I have officially claimed one of the spare rooms as my creative space to write and read and hopefully paint should my brushes and oils ever arrive from Canada. Rather minimalist at the moment, but I find it helpful to concentrate on what's at hand rather than having a thousand distractions in the room. The best part is the view from the window. If I lean back in my chair, I can see our palm tree in the front yard, as well as a few other trees that somehow look distinctly Italian in nature which instantly reminds me of a scene from Under the Tuscan Sun:
Patti: There's something strange about these trees. It's like they know.
Frances: And they know that we know that they know.
Patti: They're creepy. Creepy Italian trees. Of course, the baby's going to like them cause it's going to be a creepy Italian baby who goes around saying things like 'Ciao mama' and doing that weird backward hand wave thing. Life is strange.
Life is strange indeed. But I'm loving my creepy Italian trees and saying 'ciao' instead of 'hello'. Not sure entirely what the weird backward hand thing is though.
Patti: There's something strange about these trees. It's like they know.
Frances: And they know that we know that they know.
Patti: They're creepy. Creepy Italian trees. Of course, the baby's going to like them cause it's going to be a creepy Italian baby who goes around saying things like 'Ciao mama' and doing that weird backward hand wave thing. Life is strange.
Life is strange indeed. But I'm loving my creepy Italian trees and saying 'ciao' instead of 'hello'. Not sure entirely what the weird backward hand thing is though.
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