Bittersweet moments, when beauty and longing and love and surrender coalesce. It's the closest thing to ecstasy that I can imagine.
The feeling that I am dancing when I ride my Oldenburg horse Teddy.
Waking up to nonstop kisses from my exuberant Maltipoo Bellina. Hearing her snore or feeling her moist breath against my neck when we're sleeping.
Jim Morrison, shaman poet, so sexy.
Paulo Coelho's brilliant mind.
The mismatched china I collected at London street markets. Barbours and Hunter Wellies that remind me of the Windsor Horse Show.
Exploring old castles and estates, getting lost for hours upon hours in the fantasy of who lived there, what happened there.
Wearing matching lacy lingerie for no apparent reason.
Over-the-knee boots that make me feel part pirate, part dominatrix.
Aranciata Rossa. Tart lemon sorbet. Hot spice.
Dangerous Beauty. The Mists of Avalon. Auntie Mame. Memoirs of a Geisha.
Unrequited love (as long as I am just a spectator, not a participant).
Flamboyance. Decadence.
Opulence. Ostentation.
Anything Italian.
Peacocks. Fire. Full moons. Fairy Lights. Candles, lots and lots of candles.
Drumming, Drum circles, the beat is hypnotic...
Galloping as fast as possible through field and forest...knowing you are completely out of control and at your steed's mercy.
Early mornings and late nights- the feeling of being the only one awake. Insomnia- the gift of a creative mind.
Claw-footed tubs. Velvet or silk drapes that lavishly pool on the floor.
Dancing, especially Latin and Ballet (most especially Scheherazade)
Giggle attacks.
Threadbare splendor. Aristocratic shabbiness. Venice is my absolute finito!
People others would describe as zany, eccentric, inappropriate...
Waking up with perfect bedhead, which would make brushing my hair a tragedy.
Jasmine.
Macaron's (Laduree, Pierre Herme, I'm not picky...seriously, WalMart carries a random brand in the freezer section which I keep on-hand for Macaron-attacks...and please note Macaron's actually are of Italian, not French, heritage!)
In Lucia's Eyes. Best Book Ever.
Riding on a snowy evening by moonlight.
My black waxed "Martha Ride Wear" jacket- like a Barbour spent the night with a sexy motorcycle jacket and this is the love-child. "Hooker Heels". Hair jewellry, bohemian tiaras and crowns. Fine black lace anything, especially worn during the day.
The hard-won feeling of knowing I am doing the right thing for myself, even when others may doubt, criticize and push. Sovereignity rocks...
