I am off to France tomorrow afternoon with my husband, children, parents-in-law, brother-in-law and his kids, and my brother-in-law's girlfriend. We'll be staying at a family home in Normandy, out in the country, and taking a few day trips - Paris, Chartres, St. Martin, Evreux, and, I'm hoping, Rouen. I'm excited...and a little nervous.
Have I mentioned I hate flying?
I am looking forward to the food and wine, rustic setting, cultural highlights, R & R. I am not looking forward to the discomfort of my rusty French and of embarrassing social blunders in front of my husband's French relatives. Could you pass me that bottle of wine, please, along with a tub of fromage blanc? Oh, merci, I feel better already.
I am hoping I'll be able to keep posting from our tiny village, where there is only a little mairie, a medieval chapel occasionally visited by a curé who covers a bunch of villages in the region , a dirt road, and an ancient cemetery, where once I walked with my husband's grandmother and listened as she prayed the Miserere at her late husband's grave. It sounded so beautiful in French, prayed by heart from the heart...She's no longer with us, but her spirit and all the stories generated by her long, rich life have given that place a truly blessed feeling. It should be nice to be there again.
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*Photo by Philippe Noret, obtained from Wikimedia Commons
1 comment:
T. is too modest—not a surprise to readers of this blog—about her French. The first time she accompanied her husband to France she blew away the French family with her school-learned but quite competent French.
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