Winter Life in France

Winter life is different because fewer people are out and about. 

This has been a cold winter compared to last when it only got down to freezing 3 or 4 times. This year the temperature hovered around 0 Celsius for about two weeks when we awakened. But sometimes the temperature would soar to the 60s (midteens Celsius) under very blue skies. 

Frost still on the ground but the sun has reached the mountains.

I prefer a nice moderate temperature, like this morning it was 8 Celsius, about 46 Fahrenheit. Perfect for brisk walks or runs. 

We've  had a few foggy mornings too. 

We’ve been getting together with friends and taking care of necessary items, like this year’s visa, or titre de séjour. Ours is safely in hand for another year. After five years in France, we can apply for a 10-year card; I'll need to pass a French test and we'll have to show them five years of taxes, so fingers crossed that we succeed next year. They have an age limit, and over 65, visitors don't have to pass the language test. 

We've had a few outings. 

I explored Perpignan with a friend and we found a cozy alley filled with people drinking outdoors and listening to music. 

Aperol Spritz and Vermouth and soda

Then we went to a nearby restaurant for a scrumptious meal. 

Hope they don't run out of wine!

I had croquette beouf confit while my friend had La Ricaine -- fries, eggs, and bacon with gravy. A perfect Sunday brunch food. 

We sat at the bar in front of the chefs

We also took an outing to the beach, of course. Isn't there something about February that makes everyone want to go to the beach?

The sun was warm and the beach was inviting, but we weren't crazy enough to go in, although we saw some people going in wearing wet suits, and another guy inching into the water while wearing only a tiny speedo. 

Last week, my friend's mother died and we traveled to her funeral. It was my first French funeral. It was catholic, so that felt familiar, even though in French. 

The church was amazing. (I only took this picture after the congregation had filed out.) 

I wasn't sure about going to the burial, picturing a long procession of cars driving to some far away cemetery. But that's not how it happens here. Instead, everyone walked behind the hearse as it made its way through town, police stopping traffic, and we wound our way through the streets to the cemetery just outside of town.

It felt very intimate to walk behind the coffin and escort it to its final resting place. Prayers at the cemetery and then people filed past to say their final goodbye. Very touching.

The sun shone during the burial, but in the opposite direction, the sky turned dark and ominous. 

Grateful the rain held off during the service

Tonight we have friends coming for a simple dinner of tartiflette and salad.

Tomorrow we go to another friend's house for dinner. 

That's winter life in southwest France. Enjoying the sun during the day, enjoying the company of friends and eating hearty foods in the evening. 

Growing Up

On Sunday last weekend, Spencer took the bus home from college through the snowy countryside. We had about six inches of snow on Saturday that made the roads quite a mess.
Spencer came home so he could attend the visiting hours at a funeral home for one of his basketball coaches. The basketball coach was 46 and died of colon cancer. He wasn't the head coach, but an assistant who focused more on teaching the boys how to be honorable men rather than only on winning. He wasn't aggressive enough for some of the hard-core parents. But once high school basketball is over, the lessons he taught are much more important.
Spencer called from the car when Earl picked him up at the bus stop. "Will you have some food ready?" he asked. "I haven't eaten all day."
And, of course, as he does at school, he's lost about 15 pounds this semester.
So I had two plates, one of breakfast, pancakes and bacon; and one of leftover dinner, spare ribs and mashed potatoes.
As he settled into eating, he turned to me and said, "What is his family going to do now that Coach Hall is dead?"
I explained to him about insurance and the teacher's union, and his wife probably has a job.
But that wasn't what Spencer was asking. He didn't focus on the finances of taking care of a family.
"Yeah, but those kids don't have their dad any more," he said.
It broke my heart and made me proud of him all over again.
We live in such a materialistic world, but Spencer saw the important parts.
When he went to the funeral home that night, Grace went with him and she said he made a point of talking with his coach's son, a freshman in high school. Spencer talked with him until he got a chuckle and a little relaxation in his shoulders after standing beside his dad's coffin all day.
I complain about my kids sometimes, but I need to remember that even when they fall off the track of finishing school and getting good jobs, they're good people growing up to be people I'm proud of.

Remembrances

My Aunt Marie, dressed in blue, her hair a faded honey color that reached nearly to her shoulders, stood watching her 12 adult grandchildren get their photograph taken.
"Do you want to get in there and have your picture taken with them?" I asked her.
"I guess," she said and took a few steps toward them. Then she stopped.
"No," she blinked away tears. "It's too sad without Dad."
We were at the dinner following her husband's funeral.
My Uncle Clarence died New Year's morning in his sleep. He hadn't been sick. His oldest son thinks he knew he was getting ready to go: "He always said he wanted to go on the back of a tractor and he ran that thing pretty hard the last forty-eight hours."
One of my other aunts asked Marie how old she was when they married 66 years before.
"I was one month shy of my 17th birthday," she said.
In Kentucky, where they lived, she had to be 17 or get her parents' permission to marry.
"My parents wouldn't sign," she said. "They liked Clarence just fine but thought I was too young to know what I was doing."
So her cousin forged the signature, and Clarence married Marie, and they were together for 66 years until Tuesday morning when she found him still in bed at 8 a.m. He had watched the celebration of the New Year before dying in his sleep.
During the funeral, I was sitting behind my Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim has one daughter and one granddaughter. So when the preacher read the list of survivors for Uncle Clarence -- four children, 16 grandchildren, 29 great-grandchildren and three great-great grandchildren -- Uncle Jim exclaimed, "Lawd Al-mighty!"
Uncle Clarence was in the Navy during World War II, so soldiers stood by the gravesite and gave a 21-gun salute. A sailor was there to play "Taps."
When I wrote my novel The Summer of France, I based one of the characters on my uncles' war stories. The character Uncle Martin was a Kentucky boy who jumped in to join the war effort. I even dedicated the book to my uncles.


My Mother in the center. Uncle Albert is on the far right with Uncle Junior next to him.

But I never gave Uncle Clarence a copy before he died. I took copies yesterday for Uncle Junior, 91, and Uncle Albert, 80,  who are still healthy. I wanted to make sure they knew they had inspired me. And I gave a copy to one of Clarence's daughters. So many of us have older relatives that we take for granted. Don't wait until it's too late to gather their stories.
You never know when  you may need a story to draw on, and all of that wisdom is just waiting to be shared.  

Rest in Peace

This morning was Rini's funeral. They held it in the Greek Orthodox church because Columbus doesn't have an Eastern Orthodox church. Rini's family was from Romania a few generations ago.

The Greek Orthodox church is gorgeous, but the funeral was rather dry. If you don't want people to cry at your funeral, it would be the best funeral ever. The priest chants and sings, sometimes in another language, for a good half hour while everyone stands.
The incense is a nice addition though. I wondered if the incense has some special numbing power as the scent drifted throughout the church. Then the priest gave the brief eulogy. He called her Irene, which, to me, means he didn't know her at all, since everyone called her Rini.
So I was dry eyed. At the end, they asked everyone to walk to the casket to pay last respects. I'm not fond of this tradition. I'd rather remember Rini as she was in life, even complaining in a hospital bed.
Then, when her two sons and mother walked up to the casket, I couldn't help it. I realized they would never see their mom again and I just felt so sad.
As I drove home from the funeral, I thought for a minute that I couldn't wait to tell Rini who was at the funeral and who was missing. She would probably laugh when she found out the secretary from two years ago showed up, but the chair of the department didn't. This was some juicy gossip Rini was sure to enjoy. Then I realized I wouldn't be able to tell her.
Her departure leaves a hole in my life too.
Thanks for your friendship, Rini. Rest in Peace.

Our Family Storykeeper

I'm kind of writing around the subject here, and I'm not sure why. My Uncle Wil, my father's brother, died last week unexpectedly. Wil was a follower of my blog, the only family member other than my daughter Grace. Here he is with his son Michael and grandson Logan.
Since I can't seem to write about Wil, I thought I would divert to write about Grace and how proud I am of the way she mingled at the funeral and luncheon.
She was... well, there's no other way to put it. She was like me.
At first, I'd find her behind me as I went to hug aunts or uncles or cousins. Then she branched out on her own, holding long, involved conversations with people she hadn't met before that day. Here's a picture of Grace with her cousin Caroline, someone she has spent plenty of time with.
When we got to the luncheon, Earl and the boys sat down at a table to wait for the rest of the crowd. I started talking to cousins I hadn't seen for awhile and there was Grace beside me, answering queries about college and asking pertinent questions. I could see her brain making connections on the family tree.
Twice she has paid her own money for a month on ancestry.com so she can trace our heritage. In our family, she is the storykeeper.
Some time I'll have her explain how our family is related to Eleanor of Aquitaine and Earl's family is traced to Henry the Eighth.
On Saturday though, she focused on the family we have now. I didn't think about it at the time, but after a long drive home Saturday night, I was up early Sunday morning. It hit me then, how Grace, who we think of as reserved, dived right into the crowd. She was charming and sweet. The true her.
So at 8:45, I got up from my desk and crawled into Grace's bed to hug her. "Thanks," I told her.
In many ways, I wouldn't want Grace to be like me. But I'm glad that she inherited this social/family gene. Every generation needs a storykeeper.