Last week, I kept thinking Wednesday was Saturday, Sunday was Tuesday and so forth and so on. I was-what you would call-jacked up. There was a lot on my plate, on my mind, and on my to-do list. Most of the week, I didn’t feel like myself.
I felt like this.
At every stop light, or between each meeting, I went into my happy place-my home away from home-to have what I call, a “Rebekah-day”.
I dreamt about the mornings where we walked around with coffee in one hand, pastry in the other and got to know another new city. We were surrounded by natives speaking their own languages, creating a cocoon between us and “them”. I felt like we were the only two people in the world-unless of course, I needed a bathroom (which was often) and then I had to interact with aforementioned natives.
The morning we awoke at Rose’s Haus, I was greeted exuberantly by her husband (the bearded man above), arms ready to receive a hug, who boomed out, “Guten Morgen!”. After hugging, he led us to our breakfast table and told us stories in German. I understood about 45% of it, but that seemed enough for him.
I loved the quietness of the car-free cities. Hallstadt was foot friendly only-save one or two market days when produce trucks wound around the precarious road attached to the side of the mountain and thanked their lucky stars they made it, one more time.
I could escape right now to Salzburg-with the only sounds being the train a mile below and the cow bells in the backyard. The morning was spent watching the mist rise from the mountaintops while enjoying a Nescafe.
Right now, this Monday morning-I’m in Venice in my mind. I can smell the bakery, hear the quartet in the background which is accompanied by the thousands of pigeons warbling and forget that I’m in Tulsa.
Hot, sweaty Tulsa. Wonderful Tulsa, but hot and sweaty nonetheless. And, suddenly it’s not Monday. It’s Rebekah-day.