In Love with France, At Home In Italy

This was the year of my 50th high school reunion. A milestone? Maybe. But nothing compared to what I found waiting for me in my Italy sock drawer. I admit to getting in a total dither whenever a transition looms, and this departure was worse than usual, since we were, for the first time, hoping to rent our house. This required clearing drawers and closets, as well as the usual packing frenzy. To soothe myself and have the illusion of being prepared to leave, well in advance, I set out my travel uniform: Magic flying shirt that keeps the plane aloft? Check! My No-Jet-Lag homeopathic remedy that keeps me copacetic even in the face of my suspicion that, given all that we are bringing, no airplane could ever get off the ground? Check! Perhaps I should explain. Airplanes, even without my stuff, are very heavy, and it's beyond me how they stay up. I recall in 7th grade General Science class making a diagram of an airplane wing with little arrows going ov...