In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns.

Claire and I have gotten into a nice little schedule. She goes down for her morning nap at 9:00 and gets up between 10 and 11. As soon as she gets up we're off to the gym. The 10-noon crowd at the gym is different than any other time I've been there. Sure, there are a few roid-warriors but the majority of the crowd is in the 60+ age range. There are several people I love seeing everyday--there's the guy with the horrible toupee (Doesn't that sound incredibly uncomfortable and sweaty?), the 60+, size 12-ish lady who rocks the bare midriff look and an incredible number of people working out in pleated khakis.

And my favorite, the mafia--three ladies of unknown descent who spend hours at the gym and don't really seem to accomplish anything more than gossiping in a slightly guttural language and gazing at the other patrons from under their highly-arched, pencil-drawn eyebrows. I've been working for weeks to get their picture (please don't take away my membership 24Hour fitness). Here's a failed attempt--turns out you can't take a steady picture while you're on the stair stepper. Who knew? But you can see the emphatic hand gesturing that's going on.

Then last week...success. Well, mostly. I only got two of them. The ring leader was across the way on another weight machine.

I always try to smile at them because I'd hate to get caught in the crossfire and even if a man is the head of a household, the woman is the neck.

**Review of Half Broke Horses is going up on Friday. Book Clubbers (and non-book clubbers) I'd love your thoughts. It's a quick read and I really enjoyed it.