Speed limit: how fast did this went?

The not so lovely realisation that things keeps slipping away from us and yet we don’t know how to slow down and respect those speed limits. Metaphorically speaking, you know what I mean?

Each year, for the summer, we come back to Italy and let me tell you: it is not because we want to be part of the euro summer trend perpetuating itself throughout the years then lamenting about cobblestones being hard to walk on but because Italy is where I was born and it is where I am lucky to have my parents still alive ready to take me back in each time alongside with my husband and my dog. We are musicians, artists if you wish and our lifestyle requires a lot of understanding of the concept of letting the people you love the most the most.

There is a long street that goes from one coastal region to another partially called Romea and partially called Adriatica, my parents lives on it because some Italian cities are on it. You turn in, you enter the ancient city but you want you can stay out and enjoy fields, see, tractors plow up the land after being cropped, blah blah blah so poetic, right?

The marinas are cute, they smells like sea, seafood, salt, humidity and shells and as much as I bloody hate the fact that for the economy they now allows cruise ships to dock at our pier I understand the thing and I just pretend they don’t exists blocking my clear view of the vastness of that blue.

I’ve been very slow to get to the point but as I said on my welcome page, I like words and my husband always makes fun of how long it takes to say things. Anyway, on this long road there are a bunch of speed bumps strategically positioned to avoid psychos to drive super fast and hit a happy family of Dutch tourists just because they’re in a bloody rush to get to their beach tennis court and feel the adrenaline of the post work sport. Classic.

Along with those speed bumps there are speed limits, very slow ones that everyone hates. Why would they hate it? What is the fucking rush? Excuse my frenchism.

I’ve been back at my parents house for the summer since the first of May and it feels as if time got in a rush and went completely nuts forgetting about the Dutch families on vacation, I am one of those and time is being completely inconsiderate towards me and my fragile self. We wait the entire winter around for the sky to stop pissing it and we forget we need it to be alive, we need it for the flowers we like to bloom. Then, we wait around rushing through the cold months (sounds weird this sentence innit? Think about it) just to get to the warmth and then we turn on air conditioning (at least in the United States they do, in Italy my mom would prefer feeling like a fish on the sand then turning it on) to feel relief from what we wanted and we speed through other things for. I try my very best to not do that, I don’t want to be part of this mess.

I want to feel rich because the time is blessing me with its naturally movements, somehow I find myself always looking on to the next thing, always thinking I will be enjoy that better than what life is good gracing me with. What a jerk I am.

I do wear my favorite shoes all seasons long as a memento, very much my own ridiculous way to remember that time is a blessing and there’s no such thing as bad weather (I learned that somewhere in some Scandinavian country I can’t recall).

I look at my dog, how gracefully and lovingly she looks at my mom every day she is here no matter the weather, the time of the day of anything else including how in a rush we are and I think of her as my spirit animal because for crying out loud, the speed limit is telling us 30km/h and yet we proper have a passion for crushing it to get somewhere first and then waisting minutes thinking “what was I here for?”