I am so jealous this week of my blogmates. Their posts show them travelling off to Florence (not Kentucky), Paris (not Texas), Hong Kong (via the land of King Kong), and hobbiting in Scotland (are there one or two “t”s in hobbiting?), while I sit in Washington (neither the DC nor the state versions thereof) down in the heart of southwest Pennsylvania’s natural gas fracking territory close by its border with West Virginia.
|That's me, in the lower left corner.|
It is home to a gem of a picture postcard college where I once again have the privilege of playing professor for a month to a dozen mystery-writing students. But it’s also proving to be an endless source of Stephen King-like inspirational moments—both in characters and settings.
In juxtaposition to my current locale are photos and videos contained in the daily missives (I consider them more like missiles for their destructive effect upon my psyche) from my Mykonos friends enticing me to return home to the off-season beauty of our island. How can one not miss such a beautiful place; filled with people who live by the philosophy of, when all about you is crumbling, don’t mope, get out and enjoy life for what you have. Viva the Mediterranean attitude!
But nothing touched me more than this brief British Pathé film clip of Mykonos 50 years ago. It is of a time long passed…unless you happen to be on Mykonos during the off season.
Perhaps it is time to go home.
|Rhenia, Delos, Mykonos (Left to right)|