Yesterday I got a cappuccino on my way home. I like the foam. When I took the first sip I was instantly transported to France. I remembered sitting in a cafe having breakfast. I remembered the smell of Rue Cler and walking up and down the street gathering food for lunch. I remembered seeing the Eifle Tower for the first time. I remember walking over Pont Neuf. I remember the pastries we ate in our room for an afternoon snack.
There is a house in Indiana that, I imagine, came right out of France. It's all stone and cottage looking and the perfect size and every time I see it I feel like I'm on a dirt road in South France, passing a vineyard or a beautiful field or something of the like.
I miss France. The memory of Paris is so vivid still, almost two years later. Some days I long to be in France. Some days, I'm not sure why we don't live there. But if I lived there I know it wouldn't be romantic, perfect, and refreshing. Or maybe it would.
There's just something about Paris. I don't think I can explain it. It's so...captivating.
Maybe when things are overwhelming and it's been a long week, I need to remember and think about something captivating and romantic and far away. It's weeks like this one that make me thankful for adventures and memories. The Lord is sweet to have allowed us to go to France (I would think He was sweet if we didn't go to France, fyi). It was always a dream of mine and now, it's a constant desire.
We're going back in May. This time, though, we are staying in France and not going to any other country. We're going to Normandy and south France and Paris. I just can't wait. I may not come back to Indiana. Is it May yet?