Rainy days and Monday’s are both glorious reasons to write in a castle. My beach towel is by my side as I head back from the pool to sit in the bar lounge alone listening to wonderful French words flowing out of friendly conversation in the other room. The people are beautiful. Ok, I heard fromage. It is a discussion that includes food. I love listening to it and wait to understand even one word, however it does not matter as they all are a treasure. I am enjoying the style and not having to interrupt the words, their laughs and different voices tell the story. They converse in an orchestrated dance taking turns as are birds chirping from time to time to emphasize the beauty of this moment.
They are my fellow castle guest. I am in my writing space with grand doors and chandeliers. They have left and it is quiet enough to hear my keyboard tapping. Castle life includes many spaces of privacy with history and character. It’s just the way I imagine life to be and how it was living in one for a semester over two decades a go.
I had never even seen one, except in a magazine or Life Styles of the Rich and Famous television program back in the day. I think that is why having one of the saddest things happen weeks after arriving going back to heal, a temporary one to keep going, is why being here to finish my book is the processing part I had not done for twenty six years. Once again the saddest of this past year is melted away with each turn as my eye catches the next magical element to take in.
To write in a castle was never my plan, to have my father die while living in one was certainly unexpected on both accounts. You do not expect a parent to die and you do not expect to live in a castle, well maybe some people do. Once both happen to you it is definitely not foreseen to then wake up in one with your son visiting your nephew with your brother and his wife to finish your last chapter of your book after dying myself this past year, just months ago.
Dying I expected, being a heart patient, it’s having the son, being a writer and staying in a castle to finish a book that surprises me. He told me last night at dinner as we laughed and could not understand a word of what was beautifully being describe to us in French a language neither of us know as I encouraged, well forced him to take Spanish, again if I had ever thought of this it would have been French. We sat there and at one point I asked him how he felt about me coming up with the crazy ideas. He said it’s kind of like that time in the hospital after your stroke when you left me a voicemail message that you would be fine and home soon, that it would all be ok. He went on to say, I saved it and when it got really bad I had it to listen to.
I was floored and we kept talking as we always do. He had never told me that and it meant so much to me that he had that to listen to when I could not talk. It took taking him to Europe sitting on the terrace having dinner in France for him to share it and this is where I end the book. He will have our stories to heal his own broken heart that certainly will happen from time to time. My advice to him will always be to take your book and get to a castle, if they have stood for centuries you certainly can overcome decades of ups, downs and inside outs. Over, Under and Through that’s how we do, you need to keep going even when you feel like you can’t. When your heat hurts deeply and you can’t find breath, find your soul in your head and pull from it what you need to keep you focused on getting through, remember these over the top moments that only come by going through, love you buddas. You were that for me and our bond will always be there here or in our hearts, even when they stop beating, ok. That’s a little dramatic, but you get my point. You would now say, “I get it, I get it, you’ll always be there, love you too.”