Under the Tuscan Ceiling...

...lay three rotting mattresses

"No mud, no lotus." — Thích Nhất Hạnh

Over the past year, buying a house—on my own and in a foreign country—has been one of the most exciting, rewarding, and daunting experiences of my life. After being kicked out of my home several years ago, I made a quiet but fierce promise to myself: I’d one day own a place of my own, no matter how imperfect or small, so that a man with those same qualities would never be able to put me, Charlie, and Baffi into that vulnerable position again. Sadly, Baffi didn’t live to see it, but I like to think her spirit lives on in Aurora, whose soul entered this planet in the exact moments that Baffi’s slipped away. Watching them run through the yard, knowing I achieved this incredible goal in a country that’s given me so much joy—a place that quietly helped me rediscover my artistic freedom and independence—feels about as close to bliss as anything I’ve ever known.

My little place under the Tuscan sun, oh how you’ve helped me heal.