- Messages
- 6,308
- Type of diabetes
- Type 2
- Treatment type
- Tablets (oral)
I thought it might be interesting to do a 21st-century version of the 14th-century original.
The Decameron is a collection of novellas, of tales told by 10 young people sheltering in a villa during the Great Plague.
I was introduced to it in a European Literature course nearly half a century ago, when the only idea we had of any "modern-day" plague was the influenza epidemic of 1918, and even our parents weren't old enough to remember that.
So I invite you here to tell tales of your own. Like the original, they can be tales of wit, jokes, life lessons, or what have you.
And, since the original Decameron was written by Giovanni Boccaccio, maybe we can post our stories here in honor of his compatriots, the people of modern-day Italy.
My story is set in the winter of 1971, at Auburn University, in Auburn, Alabama, "the loveliest village of the plain," named for the Sweet Auburn of Oliver Goldsmith's poem "The Deserted Village." The class I took met three days a week, at eight o'clock in the morning, and even Alabama can be freezing cold at eight o'clock on a winter's morning, especially when you are walking or cycling to class across the whole width of the campus! I had an ancient blue bicycle, given to me by a friend from high school, who was working in a local students' restaurant, where the bicycle had been abandoned the previous term by a student worker.
I loved that old bicycle, and later on, in the spring, my motorcyclist boyfriend and I chopped it, painted it black, removed its fenders, and replaced its old foam-covered seat with a banana seat and a bright red sissy bar. (Please remember, this was 1971 -- it really wasn't as tacky as it sounds now -- it was "far out"!)
And that is my stream-of-consciousness story that began in a classroom in the winter quarter of 1971, when I was introduced to Boccaccio's Decameron along with Gargantua and Pantagruel.
The Decameron is a collection of novellas, of tales told by 10 young people sheltering in a villa during the Great Plague.
I was introduced to it in a European Literature course nearly half a century ago, when the only idea we had of any "modern-day" plague was the influenza epidemic of 1918, and even our parents weren't old enough to remember that.
So I invite you here to tell tales of your own. Like the original, they can be tales of wit, jokes, life lessons, or what have you.
And, since the original Decameron was written by Giovanni Boccaccio, maybe we can post our stories here in honor of his compatriots, the people of modern-day Italy.
My story is set in the winter of 1971, at Auburn University, in Auburn, Alabama, "the loveliest village of the plain," named for the Sweet Auburn of Oliver Goldsmith's poem "The Deserted Village." The class I took met three days a week, at eight o'clock in the morning, and even Alabama can be freezing cold at eight o'clock on a winter's morning, especially when you are walking or cycling to class across the whole width of the campus! I had an ancient blue bicycle, given to me by a friend from high school, who was working in a local students' restaurant, where the bicycle had been abandoned the previous term by a student worker.
I loved that old bicycle, and later on, in the spring, my motorcyclist boyfriend and I chopped it, painted it black, removed its fenders, and replaced its old foam-covered seat with a banana seat and a bright red sissy bar. (Please remember, this was 1971 -- it really wasn't as tacky as it sounds now -- it was "far out"!)
And that is my stream-of-consciousness story that began in a classroom in the winter quarter of 1971, when I was introduced to Boccaccio's Decameron along with Gargantua and Pantagruel.
