blogathy

blog – uh- thee

noun

1. absence of blogging or procrastinating from posting on a blog

2. lame excuse for not blogging

Yep, that’s me. I’m suffering from blogathy and the only cure is to post posthaste.

I can now confess to having a deeper appreciation of those who blog on a regular basis – like more than once in a blue moon. It’s harder than it looks.

Seriously.

I’ve posted several things in my head over the last couple of weeks but even though you read my blog, you can’t read my mind. At least, I hope you can’t, and if you can, Jodie Foster was simply making a cameo appearance.

Truthfully, I’m having a hard time focusing on anything of late but my upcoming trip to Italy with my wife. We got married in May and we’re calling this our honeymoon because sometimes it’s fun to talk like straight people.

I traveled to Italy four years ago with three other (fabulous) women. I was still raw around the edges after a tumultuous breakup and the journey was a healing balm for me in ways that I could have never imagined.

One day on our trip we were hiking through a tiny Tuscan village when our beautiful guide, Francesca, stopped to speak with an older woman tending her garden. The two women embraced and kissed on each cheek and spoke animatedly to one another for several minutes.

When Francesca returned to our group, I said, “How nice, you ran into someone you know.” She looked at me sweetly with a confused expression and said, “No, I just met her.”

That’s Italy.

Italians savor la dolce vita in all aspects of life – food, nature, people – and you can’t help but fall under this spell when you’re there. The Russian poet Anna Akhmatova eloquently captured this feeling when she wrote, “Italy is a dream that keeps returning for the rest of you life.”

This is the first “big” trip my wife and I have taken together and I’m hoping we’re a good travel match. She’s never been to Italy and has read her Rick Steves’ guidebook from cover to cover. 

I’ve tried not to be annoyed at night when we’re in bed reading and she feels compelled to share some unknown factoid about Venice with me. Besides, who knew only three to four gondolier licenses are issued annually? Exactly.

I’m usually an obsessive planner with a vacation but this time I agreed to a tour and I’m blissfully letting someone else be the boss for a couple of weeks. I barely even know our itinerary and that is exhilarating to me.

I just know that some lovely stranger is going to schlep my over packed bag from hotel to hotel for me. What’s not to like?

Now I’m shamelessly hoping that my prologue-travelogue has made you forget about my sorry blogathy as visions from pizza to Pisa dance through your head.

I promise to be a better blogger upon my return.

Ciao, ya’ll!