.I would sit under the huge magnolia trees in my grandparents' garden, in Abano, on the Euganean Hills, and read . I remember my grandma (the grandma, the one I stole all my vintage-y stuff from, the super cool grandma, who in her days was, I suspect, a tough chic) trying to teach me how to sew or knit, and games of cards in the shade with my grandfather. I used to spend a huge amount of time at their place.
.My grandma would always make tea and bake cakes, even when the temperature would rise up to 30-35°C. She would give me freshly baked bread with butter and sugar on top, and ask me what I was reading. Then I usually started intricated explanations on who was doing what and why that was important, and talk for hours (like I still do), and she would listen, without asking questions.
.Sometimes I still hope I'll become a great writer. Of course, that would mean someone should read the thousands of pages I wrote these past 10 years, and no one, no one is allowed to come close to me when I write. Perhaps making it strictly personal is not really bringing me closer to achieve fame... Though fame is not really the main aim. I only wish I could make people feel the way I feel when I read one of my favorite novels.
.When I was 13, I would dream of writing my masterpiece sitting in the garden of my Devonshire Cottage (step 1: get a Devonshire Cottage), swinging on my lawn swing, surrounded by lillacs, wisteria, roses and staring at the peonies growing near the cottage's porch (step 2: get a gardner). While drinking tea, for sure.
.Yeah well. All this just because in Paris peonies are in full bloom...
photos via weheartit
