The Jotter Pages…..what’s his name?


The Jotter Pages are a glimpse into one of my many notebooks.  The italics are the actual writings from my jotter and the roman type are my comments today.  This entry takes place in Florence, Italy 1984

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Saturday Afternoon

After my visit to the Galleria dell’Accademia to see Michelangelo’s David, I stopped at a souvenir stand on the street.  The guy at the stand was really funny and wound up taking me to a cappuccino bar for a drink, leaving his stand with no one to watch over it.  While we were sipping our frothy cappuccinos, he asked me to dinner.  I told him no, so he went out into the street and began telling strangers that I wouldn’t go out with him.  He begged for their sympathy while I giggled with embarrassment.  Returning to our table, he asked me again and I said okay.  We headed back to his stand where he sent me off to my hotel with a great book on Michelangelo, writing paper, pens and a bunch of post cards all free of charge.  He’s pretty cute with the exception that he has a mustache.  My biggest problem at the moment is that I don’t know his name.  I think it begins with a G.

Saturday Night

Have just returned from my date with ???? .  I still don’t know his name and it seemed a little too late to ask while we were on our date. We went to dinner at a small family restaurant which was very good and we had a lot of great conversation.  After, we took his motorcycle up to the Michelangelo Square which over looks the city.  It felt so cool riding on the back of  his bike and I wasn’t scared at all.  The view was the prettiest I’ve ever seen, with the city and Duomo lit up along the river.  We kissed at the overlook and the mustache wasn’t as awful as I expected.

I really like ???? a lot and have decided to stay an extra day to be with him but how will I ever figure out what his name is?


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In reading this entry 27 years later, I have a whole different perspective things.  I truly love the sense of fearlessness that I had while traveling alone throughout Italy, especially knowing that I could never be that way today.  When I get around to posting part two of this little romance with ???? you’ll see that I learned a big lesson about trust and my own arrogance.




Writers of tomorrow.


Dear parents of the class of 2018,

It was my very great pleasure to come to your children’s 5th grade class this morning to discuss what it is like to be a writer.  The room became electrified with excitement as I sat amongst your kids who were eager to share their writing experiences.  I was impressed by the questions, questions and more questions!   You should have seen their enthusiasm as we formulated our own story, each taking turns to come up with the next line about the “time bomb” in my handbag.  Never fear, our story ended on a positive note due to some very clever contributions from the class.  I am still smiling about it now 3 hours later.

Your children want to write and they are excited about it.

They want to be free to write without criticism or correction.  I heard words today that I didn’t quite expect from 5th graders.

feelings, emotion, poetry, comedy, fantasy…oh yes and time bomb (about 10 times)

Your children want to express themselves through writing.  Invest in them.  Buy them a jotter, a notebook that is theirs and theirs alone where they can dream, create, and experience the wonder of writing.

Something to note…. I read this week that Rutgers University recently paid Snooki $35,000.00 for a speaking engagement. Its doubtful that she was there to discuss the importance of writing, but more likely looking to inspire the tanning bed users of tomorrow with her orange glow.  In my opinion, this is a sad reflection on our society that we put such value on reality TV stars.

While Mumbldyhumf Elementary School did not pay me $35K for my speaking engagement….

I had an experience which was priceless.




The Jotter Pages….my old man in Rome


The Jotter Pages is a glimpse into one of my many notebooks.  The italics are the actual writings from my jotter.  The roman type are my comments today.  This entry takes place in Rome, Italy 1984.

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Monday September 24

2pm – Have had a very interesting day so far.  At 10:30, I went out for a walk.  I was wondering why all the shops were closed so I stopped a nicely dressed older man and we had the following exchange.

Jotter Girl:  “Signore, a che ora i negozi aperti?”

Signore:  “You must be an American.”

Jotter Girl:  “Why? Did I say that wrong?”

Signore:  “No, you said it perfectly and so clearly that I knew you couldn’t be a Roman.”

Maurilio Varalda was his name and he was probably about 65 years old.  A charming man with silver hair as straight as a porcupine’s quill.  He was short in stature and impeccably dressed.  His face was so welcoming.   I was immediately connected to him.

Signore Varalda took me to a lovely place for lunch where we enjoyed the most delicious prosciutto & melon, wine, fettucini alfredo, assorted cheeses and ended our meal with cappuccino.  Signore, reminds me of my grandfather.  He is so sweet & I was fascinated by his life story.  He speaks English, French, Chinese and of course Italian.  He has lived all over the world.  We talked for hours and had such a nice walk not to mention the lunch.  He offered to help me get a job so I can stay here in Roma.  When Mom arrives, he wants to take us both out to lunch.  Initially, she is going to think I am nuts but once she meets him, I am positive she’ll like him.

Friday October 19

Got up late.  Mom had a head ache so I went to the bar & got some pastries for us.  At noon, Signore Varalda picked us up and drove us to his home in the north of Rome.  We had a lovely lunch served by a young man who was introduced to us as “the Filipino house boy”.  Signore’s home was filled with wonderful Chinese art and we were serenaded by at least 25 small birds in cages near the window over looking the back yard.

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Maurilio Varalda and I remained friends for several years after that first chance meeting on a street in Rome.  We wrote letters back and forth, updating each other on our lives.  He was always going to China or coming back from Switzerland it seemed.

The last time I saw him was at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City in the late 80′s when we met for an afternoon at the hotel restaurant.  I have thought of Signore Varalda often over the years and have tried to find him several times but with out luck.  It was my good fortune to meet Signore that day and he has become a member of a small club of men who I have had a very special connection with.




The Jotter Pages….


A dear friend recently commented that she would love to catch a glimpse inside one of my jotters.   I thought this was an interesting idea so I’ve decided to make it a feature here at Jotter Girl.

But how would I choose which book, which page?

Yesterday, I got all 28 books out,  spread them on the floor,  grabbed one and opened to a page.  Not the best plan because here is what you’d get….

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http://theglutengal.com/wp-head.php April 8, 1973

I hate Sundays because there’s nothing on TV except Zoom.  Once a day.

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I’d need a better plan in selecting something more interesting than what was on television back in the 70′s.  After spending a while flipping pages is several books, I came up with a jotter page to share.  The italics are the actual writings from my jotter.  The  *roman type* are my comments today.

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premeditatedly October 24, 1984 

Yesterday, Mom and I went to the Vatican Museum.  As with the rest of Rome, it was gripping and tugging at my heart strings.  Later in the day we met Marco at the Villa Borghese where we took photosIt was fun although these would most likely be our last photos together for a long while.

We are leaving Rome tomorrow and I will miss Marco very much.  Right now, I am listening to one of the two tapes he made for me.  I’m sad because these songs remind me of him.  It was very difficult to say goodbye.  With tears in my eyes, I watched him leave the Pensione Merano through my 3rd floor window.  *note: Marco did not leave through my 3rd floor window.  He took the elevator as he should.* As I looked down upon the Via Veneto, I could see that he too, was crying.  Marco looked up to my window and waved as I blew him a kiss.  I will especially miss him calling me Poppet and darling.

I am sitting on the bed beside my mother.  Our suitcases are in various stages of being packed.  We are taking a break and I am listening to my Walkman.   I was quiet  up until a few moments ago when the sobs burst out of my body and made mom jump a mile.  She ran to the bathroom and brought me back a towel.  What else could she do?  She’s been in Italy for about a week and has gotten to know Marco too.  I think she understands why I have fallen so hard.  I’ve been in Europe for 2 months and don’t want to go home.  I have such a headache and my eyes are stinging like crazy.  How will I manage with out him.

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The story behind this story is that I was someone who loved to be in love.  My mother, who was quite aware of my  ability to fall head over heels, hadn’t planned to come to Italy until she got the call from me telling her I felt like Cinderella and I had found my prince.  I am pretty sure she hung up the phone and booked the next flight to Rome in anticipation that I was going to elope with Marco and never come back to the United States.