Ice, Ice, Baby

By Mary Anna Violi |@MaryAnnaVioli

  It will be 4 weeks ago this Tuesday, February 19, that I slipped on an ice slick in front of a local CVS Pharmacy. While I thought I could pick myself up, I found that all I could do was spin in circles; the ice was so widespread across the front of the pharmacy. Fortunately, an elementary school teacher and her adolescent daughter came to my rescue. The three of us shuffled carefully across the sidewalk to enter the store.

   There were several positives in the aftermath: I didn’t hit my head on the concrete, nor did I break any bones. My doctor did tell me, after a thorough examination of my injuries, that I would have large contusions. She was right; I did. Major black and blues appeared with 24 hours or so, as did the swelling in my right hand in the fleshy part, and in my right thumb. Basically, from my right shoulder on down past my knee I resemble a yellow and bright purple tie-dye.

   I must give credit to Kate Spade: as I was flying up in the air, thanks to the ice slick, I landed on my sturdy leather Kate Spade bag. My layered clothing and black faux fur lined leather jacket helped out too, as did my Heat gloves. Since my new pale green jeans suffered no tears in the fall, I felt slightly less hostile about the event. However, I was indignant that CVS hadn’t salted its entire front entrance. “We can’t keep up with the salting,” I was informed. “You had damn well better keep up with it,” I fumed. Later that night I learned that Car accidents abounded too. The ER’s at both of the big hospitals were filled with people who had been injured on that Tuesday’s ice. 

   The next morning, my entire right side ached. Aleve helped, but I’m right handed. I couldn’t write, type, or lift anything! To say this was a humbling experience is an understatement. Fastening my jeans pained my right hand to the limit, boohoo, poor me.

Whenever I pick up medicine, I use the CVS drive through. The day of the freezing rain, CVS had placed a large sign on the drive through stating that the drive through was closed, and that patrons must enter the pharmacy. Had I not needed to take the medication that very evening, I would have postponed picking it up.

   In the immortal words of Annie Hall, “La-dee-da, la-dee-da”! I’m on the mend and more mindful of ice, baby.

   Ciao for now.

Addicted to Woody

The bridge shot
The bridge shot (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I unabashedly admit to being a Woody Allen disciple. Early on, I sought out his movies.  Then in 1977, my ardor swelled with Annie Hall.  After dragging friends to behold the magic of Diane Keaton and Woody Allen, my mission was to convert my entourage to the distilled essence of this perfect film.  In 1979 along came Manhattan, and I swooned for Woody all over again.  We college students agreed that Manhattan could only have been filmed in black and white with George Gershwin’s surging music a powerful underpinning to the storyline.

Match Point jarred me; it was such a darker sort of Woody film.  Yet it was not when I remembered Hannah and Her Sisters and Stardust Memories.  I prefer not to reveal the number of times I have viewed Vicky Christina Barcelona; suffice to say I worship at Woody’s altar.

In 2011, I was front and center to take in Woody’s latest flick, Midnight in Paris.  The Cole Porter songs wafting throughout the movie mesmerized me.  I remain enraptured of Midnight in Paris and the luminaries of the Lost Generation it evokes.

To Rome With Love opens in New York and Los Angeles today, with me sitting in The Heartland, eating pasta with pesto and fagioli for lunch, but alas, one needs sustenance even when dreaming of Rome. My spirit is channeling you happily in Rome, Woody, even though I believe you are already writing your next film, perhaps set in Venice.

Ciao for now.