Understanding What I Love.

"I don't understand how you can give up your car , your house, your job and everything else to live in a tiny apartment in Paris." my mother complains.

I try to explain:
"I love the corner cafe where I go to have coffee, lunch, read a book, and people watch. The guys who work there are so friendly." I explain.

"I love the fresh fruit and vegetable market around the corner..."

"and the men in the orange aprons seem to understand my French a little better each month, although they still laugh as they correct me." I add to my explanation. I've never touched the fresh fish, but it's nice to know it's there if I ever decide to try it!
"I love the smell of fresh roasted chickens, and the friendly butcher who's always very patient with my French."

I try to explain how comforting it is to know the young man at the Fromagerie knows me as "The American girl who likes Cheddar Cheese." He assures me with a friendly smile, the cheese will always be there waiting for me when I return. I even love the temptation of the boulangerie...and now they have cookies!

Still, she doesn't understand what I love and I can't explain it and better.