“You Made Me Love You. . .”


“I didn’t want to do it. . . 

No, I didn’t want to do it.”

I love Italy.  She’s in my heart and soul.  I continually work at learning her language, i listen to her music, and I feel incomplete if I can’t visit some part of her frequently.

A few days after Don arrived I told him  I liked France, but my heart belonged to Italy.  It still does, but. . .

Two weeks later I find I REALLY  like France.  You quietly wormed your way into my affections, Monsieur France.  

It took me a while, but I soon identified some distinctions. It happened while we were in Congenies, and I woke up one morning with this recognition of the serenity of France as compared to the passion of Italy.  The energy in France is cool; in Italy it’s hot.  France is quiet; Italy is vibrant and sometimes downright noisy.  France is cheaper; Italy is pricier.  Driving is courteous in France and adventurous in Italy.  Food and wine are to die for in both places.  

I’m reminded of a line from one of my favorite movies, ” Parenthood.”  The wise grandmother talked about  Life and described it as a merry- go-round or a roller coaster.  One goes round and round, one gives you thrills and excitement.

I like to think of France as the elegantly carved, beautifully created carousel, with its music, charm, and magnetic spell.  Who isn’t drawn to the carousels we’ve seen here in parks, evoking memories of happy, carefree times.

Italy remains my roller coaster. . . Up, down, sometimes scary, yet masterfully engineered, magnificently and outrageously conceived.  Breathless and slightly sick when you finish the ride, but always wanting to go again.  That’s my Italy!

But sometimes I’ll long for the elegant carousel that’s become my France.

2 responses »

  1. Very well said, BUT I find it curious that you referred to France as “Monsieur” and Italy as “she” when it’s so obviously the other way around. France is always referred to as La France–it’s always she. Madame France accepts your apology.
    Safe travels to Les Etats Unis. Xo

    • I pictured my Monsieur France as a Maurice Chevalier type with a wink and a twinkle in his eye who knew what was in my heart before I did. With his inner wisdom he knew that I’d be slowly and methodically reeled in. He wears his beret slightly askew and his mustache twirls at the ends, of course!

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