Our pupils had not had much exposure to wine, and kept making uninformed statements like "Oh, wine, I don't like it." When Mary Ward said "I never drink red wine; I like only dry white," Paul took it as a personal insult. "That's like saying, 'I never talk to French people; I only talk to Italians,'" he said. Then he offered her a glass of red wine he considered quite good, a Chateau Chauvin '29, a flowery, well-rounded Bordeaux. Mary took one sip and said, "Hey, I never realized wine could taste like that!"
Chapter 3, Part 5: L'Ecole, My Life in France.
Paul's a funny thing, isn't he? But sweet and accepting and compassionate, as you no doubt will know if you are reading along with me, as I so encourage you to do. As a matter of fact, you would know that if you'd seen Julie and Julia, the movie by Nora Ephron. (That is something I am definitely going to do when I finished reading.)
This passage is interesting and truthful. Like so many people about so many things, there just isnt enough openness. There is nothing I adore more than meeting someone who has seen or read the same thing as me and will discuss it, and tell me what they liked and didn't like. What I seriously cannot stand is when we've read of seen the same thing but the second party will not take my opinion, but argues their own until I could just hit them with the book itself. I suppose, though, that I can be like that myself, saying "I don't read modern fiction; just classics." I guess then that I am also guilty of "only talk(ing) to Italians". When, oh, when will someone come and show me that modern fiction isn't that dodge after all? (I don't think anyone will.)
We are all guilty of that sometime. Until someone offers us a gift - if we are willing & open enough to receive it, in the mutual exchange we can be each enriched & expanded. But some will not be willing for fear of losing something of themselves...
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