I Loved Every Place I Lived And

Everything I Pick Up Seems To Lure Me Away. Everything I Do In My Daily Life Begins To Feel Like Striking Wet Matches. The Need To Travel Is A Mysterious Force. A Desire To 'go' Runs Through Me Equally With An Intense Desire To 'stay' At Home. An Equal And Opposite Thermodynamic Principle. When I Travel, I Think Of Home And What It Means. At Home I'm Dreaming Of Catching Trains At Night In The Gray Light Of Old Europe, Or Pushing Open Shutters To See Florence Awaken. The Balance Just Slightly Tips In The Direction Of The Airport.

I Find That Other Countries Have This Or This, But Italy Is The Only One That Has It All For Me. The Culture, The Cuisine, The People, The Landscape, The History. Just Everything To Me Comes Together There.

I'm Just Fascinated By Houses. In Another Life, I'd Have Probably Trained As An Architect. If I Had Enough Money, I'd Collect Them Like Other People Collect Teapots. I Don't Know Why I Love Them So Much. I'm Just Very Interested In The Idea Of A House As A Metaphor For The Way One Lives.

Anytime The Perfume Of Orange And Lemon Groves Wafts In The Window; The Human Body Has To Feel Suffused With A Languorous Well-being.

I Was Born And Grew Up In Fitzgerald, Way Down In South Georgia. It Was A Mill Town And My Family Ran The Cotton Mill. My Grandfather Was Mayor Many Times And My Family Felt Deeply Rooted To That Spot.