natural highs

It is the festival for women today. It is huge... weeks of advertising, "happenings" everywhere, televised concerts, mimosa (wattle) and gardenia flowers... tanti auguri a tutti! I am spending it alone, not expecting any messages or phone calls. Zacchi and I will probably share leftovers, rather than a special dinner. Or should we indulge in fresh pasta? I have plenty of options to entertain myself, but they would all be external, added extras. Do I need them? Not today.

It is only 11am and already I have enjoyed my day. I am "pottering". I have painted a little, sat in the sunshine a little, cleaned and cleared a little, and generally reflected on what makes this woman happy.

The birds are singing loudly, proclaiming that spring is here. The sky is a clear, light cobalt blue, the gentle breeze moves the new growth on the rose bush, and the laughter from last night still warms me.

After the dinner I accompanied a young friend down the narrow cobblestone streets to her car. It was late, and she was driving home. Her car was at the opposite end of the village piazza from my house. She insisted on "driving me home"... about 75 metres, I estimate. It is little acts like this, chatting happily "all" the way, that make this place home.

And this post was interrupted by my hostess from last night, bringing me some mimosa as she was going past.

Happiness is internal, not external. I have always suspected that the secret to a long and happy life is finding joy in everything you do. My kitchen sink confounds any non-kiwi friends, particularly the Italians; it juts out into the room so I can look over the valley as I work. After two years they accept it, albeit reluctantly; there is no "head into the wall under the draining cupboard" for this kiwi, even washing the dishes is to be a pleasure!