Love, Italian Style

Wow, Italy. Wow.

Last night, the moon shone bright in my window. I didn’t mind. I must, I just must, be out of wishes, but I wished anyway on the first star I saw, and looked up at that moon and thought on my fortune.

The day came bright and clear as it had left, and not cool but not exactly hot. A perfect day for a run, but alas, these hills are not made for running. Too steep, too much traffic. And anyway, not very Italian.

Italian is the woman I saw on the Riviera getting off her moped in a diaphanous leopard skin dress and 3 inch heels, shaking her hair out of her helmet. Stunning.

Italian (like French, actually), is lingering. The art of making a moment last.

And seems, from my covert people-watching, to be all about having a great time. Usually in a group. They’re ordering magnums of local wine at dinner. Having the raw Florentine steaks brought out to inspect. Laughing, and not just a quiet giggle. A full-body laugh, with head thrown back. I like it.

Italian, or at least Tuscan, is the taste of the local tomatoes, which are so good they could be a whole post unto themselves. They are easily the best I’ve ever had. Sweet. Earthy. I know two people who would love them as much as I do. And the color of the tomatoes! The deep, rich red! Finally, the name they call my polish makes sense.

Italian seems to be about knowing when to shrug. And knowing when to get excited.

If all those motorcycles on my bumper are any indication, Italian is about speed, urgency, passion.

And it’s looking very good three days in.

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2 Responses to “Love, Italian Style”


  1. 1 Shannon Reese July 13, 2011 at 4:35 pm

    Finally had a chance to look at your blog—loved the latest post! Have a great time!


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