There is nothing watered down here.
Breakfast came in waves this morning. First it was the Eurasian Blackcapped Warbler singing and greeting me while I made my first cup of espresso. Clyve the British Chef was setting out cucumbers and tomatoes and making sure I knew what I was doing with the European espresso maker. I figured most of it out, except for the fact that it wasn't an automatic shut off. Once the espresso was dripping over the side of my little white teacup, I saw the toggle switch on the top of the machine and switched it off. I used the Kleenex as I couldn’t find napkins to wipe away the first mistake of the morning. I don't know if Clyve noticed, but he did compliment me in not asking how to use the machine.
I walked outside for my breakfast time. I opened my iPad for the first time to look over my manuscript and immediately rewrote the first paragraph of the money chapter in my soon coming book “The Amplifiers”. This change felt so clear. I don't know if it is the air, or the fact that I'm looking at the hills that could be mountains of Italy, but the clarity of mind is very real.
James was the next wave. James is a retired psychotherapist from Brussels. He sat down next to me with his buttered focaccia and spread his peach jam on it asking me if I was going to eat. I told him that I need some time before I eat in the morning. My tummy needs a coffee or two before we can bear the thought of digesting food. James is already my favorite human in this workshop. He is slow to speak, choosy with his words, and very silly after three glasses of red wine.
Lisa, Kate, and Lisa(2) came down next along with Tamara and her allergies. This third wave was much louder than the first two. There was the clanking of dishes and the gurgles of the espresso machine. Discussions of room temperature, passing out handouts, and starting the business of breakfast. Lisa's husband (whom I will call Frank until I can remember what his name actually is) greeted me with his cute pot belly and his practiced yet permanent smile. Asked me how my livestream went last night, and asked about Cara and wanted to know what books she had written. I of course gushed about Girl Code and bragged that I was the last 3 chapters of “Don’t Do Anything I Would Do”.
This brought the final wave. There was Yentil, a young woman writer of fan fiction, and Yusuf, the Yale professor that was very intrigued about me being a divorced man and memoir author. I went and got my focaccia, cucumbers, and a banana. I added a piece of Swiss cheese, some cubed softened butter, peeled my banana, then grabbed my second espresso that didn’t spill at all because I toggled the machine at the perfect time. I changed my location to the meeting table outside and ate with my fellow writers. James didn’t join the group but went on a hike outside and I listened to talk of partners, birds, and the plan of meeting again at 11 for our round table writing session.
There isn’t Ice anywhere in Italy thus far. Every drink is perfectly cold, and yet I have not seen a cube of ice in 4 days. I think I love it, but perhaps that’s because of the 8 months I spent tending bar and serving tables at The District in historic Springfield. It was a cool brunch spot that was way more concerned about its Instagram presence than it was about the Beef Wellington they advertised that they were almost always out of or consistently over cooked. I used to have to schlep this three-gallon clear bucket of ice back and forth from the outside ice machine to the aluminum Ice containers that sat right next to the well liquors. The rusted metal handle would cut through my skin while dumping the thousands of cubes. Drink after drink from Sprite to rum and cokes, filled to the brim with ice.
Breakfast was blissful this morning and nothing about it felt watered down.
It is so nice being here. And I mean that word “here” completely.
It’s nice being here.
It’s nice being clear.
I'm Awake.
Scott! his name is Scott! .. ok.. I feel better now.
Cheers!