a place i haven’t lived…

milos, greece. but i will someday. i wanted to pretend i lived there during those seven glorious days. pretend that i was european and glamorous and could stay forever taking pictures and making art. but i haven’t lived in one of those dusty stucco houses nestled in the hills, the white gleaming like ivory against the mediterranean landscape. i haven’t woken up with the view of the ocean twinkling below my perch in the hills, with a church to the east and another to the west. i have not received mail or prepared a meal, nor have i taken out the trash.

but in my dreams i am there. in an airy studio with native tunes floating out of an old radio and a breeze that could melt your heart. i have dishes and a garbage can and a flowy ink pen to send airmail messages across the sea. in milos, i am an artist. i am a writer—a famous american writer—with her rabbi husband, the quirky couple who ride their bikes across the island and skinny dip late at night off the pier. i am fulfilling a lifelong dream, to live in a place where i first realized true beauty, where life is simple and safe and inspired.

i have not lived on a tiny island in the aegean sea, with a restaurant in the fishing village that serves grilled calamari so good you’d spend all day on a dirty fishing boat with two stinky men, just to have seconds. an island with secret places to explore, mountains to climb, sparkling oceans to swim. with more sandy beaches than any of her sisters lining the path to athens. a magical place where australian expats throw pottery and open their studios to curious travelers. and the sand artist who works by lamplight, late into the night as tourists admire his intricate handiwork. where greek yogurt is just yogurt and is served with the sweetest honey bees have ever created. and when they dance around the table amongst the teacups and thinly sliced provolone, they are welcome breakfast guests.

in my dreams, the living room opens onto a wide terrace where we take our meals. fresh tomatoes and feta and sweet onions join the rustic bread basket and crisp white wine on the tablecloth. here, i am home.

***********

i haven't put a lot of my writing here on the blog....which doesn't really make sense because the whole point of this blog was for me to improve my writing.  the above piece was sent to the writing group i met at kripalu in november.  we have committed to doing a monthly submission to each other...mostly as a way to stay connected across the country. 

i have been doing an almost daily writing practice, using prompts from my natalie goldberg book old friend from far away. this prompt came from the book, which is full of things to get me going on my memoir.  hopefully i'll be posting a lot more in the weeks to come...i quit my job at the hospital (finally!) and will be moving to the beach full-time.  i'm so excited for my new life i can hardly stand it.  i'll be sure to post about all the changes soon.