The Love in a scarf

The variation of shakshuka with cheese, spaghetti and pesto is to study better, even if the background of "unforgettable" has its reason and unnecessary issues on the digestibility of all are wasted. Two abundant brushes of nutella on the last piece of bread with cereals and it's fine.

Silence. Tenerife is silent. Traffic is rarely, far away, tourists bundled up in their jumpers crowd a few restaurants in Las Americas or Los Cristianos.
Here in San Eugenio Alto, nobody on the street, even lazy dogs will probably heat up the carpet of a owner.
Tonight the radio keeps me company, Onda Melodia, only music and beautiful music, as I like it.
Also I listen the sound of the refrigerator, the vibration of a car that passes away, the wind is hitting something.
It's too dark now to see the sea, but I know where is it, I can feel it.
If I look carefully I can see some light on the island that there isn't, La Gomera.
I call it "the island that there isn't" because the island disappears with some conditions of light, you scrutinize the blue to the horizon and there is no La Gomera. Yet you know it's there.
The Canary people boast the sharpness of their sky, so it is true that one of the most important telescopes in the world is here.
The high mountains (the Teide is over 3700 meters) create 23 different microclimates. In this area we get rain 2-3 times a year.
Yesterday was one of those days.
It was a light rain and I was stupidly in disbelief as I saw it snow in Bangkok. But today was a bright clear day and as few.
I spent my lunch hour eating fruits on the terrace, with the sunshine in the face and the sea in my eyes.
I'm surprised to see me in this house too big for me, with views that change every day and seem drawn with Photoshop.
I would expect to find a character in the novels of Jane Austen, someone with such distinctly classic features as Angela, moving with elegant and precise moves between the terrace and the living room and looking at me slow, quizzical but basically indifferent. I'm not part of this film.
Instead I sometimes meet me in the mirror, with a record bum, totally overgrown and sprinkled with white, that famous strange animal, the Bertoz. But what am I doing here?

In the garage I found a vintage Panda that has already saved my ass a couple of times.
The bicycle instead is waiting for the weekend to take me away, to nourish the eyes of other wonders of God.
I'm quite alone.
I don't think I ever completely get used to this state.
Everyone gets, believe it or not, what he wants, what it is. Now, consciously or unconsciously, I am this.
This time, every time, is an opportunity.
I'm learning to take care of me, I'm learning Spanish, I'm learning to handle new work situations.
I am creative and practical in the kitchen, I put in order. I try to make a healthy life, to clean the old patterns in a traditional life as a citizen.
Soon I will speak properly Italian, English and Spanish, with French to refresh and the Venetian dialect special guest.
Who would have thought it.

Meanwhile I tenderly hold the scarf that Franca gave the me the day before leaving.
I have a history of scarves as significant gifts. I know, objects, and even the people, come and go.
Only love remains.
Thank you.
The Love in a scarf. It's a good title for a book.