The first day and night of any trip is a little crazy
especially when climates, countries and time zones are involved.
It was hard leaving Arizona;
I was just beginning to feel civilly settled in
after moving there this past summer,
so to organize (thoughts and stuff), pack,
make sure I had what I needed (not much),
and get all that, and myself,
and my husband
to the airport in one piece and on time
took a little wind out of my sails
before I even got on the plane.
But all that is fading
as this latest Italian adventure unfolds.
The first in-country impression I had
this time was that having my husband,
(or anyone) along,
(usually I've been on my own)
was going to interfere with this being
a Dream.
By dream, I mean:
Being In Italy
and letting my imagination run amok,
as it is hard wired so fervently to do.
He, husband, was going to anchor me/us,
for sure.
Things were going to be discussed,
compromises were going to be reached,
spats were going to happen.
Traveling on my own
allows for miscalculations to be forgotten,
disappointments and delays to evaporate
with no lingering trace,
meals to be takes exactly when/if desired,
trains in any direction hopped onto and off
without one bit of pre-coordination,
letting my thoughts be all mine,
and enjoying the golden ripeness
of some awareness that feels
new and young and leading surely
somewhere fine and fancy and possibly
not of the buttoned up life I normally lead. . .
So okay, I am over it.
We will chat, share wine, have those spats
discuss what we saw/ate/drank.
Go out, and stay out, late,
speculate on what the neighbors are up to,
meditate on
what it means to be a couple
footloose and free
in the country shaped like a boot,
just for fun.