Home again, home again

I'm back in Sicily after twenty-five days in the USA. I was afraid it would be a letdown after the glamour of San Diego, the wide open green Midwest, trendy Cape Cod, and the pristine cleanliness and efficiency of everything everywhere. But, even after twenty-four hours, three airlines, and one lost suitcase, Sicily looks and feels good.

It's August and warm and dry, not a hint of humidity. The entire island is sun-burnt, but the palm trees and tropical flowers are glorious.

The produce vendors are selling melons and tomatoes for pennies. Scooter drivers are still bats out of hell. The dogs aren't barking too much and Monte Etna is puffing white steam boldly against the deep blue sky.

I have temporarily forgotten every word of Italian I ever know. I know it will come back.

Pete and Repeat had a ribbon-bedecked "Welcome Home Mom XXXXXX" sign near their cat food in the garden shed. They couldn't stop miaoing and rubbing against me.

I finished reading Theresa Maggio's The Stone Boudoir on the trip back, the perfect way to transition back to life on this island. I heard that she is coming to Sicily this winter to film a documentary. I hope to meet her. I have been thinking of having some of my students read excerpts from her book. Maybe, they, too, can meet her.

It's funny . . . on this trip, I met people all over the country who have been to Sicily. Without exception, they all were charmed by it and want to come back. Theresa Maggio writes, "Returning to a familiar place is part of the pleasure of travel for me." I have to agree; it is also part of the pleasure of living abroad.