidewalk.
The bicyclist was mostly at fault, riding his bike on the sidewalk, driving against the traffic flow, driving too fast for conditions.
But ultimately, a city-boy, I should have been more careful.
I was daydreaming.

Daydreaming while I walk.
A favored daily preoccupation.

I have too often broken off from a daydream to find myself in the middle of the street.
Going on for years.
All my life, really.
But the odds keep stacking up against me.
When will I step out onto the street at the same time a driver is as careless as that bicyclist?
The driver might even be that same bicyclist.
Will he recognize me?
He will if I’m prostrate.
How he met me.

When the time comes, I will not be interested in who the driver is. Was.
When the time comes my last thought will be “Who still owes me money?”

Tagging Today
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
My 230th consecutive posting.
Time is 12.01am.
Boston’s temperature will reach a high of 45* that will feel like 37*. A good chance of a rain or snow shower.

Question of the Day:
Just how did Michelangelo carve marble blocks?



Second from left:
And a hammer.

Second from right:
Fine chiseling. 

Even more gentle.

Posted on November 28:
Love your notes.
Contact me @

Here’s one from Jim Pasto:

We are having a good weekend.
Thanksgiving was just us, with a nice fire in the woodstove on that cold day. 
Yesterday was Amaya’s 16th birthday!
She had some friends over night before and I made her an Italian meal yesterday, then cake and ice cream,
and a loving Mom – the usual.

Please tell Kat I said hello. Tell her I do my Yoga almost every day.

Web Meister Responds:
Sounds so family!
With mom. of course.
No holiday without mom.

Answer to Question of Day:
Just how did Michelangelo carve marble blocks?
This piece is derived from Irving Stone’s “Agony and the Ecstasy” as well as Wikipedia.

After measuring the block carefully, Michelangelo knew he could accommodate the deep gouge, left by Duccio so long ago, by carving the statue on a diagonal. 

With astonishing facility, he knew where in the marble the David statue lay.
The limitations of the block forced a simplicity of design on him.

He needed to create a strong vertical structure beginning at the right foot,
running through the right leg where it was supported by a short tree trunk,
continuing through his thigh and torso,
and the width of David’s giant neck, face, and head, the neck so tremendous that he could work on it without fear of the head breaking off.
This shaft stood David erect with no chance of inner collapse.
The marble came alive.

As the key to the Bacchus statue had been the arm raised high to hold the wine cup,
as the key to the Pieta had been the Virgin’s face,
the key to the beauty and the balance of the David was David’s right hand enclosing the stone.
This hand with its bulging veins created a width and a bulk to compensate for the leanness with which the marble’s gauge forced him to carve the straight left hip opposite, and for the delicacy of the right arm and elbow.
This is the form from which the rest of David’s anatomy and feeling grew.

Michelangelo used a variety of instruments to develop his ideas.

He used quills for their scratchy look which gave him a skin-like texture.
From clay, he liked the effect of the soft-moving flesh, like the abdomen.
And from wax, he smoothed over for the elastic, pully texture.
But once he was settled on the final looks of the sculpture he put all f his aids away.
He made his final decisions at the marble block, not from sketches or drawings or models.

My goodness.

My goodness.

Michelangelo used nail heads to mark the most extreme frontal projections, the left foot, left knee, right wrist, left elbow and hand at shoulder.
These set, Michelangelo could carve the line upsurging from the knee through the thigh and chest, delineating David’s hard physical stamina, the flesh of the belly in which David was feeling quivering of anxiety, the left hand holding the slingshot, the great right hand standing cocked, rock at the ready.
He carved the spine carefully, indicating that it carried and directed the whole body and was the mainspring of all movement.
When his right hand tired he switched hammer and chisel and used his left.

At this point in the process, the figure became aggressive.
Began to push out of its mass, striving to define itself in space.
His work pace had had to keep up.
He had a feel for the center of gravity of the block, the core, and felt the balance of the arms, legs, torso, head as though they were his own.
When he sliced away the marble he knew precisely how much flesh he could spare.

Using candles, he worked through and sleep, falling down exhausted, fully clothed.
Often a week went by before he changed his clothes.
He was perpetually covered in marble dust, throughout his hair and in every orifice.
In hot weather he worked in his drawers and sandals scampering up and down the scaffolding like a cat.
So far from Leonardo who bragged of painting in his finery, never getting a drop of paint on himself.

He left the neck, head and face to the end.
By that time, to Michelangelo’s dismay, Cardinal Piccolomini had become Pope Pius III.
Fearing the Pope would call him away, he locked his studio to visitors and worked even harder to get the statue done.
Not necessary.
Pope Pius III had one of the shortest reigns in Catholic history, one month.

Freed from that pressure, work on the finish became totally pleasurable.
He carved the face tenderly.
He produced one of mankind’s greatest works of art.

Piccolomini would never look for Michelangelo in here.

Piccolomini would never look for Michelangelo in here.

Good morning on this Wednesday, November 28, Christmas now 27 days away.

We talked in detail about being hit by a bicycle, manner of death, and, again in detail, Michelangelo’s sculpting process.

Che vuoi? Le pocketbook?

See you soon.