In Love with France, At Home In Italy

    It’s my second night as a guest in my own home, and not a creature is stirring unless you count the one in my brain. I find myself thinking about how in French, my other mother tongue, the word  l’hôte  translates as both host and guest. I think that the concept that these roles are interchangeable may derive from the Arabic tradition of hospitality—that everyone is expected to treat a guest as an honored self, the way she herself would wish to be treated.  In my mindfulness group I mentioned my goal to learn to stop beating myself over the head for my shortcomings and to become a better friend to myself. Celtic poet John O’Donohue who is a recent discovery for me said it better: "Be excessively gentle with yourself." So after yesterday’s Halloween trick-or-treat disguise as someone who is a guest in her own guest room, I am now going to inhabit the role of a lapsed blogger who is picking up the thread by returning to her favorite medium. She is referring to...