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My fool proof method for drifting back to sleep in the middle of the night has left me. My own fault though. I let everyone know I was taking a break from my weekly texts while I am in and out of town, so I don't have 3:00 am night writing and editing in my head which is my peaceful way to fall back asleep. It both accomplishes and keeps worries at bay, other than determining which word or phrase to use.

My first trip away is during September, a month of wonderful weather typically bringing high temps during the day with nights begging for open windows allowing the cool breezes to flow through. Such a relief from the stuffiness of air conditioning needed during our humid August days. I awake to the sound of "rrrrr" and "aaaah" and a symphony of lawn mowers and edgers. This is my first morning home after being away for ten days. What is different? It takes me a minute to make the determination. In Italy, the sound of a Windexed rag scrubbing and squeaking on the glass table one floor beneath my open window as staff readied the patio for the day was my seven-a.m. alarm. No other sounds disturb me. The tiny medieval village doesn't have lawns to mow. Narrow cobble stone streets cover every inch between the buildings, yet everywhere I look is countryside with rolling hills of patchwork patterns completing the peacefulness.

By eight I will start to hear the conversation of my family for the week. New friends who are gathering, some who have met before, others who have not. Everyone is new to me this time, which is a bit intimidating, though all are welcoming. A common thread among the artists is their love of painting and swapping stories of how and what they paint and the struggles ensued. Politics and controversial items are off the table. Thank goodness as I am here to refresh! I am eight hours from worries at home and that is by plane. Don't bother me as I am buying a pair of Italian loafers - maybe two.