Homesick or My Other Love

I am a wholehearted believer that everything happens for a reason, but I often think that the universe made a small mistake in the course of my life.  My parents met, got married, had two beautiful children and then one night in Paris, they made me.  Everything was pretty much right up until the day I was born in Lima, Ohio - the armpit of the universe. 
You see, I'm positive I was supposed to be born in some French hospital in Provence or Burgundy to two wealthy American ex pats who had escaped to France to lead a simpler life, buying a modest chateau to raise their three children.  I was to attend French schools, summer in Brittany and speak English only with my father, whose eyes would glaze over everytime an all French conversation ensued.
Since I left France in June of 2009, I haven't stopped missing it.  I regret nothing and am grateful for everything.  I have a charmed life, a wonderful family and more than I will ever need, but sometimes when the five o'clock sun hits my face just right or the sky is particularly blue, I think of other days.  French days.  I think of weaving through the hills along the Cote d'Azur.  I think of the long walk home from school, perfect for talking or saying nothing at all.  I think of the people I met, the food I ate and the soundtrack of my French life.  I think of those things and my heart hurts just a little.

The view from the balcony in my room

Floats at Nice's Carnival

Mount St. Victoire behind the house I always tried to paint

On the way home from class

Mimosas at the flower market