Monique Lapidaire and Arnold Trampe dropped by a few days ago. She was rather quiet as he and I kept talking about all sorts of things, but then she interrupted the conversation out of the blue: “When will you have another party?” Taken aback, I searched for the right words. “Perhaps never,” I raised my eyebrows at last. “Well,” I continued in a quiet voice, “perhaps I will have smaller gatherings for just a few friends.” But then I turned to my many years of having parties of all sorts. I went on and on, following my life in so many different places, but she remained quiet. Which made me feel kind of guilty, too. My Motovun parties were wonderful while they lasted. Many people met in my house. The atmosphere was just right most of the time. There was much gabbing and drumming and eating and dancing and drinking. The end of my love affair with the hilltown ended all that, though. And love affairs cannot be resuscitated back to life once they fall apart. Although the feeling of guilt is still with me so many days later, my answer still holds. Now I have to figure out what to do with the remaining few friends, like Monique and Arnold. If anything.