May 6, Saint-Ismier.
Joy then, in spite of all the years gone by, in spite of time, and doubts.
Memories of so long ago, 1981 and the arrival of Mitterand, a breath of fresh air, and I was improbably young then, and we moved to Paris shortly after, out of the miasma of decrepit sun-seekers to the electric youth of Paris, in time with what felt like the much-needed renewal of the country, so long in the hands of the right, so stagnant and old, a breath of fresh air with the first Socialist president, thirty years later and in spite of all the disillusions and the distance, in spite of such a different world and such a different life, joy still, and pride in this country that is not quite my own anymore now, pride for electing a new Socialist president and choosing a new hope.
And I can almost taste that vibrancy again, the youth, the electric hope, on the eve of going back to the U.S. and starting life anew on my own.
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
There'll always be Paris.
April 19, Paris.
Paris holiday, with kids and Mom, five days filled to the brim with wonders, the Eiffel Tower, a so-French puppet called Guignol, the science discoveries at Parc de la Villette, crossing the city by boat, five days almost marred by the cold and rain but not quite.
Paris holiday, with kids and Mom, five days filled to the brim with wonders, the Eiffel Tower, a so-French puppet called Guignol, the science discoveries at Parc de la Villette, crossing the city by boat, five days almost marred by the cold and rain but not quite.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Things left in the park (Easter stroll.)
April 9, Saint-Ismier.
Nicolas turned five and we had a party with Jules and Augustin et les autres, since Gaspard couldn't make it.
Easter came and went and we had an egg hunt in the house, the first in an actual house, maybe the reason gilded memories of my childhood came rushing back. I didn't grow up in a circus, but maybe I wished I did. The long Easter week end came and went and we headed for a park and threw stones in a pond.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Fanny's gone.
March 23, Saint-Ismier.
Today was Fanny's last with us.
Fanny was Nicolas' teacher and I loved her as much as he did. She had been substituting for six months and was supposed to come back each Friday to provide a crucial continuity for the kids, but was yanked at the last minute, this afternoon, because the French Education Ministry lacks replacement teachers after years of cutbacks in hiring. She has endured twelve years of this and still remains a great teacher. I'll miss her.
Waiting for spring.
March 18, Saint-Ismier.
It has turned summery, all of a sudden, and it has made life easier, but time still yawns and the days are long, sometimes, even when the kids make them fly, and I long for the companion of my road, and for the road.
We go for walks in the sunny breeze, and Dylan adopts a beetle and sets it down gently back in its post after taking it for a ride, time to listen to a dreadlocked donkey bray, and Nicolas says he's too loud.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Last day on the slopes.
February 26, Saint-Ismier.
Cold, cold still but we can see the end of it, and the snow is wet, and the sleighs slide reluctantly down the slope, the energy is gone.
The sun chased the clouds, and the kids watched.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Southern escapade.
February 19, Saint-Ismier.
An escapade to the South, to Nice and my friend Isabelle, to Avignon and the grandiose austerity of the Popes' Palace, breathtaking (more so because on the day we arrived the city was in the grips of the Mistral, a wind from the North that rules over the Rhone region of France with painful force,) back to the garrigue around Pont du Gard for a hike among thyme and rosemary and the benevolent olive trees that reigned with loveliness and legend over my childhood, on to the village of Grignan with its castle and its tortuous streets.
An escapade, with the kids and my parenting demons, Dylan and I like rams, and I am not sure which needs to learn more, but we had fun, the three of us, listening to swinging French children songs, Hélène Bohy and her sailors, swear words under my breath at each missed turn on the road, but we have time, what do we care.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Monday, February 06, 2012
The kids.
February 6, Saint-Ismier.
A month of school has passed, and my fears about Nicolas not developing right have dissolved as he goes a' skipping into class each morning jumping up to the sweet fabulous Fanny, his teacher, with a resounding Bonjour! and she tells me he's learning just fine. Dylan is in demanding first grade and still catching up but he's doing it so fast his teacher says she can see smoke coming out of his ears. We work at home every day; he's endearingly eager to learn, and likes math best.
The week ends go just as fast. Yesterday we went out to the movies to see Le Tableau, a gorgeous intelligent trip through painting, had a smorgasbord of a lunch with Dylan's new fancy, sauerkraut, did school, ran out to a meadow up the road from my mother's house where we go sleighing every day it seems since I finally bought the kids a sleigh on Wednesday, then came home to a kid painting session before munching on fresh bread and cheese for dinner and the usual protracted reading time before bed.
I don't have a minute to spare with them, they're two free electrons bouncing up my walls and if it is exhausting most of the time, it is also damn lucky as can be. If I wasn't profoundly agnostic I'd say we're blessed.
Winter.
February 6, Saint-Ismier.
It snowed here in the Alps last week, before a Siberian cold descended upon the country, breaking records not seen for decades. Finally a sleigh for the kids, and we're out on a pasture above my mother's house every day it seems.
I had forgotten how much I enjoy winter, when it's white and sunny and stepping outside slaps you in the face.
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