When you close your eyes and imagine your happy place what do you See? Hear?

For me I’m in my house. In my kitchen. I hear laughter, glasses clinking. Woody Allen has personally acted as the lighting technician and we are all cast in the warm glow of a perpetual summer. I am preparing the last course. A final bite of cheese or perhaps I’m making sgroppino, that Venetian dessert of lemon sorbet and vodka topped with the last of the prosecco. Don’t worry. There’s more in the catina and I can pop down for more bottles if needed. A melange of languages - Italian, English, French - all happening simultaneously- create a cacophony of conversation. Last night in quarantine I stood in my kitchen in my happy place cooking pumpkin gnocchi as I chatted with friends. It was Tullia’s idea from London. Download House Party app she said. So I did. Next Chiara joined the line, then both the Federica’s, Orseola, Brando and Luca. A few friends I didn’t know popped by from Rome. This is Italy. You must always set the table for an extra person. Life in the Times of the Coronaviris is different yet the same. Only now life is being lived virtually with all the faces and the chatter in little boxes on my screen joining me virtually in the kitchen as I cook. First I fry the pancetta while bringing the gnocchi to a parboil, then add them to my skillet giving them an American touch of crispy finish, like a fried potato. I spoon a serving on the plate sprinkling them with arugula and chopped tomatoes, a chunk of goats cheese, drizzled in oil. Giovanni from Rome is promising everyone he will bring olive oil from his estate when this quarantine is over and then Daniel fresh back from Buenos Aires visiting his mom joins from party from Phoenix. And my house is filled with laughter. We say goodbye. And my next call begins Lori - I’m just checking in on her - she texted and sounded sad. The reality of what’s happening is hitting and she has the same fears today I had last week. Then my Brits in Berlin Dee and Phil buzz in and I pour myself the last glass of the Bordelino I drank on the Facebook live the night before - I never have to drink alone. We make plans. Discuss communal living, the end of the world as we know and if I should declare the @Republic of Toma as my own nation. I have an idea. It’s percolating. There are changes in my future. As we hang up I find a piece of chocolate and I settle in for a goodnight call from England. It’s Sue and Alistair, friends from the Paris days. They are just checking on me. These quarantine days are busy with the phone buzzing and vibrating with news from afar. I settle into bed and open Whats App - the group “Tomas Desert Island” created by Gail pings in - Mark in London is sneezing and we are discussing the industry. Margaret in New York is questioning a recent life decision and Gail in Bath ponders “Have you wondered what it will all be like when it’s over?” I’m under the covers and as my eyes get heavier and heavier I type 9 little letters. G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T. Man was not made to be alone. And in quarantine I am not. I am loved. I am surrounded by friends. This virus may be stealing the right to touch - to hug - to be close to the ones you love or want to love but it doesn’t steal love. Love always wins.