Something …other than spaghetti.

3/7/2015 Finals at last are finished and in two days this production ended and another audition process begun and somewhere in between there is me. This morning I took a break from final posts and book research to watch a curious film that had mostly German and Swedish speaking actors and then…there was Pierce Broslan in the mix..the ever accented, pepper haired actor who suffered the loss of a wife, the estrangement of a man-child and the ridiculous advances of a former sister in law. It sounds like an absolute wreck of a movie, but it was set in Italy and they could have been speaking Chinese for all I cared, so yearning for a chance to travel and be somewhere else for a holiday, was I. Each year that goes by I promise myself I will do something else…go somewhere else, and then the rigors of life and the budgets of households and children and daily chaos– suck the wind out of my sails and I am exactly where I started. Not in a bad place…not in an unfulfilled job or life…just here…and here is not there…wherever there is at the moment of my need to be in another space. With school ending for a sabbatical of a summer and work slowing a bit and the sun rising earlier and the sun setting later on the morrow…I pray that one day I walk myself into a Post Office and order a God Blessed Passport before the  assholes of the world have screwed everything up, before I can finally see some of the world I dream about. Ireland…England…Italy…even Seattle seems pretty exotic to me these days. Perhaps it is the endless hamster wheel of school and work that get me to this point every year, where I just want to pick up my coffee cup and find my own “Bramasole” to rehabilitate. (Those who understand, Under the Tuscan Sun will get  my drift)…but that is not the point. The point is that this morning, for ever so brief a period…I basked in a lemon grove, watched colorful boats bob up and down in the quaint inlets of idyllic seaside villages… dipped my toes into the rippling waves along pebbled shores of southern Italy’s Mediterranean waters… watched the sun dip and bend between clouded shelves of blue, just before sunset…a painted sky of pastel purple that accompanied my my soul as it metaphorically wandered amidst the halls of a plastered palace in a place a thousand miles away. Pathetic as  that is…it was something. And every once in a while in between the magic of the theatre…the murder and the grief of those I try to help and the papers I try to write, or the books I live to research and publish…there is calm and the promise of something more. Something Italian…something…other than spaghetti.

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