Springtime, printemps, France and Italy.
What do these have in common?
They call to me so loudly that I am distracted on a daily basis.
Spring is entering my world slowly and steadily. Yesterday, I caught the first cherished scent of spring breezing in the air, the moment I wait for all winter. It's gentle stream of sweetness casually tickled my nose. I stopped and gasped At last!
Buds are forming on tree branches. In the garden, bulbs have pushed cheery yellow daffodils up and out of the soil. Skittering squirrels in the yard, birds energetically bathing in their baths, grandchildren gleefully squealing on the tree swing.
Rhapsody!
One ache remedied by nature.
But France and Italy don't waft into my neighborhood as spring does.
You know how it is when you've frequented a beloved place, but you are no longer there? Out of the blue something and many things vividly bring the place to mind.
Repeatedly.
For days.
Weeks.
Months.
Relentlessly.
Until you feel so distracted and lonely for the place you find yourself weeping during the day, in little bursts, tiny, personal, and very very powerful.
Circumstances beyond my control have cancelled an upcoming late spring European holiday for me.
I am gutted.
That being said, I am pragmatic about the postponement, for I know I will return soon. Pragmatism is my mind speaking.
For my heart, however, it's as if the promise of Christmas has been snatched away. All the feels are still there, the expectations, the joy, the glory of what was to come.
Then, nope. Gone.
I don't give up easily. As a mother of four kids and four grandkids, I've learned to create work arounds to dispel disappointment.
So, work around it is!
Since I can't get myself to France or Italy right now, I deliver France and Italy to myself in the shape of favorite movies (A Good Year, From the Vine, Paris Can Wait), French music (Debussy and Satie), and in the form of favorite treats always enjoyed in France including some special new-to-me tastes from Italy.
The movies and music soothe the aches. But not enough.
Today, my order of French and Italian treats came in the mail.
Hallelujah! Relief!
Here I sit, sipping my tea with a cube of rugged La Perruche sugar. I am transported to European cafés in powerful, lovely ways. So satisfying is one French sugar cube that the noise of the roofer repairing storm damage above my head fades.
Well, kind of.
Add to tea sipping joy, a St. Michel madeleine. My daughter introduced these to me. She is married to a French man and goes to France often, every time grabbing a big bag of these for the visit and a few more for her return trip luggage.
Because madeleines are part of every visit to France, for me these soft delicious petite cakes evoke the distinct emotions, aromas, pace, and beauty of the Old World. As though superimposed onto my western Oregon chilly February, rich French and Italian surroundings come alive via memories of stone buildings, castles, cathedrals, friendly people, heavenly organic foods, the clackity clunk of ancient cobblestones, the joie de vivre of country driving along narrow roads which take us to places unventured and inviting.
To soothe my need to be in Italy, I selected some Italy to put into me: jam prepared in the Puglia region of Italy made from 55% Italian grown fruit.
I've yet to sample it.
As a small business product, this jam fits the bill perfectly.
I will buy fresh made croissants from my baker on Saturday morning. I'll knife dollops of jam onto each bite. I'll sip French-pressed coffee my husband and I will make, adding French sugar cubes, bien sur.
France and Italy have entered my home, delighting my senses once again.
Music, movies, and tasty treats will stave me off for awhile.
If you catch me glowing, smiling, eyes half shut, know that I am dreaming of friends who miss me as I miss them.
