Power of Pink

Does anyone know why sunflowers turn a certain way Just asking. 

As  little girl, I never did like pink.  I guess because I thought of it as a sign of being weak. Don't know why, I thought I always had to be strong and independent.  I had a wonderful childhood with wonderful parents.  Who knows why we think what we think.  But, now that I'm all grown up, I suppose I don't feel like I have to prove anything.  And guess what... I love pink.  I’m writing this, while sitting at a table in a shady hillside garden in Montalcino. Its day two of my “holiday” and I just ordered a caprese salad.  It’s the size of a large hubcap! 

Speaking of hubcaps. With a wedding at the Borgo, it was suggested that I take a couple of days off,  a “holiday”.  Now, sometimes I get in a bit of trouble when I’m off my leash.  Yet, I’m thankful for friends and family who have realized that keeping me corralled, at this point in my life might make me very, very sad. In spite of the fact that it makes them worry, they’ve had to let me go.

Yesterday, my first day off, began with very good news.  Four paintings sold to a wonderful lawyer from Miami and her two daughters.  That was that!  Gratzi!  Gratzi! 

Next was the fact that I didn’t have to drive the Borgo “ferrari”.  I was the recipient of the Borgo VW Polo.  “Yay!  All is good!”  Uh oh! Trouble entered my mind when I opened the door and found a half empty bottle of motor oil in the back seat.  Hmmmm.  That's ok.  I'm strong and independent...remember.  What's a little car trouble. I'll just wear pink and act like a damsel in distress. 

My plan was to go to the beach and take my sketch book. A few wrong turns, scorching heat, crowds at the beach, closed cafes, and closed gas stations, I decided to just tootle my way back  home through a few local villages and find a cafe.  This last particular town was tiny and its roads ran very steep and narrow along stone wall drop offs.   Before I knew it, with the smell of a burning rubber clutch and brakes, my little Polo could not make it up the hill. “Oh God!  What do I do?” (Funny how religion comes into play when you’re about to die!)  I slowly backed down trying to make the hair pin turn in reverse, the clutch and breaks began to weaken…and there ya have it..gear in first, my entire body weight firmly planted on the brake and the emergency brake pulled tight ….I was teetering on the edge of that stone wall……disaster!   and it was the BORGO car!  WHAT WAS I TO DO???  Yell, “HELPO!!!”  

Thank you God!  Thank you for the 3 Australians who happened to appear out from under the archway of this deserted town. English speaking!  Desperate!  I had to put my faith in them to save me. They secured the back tires with mega large stones and I climbed out of the passenger side of the car. One brave Aussie got in and with dust flying, wheels screeching, brought little Polo to safety.  We were all sweating bullets! Mine were pink!  And, again, I could read another headline….STUPIDO AMERICANO ARTIST DIES OFF CLIFF AND TAKES AUSTRALIANS WITH HER!

Don't know why I shared this.