“One of my English dept. colleagues has a friend from college who hosts “reading retreats” in Italy. They were first located at the castle in the first link below, but an earthquake forced a relocation; the second link shows the new location. Really interesting!”
Just the thought of a reading retreat set my juices a flowing, my imagination revved up, a list of books to bring organizing in my mind, and had me reaching for my travel planner. Then I read this post in the blog from the retreat, which put the brakes on any dream of attending.
“While in New York last week I learned that nearly everyone in the Big Apple is on a low-carb diet. How sad. On Sunday December 23nd from noon till dusk Pippo, Luna and I are hosting a ten euro all-carb and protein brunch with pancakes and maple syrup, bacon, eggs, toast, sausage, and all kinds of naughty foods that will fatten everyone right up. Don’t come if you’re on a diet, but if you would like to splurge like we often do, I’ll introduce you to one of my best friends, french toast made from Panettone. Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate should push you well over the 3,000 calorie count! Ho ho ho!”
This would be a diabetic nightmare. Another section in the retreat description details how everyone is expected to be part of the communal cooking with cozy photos of people side by side, preparing a pasta.
I enjoy cooking. I adore Italian food. I am one-half Italian. I am diabetic. White flour pasta and a long shopping list of carbohydrates are no longer on my list of things to do or eat. Though the reading retreat part would be heaven, the eating part would be hell. Even if I were able to escape the cooking detail, the aromas would linger and waft through the building cruelly teasing my senses with temptation.
It would take a day of muscle screaming exercise to drop my sugar level to the point where I could indulge in one meal. Exercise is one of the words on my list of profanity to avoid.
I know myself all too well. By the end of the second day, I am certain I will want to rip someone’s throat out. Why tempt fate?