revolving door

James and Ken left yesterday afternoon, and in half an hour I have to go to my son’s school and pick up two teenage boy billets from Australia who will be staying with us for a whole week.  Yikes!  Keep your fingers crossed for me, that I don’t get the party animals of the group. 

We spent the day doing the laundry, putting new sheets on the beds, laying out fresh towels, doing a quick clean of the bathroom.  Although, Ken and James left barely a trace of evidence that they had been here.  All we had were the memories. 

James came up with the great idea of next year, maybe the four of us pitching in to rent a small house somewhere in Italy.  That would be fun.  Obviously, one does not need to be in Italy to write.  One probably wouldn’t get much writing done.  At least this “one” wouldn’t!  I’d be too excited, want to explore whatever little village we ended up in.  And I’d want to go to the market and shop and buy food and cook it.  I’d want to wander the fields and find a creek and lie in it and let a lizard climb over my forehead and pretend that I was that beautiful Madonna-like woman in the movie Enchanted April.

But when the idea came up, I didn’t tell James and Ken any of that.  I just said, “What a great idea.  I’d be up for that.“ 

They think I’ll be writing, but I’m not so sure about that.  I can write perfectly well at home.  Why would I waste good Italian time, hunched in the dark, peering at my computer, trying to peck out a feasible paragraph or two when I could be gallivanting?

Posted by Meg Tilly on Friday, October 03, 2008 in Chewing the Fat