As you already know from my previous post, I'm reading yet another 'American moves to Italy' memoir but one I find especially poignant for a reason which I can't quite put my finger on. I originally thought it was because the author and I share a similar backstory in leaving behind big careers, but I think it's more in the kindred spirit sense- only certain people fall in love with Italy enough to be compelled to move there. Sure, everyone enjoys a quickie vacation and a weeks-worth of carb-loading, but we who are here persevering the post office lines on a Saturday morning because it's only open during work hours throughout the week (when clearly, PEOPLE WORK), we are the few. An excerpt from the first chapter of this gem of a book, entitled "Il Sogno":
This trip had opened my eyes to a different type of existence. I wanted to live in a place where even the birds took time to enjoy the small pleasures of everyday life. Where the men looked like demigods and even when dressed as Julius Caesar giving tours at the Coliseum had the confidence to invite me to dinner. Where the pace was slower, where meals were enjoyed. I wanted this life.
Ah so did I Jennifer, so did I. And we got it didn't we? Someday became today in our stories, thanks for putting yours into writing.
BUY IT:
This trip had opened my eyes to a different type of existence. I wanted to live in a place where even the birds took time to enjoy the small pleasures of everyday life. Where the men looked like demigods and even when dressed as Julius Caesar giving tours at the Coliseum had the confidence to invite me to dinner. Where the pace was slower, where meals were enjoyed. I wanted this life.
Ah so did I Jennifer, so did I. And we got it didn't we? Someday became today in our stories, thanks for putting yours into writing.
BUY IT:
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