Alas, we (and our boys) are in France! It took mon mari no time to pick up again where he left off as a Parisien, either. Today, he instinctively tucked freshly purchased crusty baguettes (not bagged here in Paris) under his arm and tore off the tip to savor for the long walk home. If you’ve spent any time in France, this endearing quality is one your heart will skip a beat for.
Our little men are assimilating in the City of Light, too. They are gesturing charades, playing cards and skate boarding with French kids. They gladly eat pink macaroons or Madeleines instead of chocolate-chip cookies, trade Orangina for Coke, cram into the crowded Metro instead of automobiles, or boldly counter “merci”, not “thank you”.
Me? … Sipping a bowl of café au lait each morning, watching les (damp) Parisiennes walk undaunted under their umbrellas along the Champs Elysées, relaxing at the country house outside of Paris, fingering Rhodia notebooks in the many papeteries, reading livres en français on the Rive Gauche, or simply standing in a long line for fresh baguettes… I adore France. It is not really what I’ve accomplished or what I’ve seen here – rather a “state of mind” where I’d like to linger for a while.