Letting life happen. Naturally.

Allowing days to unfold naturally. Going with the flow. Not knowing in advance what to do next. Just letting life happen. That’s my style. My Italian true love and I are on a leisurely late Sunday afternoon stroll along a sandy Mediterranean Sea beach. At Portoscuso. On the island of Sardinia.  No place I’d rather be.  My true love gets a cell phone call. A friend Patrizia, a teaching colleague. She’s sighted us from a distance. We are to head for a rocky ledge. To  join Patrizia and husband Francesco and young son Pier. For socializing. I like the idea.  Listening to Italian chit-chat I don’t fully understand.  But that’s all right.  I like to watch my true love interact with friends.  I catch the gist of some conversations.  I ask occasional questions. In English. For clarification. It’s a way to learn another language. Ever so slowly. That’s the best way.  Methodically. In no hurry. One shouldn’t rush through life.  Instead, savoring, savoring, savoring each moment.   Make the best of every situation.  Often as observer. Onlooker. Relying on my true love.  For translations.  Maybe I’m coming off as Silent Jim.  Indeed, a funny concept. Back home in Minnesota.  Or in the family where I grew up. With the nickname Big Mouth. Because I never shut up. Now I’ve become an avid listener.  I’m comfortable with that. Gives me more balance. More understanding. Anyway, the five of us walk slowly south. Along the beach. To an old stone fortress. And past a promenade of homes. Villas. Facing the sea. For rich people. From all over Italy.  They probably own second and third and fourth homes.  It’s another world. And I like it all. Because I’m with friends. With my true love. That’s the important thing.  Being alive and blessed.  I look up a cobblestone street. Two cats. One scampers away. But the black cat remains. To greet little Pier. He knows the cat’s name. Briciola. Pier kneels.  Briciola circles. Around and around. Brushing up against the boy. It’s as if the two are purring. Together. In a rhythmic perfect harmony. A song of love and affection.  I am on bended knee, too.  Participating in the unexpected love feast. By letting life happen. Naturally. –Jim Broede