I'm basically an American mutt when it comes to ancestry, but I identify strongly with my Italian roots. I mean, they're into espresso, fine leather goods (Prada) and fashion. That's not even mentioning the food! So last Friday, I'm sitting here writing, minding my own business, sucking down some Starbucks concoction and my father calls me. My father is Italian, he never calls me. He usually speaks through my mother. He has this excuse that he can't hear my voice, it's too soft.
Anyway, he calls me on Friday and asks...wait for it...if I want to go to Italy with him. What? Well, I offer to stay home with my brother so my mom can go. She doesn't WANT to go. She says if I don't go, my dad probably won't either. Well, okay, if I HAVE to take one for the team, I volunteer as tribute.
The next day, we find out one of my dad's Italian friends -- who goes every year and speaks Italian -- already has a trip planned. Do we want to add two? Do we? I should mention his friend was an Italian restauranteur for years and we are eating and staying in the finest places. I can get my espresso-sent-to-my-room, kind of places.
I'm just slightly excited. My dad travels the way I like to -- in style -- and the only thing I'm slightly worried about is that we're staying in a very haunted hotel in Rome. I said, I might not need my own room there. I might be sleeping at the end of someone's bed. LOL Anyway, obviously I'm going to need to set a book there and because two of my heroines in "The Wentworth Heiresses" are Italian, I think I'll tell one of their stories from the old country. She's a museum curator, so it makes sense for her character anyway. Love when life works out like that. So I'm going to Italy. I can hardly believe it still, but I've bought a map and I've worked out our whole route in my mind. I cannot wait to see the art and the history!