< ![CDATA[   Now that I've recovered from the ridiculous push up to the top of this mountain I may never leave. It really couldn't be any lovelier: sitting in a field of tall grass and goldenrod dotted with yellow snapdragons. The whole field smells vaguely of the mint that is growing here and there, warmed by the sun. Tony and Gabe have gone "downstairs," as the owner of the campsite calls the town in the valley, after provisions. The children are playing Indians in the field. Not very PC, I know, but they love it. They've made little tipis of sticks and bandanas and their small plastic critters are the pawns in their game. With the exception of Ezra occasionally raining destruction down on someone else's village, all is peaceful. We're camped on the land facing side of the mountain, which drops abruptly into the sea a mere fifty yards from our tent. We can't see the cliff from here, but at night, when all is quiet, we can hear the ocean crashing into the walls far below. From where I sit the valley stretches out for miles. The Apennines rise in every shade of brown and green up close, fading to grays and blues in the distance. The tallest have their peaks obscured by the only clouds in the sky... the rest of the sky is blue... the blue which all other skies aspire to, but never quite manage. The hillsides are dotted with terra cotta roofs and little squares of cultivated ground: vineyards, olive groves and various vegetable plantings, all still going strong as the weather here is far from autumnal. We're happy to be here for a few days. Tony will do a little work. I will do a little writing for a spot on "family travel" in a guidebook on traveling Europe. The kids will do a little schooling. Starting with a study of the banana tree growing near the bathhouse. It has cooperated nicely by sprouting its long stalk with a reddish bloom on the end and concentric rings of little green bananas in time for our visit. Ezra is puzzled by the fact that this plant, which appears to be a tree, is not a tree. We are all looking forward to the downtime. In the meantime, I'm doing laundry like crazy... hand washing, of course. I thought that I just about had it licked when I awoke, in the middle of the night, to Ezra yelling, in a sleepy voice: "AW DANG IT!" (He's not supposed to say 'dang it.') Then Hannah, "Oh Ez...." He'd peed the bed... well, peed the tent, I suppose. Not a little dribble, an ocean. Hannah shoveled the wet boy and all of his wet gear: mat & sleeping bag, out into the middle of the tent. We hosed him off, and I tucked him into the side of our sleeping bag, wearing nothing but his fleece jacket and my socks. Poor little guy was shivering. That was the end of sleep for me for the night, but at least Ez is a cuddly bedmate. He does none of the fish flopping that the other kids did and he loves to run his fingers through my long hair, which he did, all night. When I opened my eyes this morning, he was staring at me, grinning. His sleeping bag and mat are washed and laid out on the grass in the sun. post script: his bedding did not get dry and he is now tucked into Hannah's bag with her. Only it isn't Hannah's bag, it's Gabriels. She switched them when he wasn't looking, "Just in case!" Ezra has learned the 11th Commandment: Thou shalt not pee in thine sister's bed!]]>