Hello, my dear friends. I’ve been in psychological and business overload this past week, clearing my head and feeling that it’s time to stop being so serious at Anne of Carversville. We all need a summer break.

Flickr: Rich007 photostream
I intended to write tomorrow about something totally frivolous … my 154 kmh car chase through the Italian alps, with helicopters overhead, and a road block waiting for me and my driver, as we dropped down to pick up the road to Zurich.

I could recall making an emergency landing in Jamaica, with two Pan Am engines on fire, the day I left my husband for the first time. That journey ended in Santa Marta, Colombia, with me sailing alone up the Magdalena River at 3am … the only English-speaking person on a barge of Colombian workers. We shared no language, but they got me to my destination, which was the sea. No surprise there.

My thinking was to give your four weeks of incredible rides, the last one resulting in my turning around a 747 jumbo jet at JFK. Yes, I persuaded that plane to come back and get me, because I (unknowingly) had $1 to my name and couldn’t sleep in the airport.

These are all good stories about my adventures. My aunt is right: at heart, I am a storyteller.

Then reality intervened … a nagging reminder all week long, that I began writing this Journal early last summer. June 3 came and went without comment from me.

Tomorrow I will focus and reflect on what our relationship has meant to me this past year. Ours is a love affair, of sorts, so you know the writing won’t be lighthearted. I simply don’t know how to engage in a frivolous seduction. But I PROMISE to be positively silly in the coming weeks, because indeed I have a very playful side to me. Well … for me, it’s playful.

Flickr: floridapfe
The same woman who goes through tearful anguish, writing some of these Journal pieces, was jumping up and down last night, in a techno-frenzied, water-misted, sensually intense show Fuerzabruta.