She always said it in threes, with a soft Italian accent, “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.” First, she’d gasp, Ah!,” and then slowly, “Bee-yoo-tee-fuuul, …" with a little squeak on the yoo part. Forty years ago, I figured her for a centenarian, but looking back from the mature side of my life, she was probably an healthy seventy-five to eighty-year-old. She wore sturdy shoes and a thick black coat which even on hot days was buttoned up to the neck. Her corneas ran low on blue, yet her vision was sharp and her movements spry. Every day, around mid-morning, she walked into our bookstore and went directly for the spinning wire rack of scenic photographic cards. We called her The Beautiful Lady. I think about The Beautiful Lady as we travel with Beauty and The Beast, our Airstream travel trailer and Ram truck. Like the cards in the rack, most places we visit are curated – selected, protected. Designated, beautiful. The post Beautiful World, Beautiful Country, Beautiful Life appeared first on Living In Beauty.