Sue and her daughter Lucy were on their way out, back to England after four days under the Tuscan sun. As we stood together having a last minute chat, I was gifted a magical story - and with their permission, I have the privilege of sharing it with you.

Sue was telling me about the one time she and her husband “who is not the adventurous type” had spent some time in the United States, in the 1970s.

It had started a year before, as they were hiking the windy cliffs near their hometown in Portland, England. On the trail somewhere, they had struck a conversation with a much older American couple, and had invited them over to their home. After some time together, a friendship developped and their new friends made them promise to visit them in Philadelphia, sooner than later.

Which, Sue tells me, they did. At this point, she turns to Lucy and asks: “didn’t we?” Lucy nods and answers: “yes, you did.” For some reason, I loved that.

The two couples had a beautiful time together. Sue and her husband got to visit New York, they met their American friends’ son - who was also older than them - and went home grateful for the continuing magic of the friendship. Over the years, they kept in touch with them and with their son Tom, and when the American couple died several years ago, they stayed in even closer contact with Tom.

Two weeks ago, Tom had called while on a trip to England with his partner. He wanted to spend time with Sue and her husband. Would they please meet them?

This story of ongoing friendship, over time, space and generations was filling my heart.

The way people meet, seemingly randomly (as if there was such a thing), and then carve a special place into each other’s lives, making them richer, sweeter, bigger. The seeds of gifts that hospitality plants, and the way these seeds bloom. The way all of us had met, too, under Marta’s roof.

And that’s when Sue turned once more to Lucy and asked: “do you fancy I can tell Laura why the two of them were in England?” Lucy smiled and nodded, and Sue, with a huge smile on her face, began telling me the following story:

Many, many years ago, Tom had met a well known American actress, and they had struck a deep friendship. My understanding is that even though they did not get to spend much time together after that initial meeting, the woman did meet Tom’s partner at some point and had grown a friendship with him as well. For decades, letters were exchanged across the Atlantic between them as the friendship grew. Having seen the play “Love always, Patsy,” my mind was soaked with the flavor of such a relationship, and with the awe of people who make time for something so wonderful, in a world of rapid firing texts and WhatsApp.

Last year, when the actress had died, she had left the two men “a Hollywood will,”  and every three months since then, Tom and his partner had continued to receive a letter from their friend. A very special letter.

Each letter was written by her, and each one notified them of a special gift they were to receive. Once, they were given two seats at the ballet anywhere in the world, all expenses paid. Both men being artists, and now in their 80s, this had been a huge delight. Then, there was the cruise aboard the Queen Mary 2, with one of the best suites on board. There had also been the invitation to go to a Lexus car dealership “and pick their favorite one.”

This month, they had been told to pack for a one week trip to London, as they were to get picked up at the airport and driven to the Savoy Hotel, where a butler was waiting for them. Which brings us back to why and how they were hoping to spend time with Sue and her husband. From what I was told, the two men weren’t quite sure what to ask of the butler.

I was floored. The friendship, and how it had kept on living, over decades. The thoughtfulness and delightfulness of this woman, and the way she had prepared to continue to enchant and wow her friends, after she was gone. The humor, the generosity. Sure she could have left them a chunk of cash - but where would be the whimsy in that?

And sure, we can have all kinds of opinions about the expense and what-else-could-she-have-done-with-it-to-better-the-world? Which, really is none of our business.

So here you go. Life. Relationships. Surprises. And taking the time to share stories with each other.

I love it all so much.

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In fourteen days from today, if everything goes according to the plan, I will walk away from the Pisa airport with a heavy heart, and I will truly be on my own, over here.

That's the plan. That's been the plan, and not only that but I will have worked hard for this plan.

First there was a short stop in Florida to visit my family, then the Happiness Retreat, then six weeks of this sweet time we are still having, here is Tuscany. Followed by three full months of unknown, before heading to Mexico for two Happiness Retreats.

These middle three months? These 90 days with no program at all, except of course to continue working from wherever I am? That was the precious, scary, exciting, really scary part. And this part is getting  close.

In order to stay true to this "I don't know" thing I have been seeking, I have made sure to not make any commitments to anyone I have spent time with along the way, in the past two months, to not grab on to the security of having someone wait for me somewhere, or even having a vision of what the landscape might look like. It has been an exercise in itself and it has presented me with the great reward of this still blank slate, ahead of me.

And yet. Yet as the days pass, I find myself increasingly drawn to visioning the next chapter. I notice my thoughts going there, and presenting me with options. I see my fingers doing a wee bit of internet research.

No. Stay present. I want to stay present to the beauty, sweetness and magic that is now. I want to fully live it - and then fully live that. Whatever "that" turns out to be.

I am deeply aware of this tremendous gift I have extricated for myself: this rare, rare opportunity to not know at all where I will be in 14 days. What the nature will look like, what language will be spoken, what food will be eaten. I have wanted this so badly - and yet my human mind is trying to tell me to make a plan, for god's sake!

Because I know that the more I resist it, the more it will persist, I give this energy just a wee bit of attention. I design my Essences (Ease, Contribution, Community, Comfort, and Joy), and then I briefly allow myself to consider some Forms (a language school, a small flat in Sicily, a spiritual Community in Tuscany, a family in Greece) - and I go back to NOW. The glorious NOW.

And I remind myself that I am not navigating this beautiful ride alone. That all along, I / we have been guided - and why would it stop now?

So if in 14 days, I am still without a plan after leaving the airport, I will find a place to sleep for the night, and listen really carefully. With my heart.

This is feeling a little weird. AND I can do this.

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Two nights ago, Marta (our big-hearted hostess / landlady) invited us to come over and have dinner with her the following night. "Just a little pasta," she said, adding that she had some gluten-free pasta for me.

Yesterday morning, she introduced us to Sue and Lucy, a beautiful mom-daughter duo who had just arrived from England. This was Lucy's 40th birthday trip, and the two of them were as lovely as their accents. We shared a ride to Lucca, learned a bit about them - and Marta told us that they would be joining us for dinner, later on.

As would Giada, Marta's right hand helper, and Giada's boyfriend Stefano.

I sensed a party coming on.

When we arrived at Marta's (about 15 steps from our own little spot) at 8 pm, I could tell already that Marta's idea of "just a pasta," was different than mine. If I invite you to come over and have "just a little pasta," you can most likely expect me to place my bright orange Le Creuset cooking pot in the middle of the table, and to encourage you to dig in. This was a totally different deal.

Sue and Lucy were already drinking Proseco out of champagne flutes, the table was set and looked as though it was out of a magazine cover. In the center, was a graceful assortment of fresh grapes (Marta told me later that she had to climb a fence to pick these), gourds, chestnuts, and bright red leaves. Small plates were in big plates, several glasses were in front of each setting, and some exciting sounds and smells were coming from the kitchen. I made my way there.

Oh yeah.

The "ragu" had been cooking for hours, Giada was slicing bread, Marta was dressed up and maneuvering around her kitchen like an orchestra director. Her boyfriend Giovanni soon walked in and was put in charge of the gluten-free pasta and his signature pesto. I could hear the multi language conversation happening in the living room, and well... I had to work at keeping my feet on the ground. At one point Giada looked at me, smiled and said "Laura, sei molto contenta, si?" You better believe  I was very happy. I guess it showed.

Dinner was a succession of two different kinds of pasta: one with Marta's red Bolognese sauce (I asked for the recipe and was told that it was very difficult. I will ask again), and one with Giovanni's pesto, made with arugula instead of basil. Apparently basil pesto is from Genoa, and here in Lucca, we do things a little differently. Both rocked my world. Knowing that they had taken the time to make gluten-free pasta for me was so special, too. When Giada let us know that the oil Giovanni used in the pesto came from her dad's olive grove, I sank just a bit more deeply into my chair and sighed with pleasure.

The wine flowed, as did the conversation. Sue shared with us that her secret for being happily married after 52 years was "to switch things up a bit, all the time." Lucy pointed out that her mom had been living in the same house for over 40 years, to which Sue responded by saying that exactly: having her base allowed her to adventure out and play. I knew just what she meant.

We had three or four languages going, slices of thin Lardo de Colonnota showed up, as did wedges of Pecorino cheese, fresh fig jam, and two kinds of honey. Looking across the table and listening to all the laughter and words swimming around, I mentioned that I felt as though we had somehow transported ourselves onto the Best Little Marigold Hotel.

As is always the case over here, I delighted in seeing men show affection for each other, as "Georgio" and Giovanni talked about soccer and music, the whole thing punctuated with randomly timed hugs. Clearing the table gave me another chance to spend time in the kitchen, and each trip was a privilege.

By the time we left to make our 15 steps home, it was past midnight, and Leonard Cohen was singing Hallelujah in the background.

"Just a little bit of pasta" turned out to be more like Christmas. An unforgettable reminder of the power of food, music, community, generosity, curiosity and life's invitations of joy.

This morning, Marta showed up with a dish she had thrown together from last night's leftover pasta and a little bechamel sauce. I looked up from my keyboard and I am not sure I had enough language skill to thank her. But I sure tried.

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