More compelling evidence has emerged that our rustic farmhouse here in lovely Capriglia-by-the-Sea (population 255 people, I have recently discovered) is definitely enchanted.

This is the story: Our floors here are red tile bricks -- beautiful, but rustic and surprisingly tough on socks, slowly wearing them away if you walk around in sock feet all day, as I do. As a consequence, several pairs of my socks now have holes in their soles. I thought to myself yesterday morning, "I really do need to get some new socks."

It has gotten colder here lately and I have begun wearing my coat. I've probably worn it eight or ten times recently, but yesterday afternoon as I was putting it on to go to the Capezzano Monte Philharmonic Annual Christmas Concert (a very charming and slightly surreal experience), I noticed that the side pocket of my coat was buttoned closed and was also lumpy. This is not usual. "Hmmm -- what could it be?"

Socks.

It was a pair of socks.

New socks -- black with purple toes -- that I have never seen before in my life. Besides which, who puts socks in their winter coat pocket? Not me.

So the evidence continues to roll in -- the rustic farmhouse is enchanted. It gave me a convenient bench from which to view the sea when I wanted it and it gave me a covered shed filled with firewood when I wanted it and now it has given me socks, the thing that I really most desired.

Thank god I've never been one of those people who wished they had a dragon.