Trying to jot down a few lines to produce a new article and replenish my column, I get a tiny little writer's block, because it is useless, if the words don't come they don't come. Inspiration is lacking, as are ideas, time, motivation gets crushed by days like boulders. After all, everyone has periods like the one I am going through, but then what to talk about? What can be a good topic if you can't write about anything?
So I put on my pajamas, sit down at my desk and think about the good fortune of wearing a pair of fleece pants after a day in tights, but I realize this is not the venue to talk about my being so lazy.
I pick up my i-phone, just to keep my hands busy, and curse the wifi that won't pick up, but I realize I can't even write about the lack of line in the house.
As I always do when boredom and ineptitude take over, I open the refrigerator and my eye falls on an open bottle of red wine. I escape to my room and throw myself into my chair and begin my article.
The only thing I haven't talked about yet is the feeling of peace and tranquility I get when I know I can sit with a glass of wine in my hand, undoubtedly to be counted among the best moments of my days.
A glass of wine in my hand has so many meanings for me that I would like to share with you today.
It means that by now it is evening and I can breathe a sigh of relief.
It means that I am nervous but after the first sip it will pass.
It means that I am sharing and already that makes me happy.
It means that I am gossiping and I am with a friend.
It means that I am complaining and so I am with my grandmother.
It means I am tasting a new label and I am enjoying it during a family meal.
It means that a person who wants to meet me is offering it to me and so we will find out we have the same tastes.
It means I am celebrating.
It means I am in Italy.
It means it has given me inspiration for a new article and it makes me feel better.
It means that I am remembering and despite the nostalgia, if I remember at least I have lived.
It also means that maybe I will be forgiven if for just once I added a pinch of patheticism to one of my pieces, just to share the joy of what for me always remains the best accompaniment to a sad or special moment, a habit or a passion.
And we Italians regarding passion and wine are in first place.
