Dio, come ti amo, with Gigliola Cinquetti. My mother's favorite movie. I'll never forget that. My mother was very romantic. Too bad my father was not so much. But he was a good father and a good husband.
I love her too. She does a nice version of it, but Modugno puts more heartbreak into it. Well, life does that to one.
I have probably given a wrong impression. My husband showers me with gifts and flowers, and even poems back in the day, but...demanding, hot-headed, stubborn, jealous, set on winning every argument and having his own way, yes. You accept the bad as well as the good in marriage, and the "bad" has been more than compensated for by passion, compassion, kindness, loyalty, strong family feeling, a fierce paternal instinct, responsibility, ambition at work and on and on. He can't help it: it's in the genes.
Nor, obviously, am I perfect. I will say, however, that it's lucky for him, as he's very often been told, that he married someone from Italy. His rejoinder is usually that luck had nothing to do with it. He's always known what he wanted, even to the fighting back.
There, way too much information. You always do it to me.
