Baby, Beautiful

When we were in Sardinia we met the most wonderful guy. Actually, to be honest, we met a whole gaggle, or goggle, or whatever noun makes sense, of terrifically great & fun & gorgeously great people but Filippo, that's his name, he stands out. Yes there's Myla, his part-human part-Husky part-raccoon all-unforgettable dog (as if there weren't enough of those in the world). And there's the fact that he that dropped his life and his work to take us around the island and show us gorgeous things both great and small, including Mussolini's summer house and an Agritourismo that served an 11 course vegetarian dinner that felt like 102 courses in one body-numbing row. Delicious.

But what it really was is that we felt like we knew him. Had known him for years. Liked what he liked. Felt as he felt.

And that shorthand that comes into play? We all have it.

You meet someone in line at the coffee place & instantly like them.

You run into somebody at the Cuban place next to the bookstore and feel like you've known them for 15 years.

People when you least expect it who renew your faith in mankind again. And for an hour you forget that BP exists, that the war(s) go on, that not everything is peachy or keen.

So. Anyway.

Filippo, that's his name. He posted this photo on Facebook. This baby in his hand. This bundle of freaking gorgeous unbelievable who-needs-cartoons-give-me-one-I-want-to-cry fluff. If someone knows something more amazing, please, send it in. With this, I believe in miracles. Charlotte, over to you.