I sometimes dream of my other lives...
Not in an existential way, or a reincarnation way, but in a these are lives I'm preparing now to have later kind of way...
You know:
-The life in which I am a quasi-farmer in Virginia, living on my family's land, planting my own garden that is bigger than your backyard. And canning the fruits (and vegetables) of those labors. Smelling the sweet grass and feeling the delicious summer humidity press down on my skin. Building my own little house and watching babies grow and run around the huge yard (perhaps my own, perhaps other people's... ?) and discover the big, beautiful world around them daily.
-The life in which I live on the beach (or in a cottage by the beach) in Florida. Daily I walk barefoot most places, because most places I want to be involve sandy expanses. Tall, perspiring glasses of ice water and iced fizzy lemonade greet me, and I search for shells along the the ocean's border with my loved ones. Again, somewhere there are babies and chillun' involved, again, perhaps mine, perhaps not... ? We all bask in the sun and saltwater and relish this glowing life of slow-paced-ness. Dolphins frolic in the water before us, stingrays, sharks and birds dot the beautiful blue, azure and white horizon.
-The life in which I live in Rome. Not far from Piazza Navona, in proximity to the Pantheon, my favorite building in Rome. My apartment lies down an ancient, winding street, in one of the buildings crept up it's edges. Italian Mamas shout at their babies and lovers embrace, a heated discussion explodes to the right and the hum of the crowds of tourists to the left as I lean out my window and look to out to the street below. Flowers line planters and creeping vines rim the building's stones. In front of me, my laundry flaps in the open air, suspended above a street just narrow enough for a Vespa scooter, drying and simultaneously getting dirty again with city grime; but it is Roman grime, so I don't mind. My neighbors call out to me in greeting and Angelo, down the way a bit whistles his usual flirty greeting, then winks at me and I think to myself (again) Che Peccato! What a shame! What a shame he isn't LDS, that one! ;)
In the afternoons I peruse the markets for fresh produce and the perfect olio d'oliva, olive oil and call for 3 inches of a fresh panini sandwich, sliced off a hot stone at my request. I wander the streets in search of a new, old discovery, a relic of a building or a landmark of a statue that had been in the same spot all along, yet I'd only just seen it. In the evenings I sit with my Italian friends in the piazza private to a friend's building and eat the most delicious pasta d'amatriciana on the planet, freshly prepared by us. The mornings are a mixture of writing and bathrobes and narcolepsy and an ancient apartment with a leaky faucet and a large old bathtub. Great wooden beams line the lofted ceiling and cornices, edgings and other detail work line the walls and talk jovially to me about previous occupants who have loved this place.
--
These are the lives I think of and reflect on, the ones I am working for. Because I'm a gypsy and a dreamer.
Yet, here I am, in California, happy as a clam with my hiking and my Sister and my Nephew... Make sure life is good, whichever one you decide to live!
Not in an existential way, or a reincarnation way, but in a these are lives I'm preparing now to have later kind of way...
You know:
-The life in which I am a quasi-farmer in Virginia, living on my family's land, planting my own garden that is bigger than your backyard. And canning the fruits (and vegetables) of those labors. Smelling the sweet grass and feeling the delicious summer humidity press down on my skin. Building my own little house and watching babies grow and run around the huge yard (perhaps my own, perhaps other people's... ?) and discover the big, beautiful world around them daily.
-The life in which I live on the beach (or in a cottage by the beach) in Florida. Daily I walk barefoot most places, because most places I want to be involve sandy expanses. Tall, perspiring glasses of ice water and iced fizzy lemonade greet me, and I search for shells along the the ocean's border with my loved ones. Again, somewhere there are babies and chillun' involved, again, perhaps mine, perhaps not... ? We all bask in the sun and saltwater and relish this glowing life of slow-paced-ness. Dolphins frolic in the water before us, stingrays, sharks and birds dot the beautiful blue, azure and white horizon.
-The life in which I live in Rome. Not far from Piazza Navona, in proximity to the Pantheon, my favorite building in Rome. My apartment lies down an ancient, winding street, in one of the buildings crept up it's edges. Italian Mamas shout at their babies and lovers embrace, a heated discussion explodes to the right and the hum of the crowds of tourists to the left as I lean out my window and look to out to the street below. Flowers line planters and creeping vines rim the building's stones. In front of me, my laundry flaps in the open air, suspended above a street just narrow enough for a Vespa scooter, drying and simultaneously getting dirty again with city grime; but it is Roman grime, so I don't mind. My neighbors call out to me in greeting and Angelo, down the way a bit whistles his usual flirty greeting, then winks at me and I think to myself (again) Che Peccato! What a shame! What a shame he isn't LDS, that one! ;)
In the afternoons I peruse the markets for fresh produce and the perfect olio d'oliva, olive oil and call for 3 inches of a fresh panini sandwich, sliced off a hot stone at my request. I wander the streets in search of a new, old discovery, a relic of a building or a landmark of a statue that had been in the same spot all along, yet I'd only just seen it. In the evenings I sit with my Italian friends in the piazza private to a friend's building and eat the most delicious pasta d'amatriciana on the planet, freshly prepared by us. The mornings are a mixture of writing and bathrobes and narcolepsy and an ancient apartment with a leaky faucet and a large old bathtub. Great wooden beams line the lofted ceiling and cornices, edgings and other detail work line the walls and talk jovially to me about previous occupants who have loved this place.
--
These are the lives I think of and reflect on, the ones I am working for. Because I'm a gypsy and a dreamer.
Yet, here I am, in California, happy as a clam with my hiking and my Sister and my Nephew... Make sure life is good, whichever one you decide to live!
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