It's February.NOT POSSIBLE.
I was supposed to have finished scarves and hats for so many people, become more fluent in the language of the country I am living in and find a church to attend in my village. Alas, it seems that time can fly by much too fast.
The last few weeks I have made more friends and commitments to myself to become a better ex-pat. I have started reading the Bible, and am writing a lot more than usual. A friend suggested a prayer journal so I am going to try and give it a chance to become part of my routine. With the lenten season approaching it seems like a better time than any.
Grandma, the weather here is nice. Good wet, albeit a little cold, european weather. The smell of burning wood and bread baking in the boulangeries early in the morning when the earth is still grey and the sky is hanging mist will always be imprinted in the memory as quintesential france.
Today was Sunday and I was invited to a dinner, really Sunday repas, lasting for about 5-7 hours with my professor and her family. She is my favorite teacher at the college. Mostly because she has so much experience and I appreciate the way she teaches. She is full of energy and ready to engage the class any way she can. I feel as though I am learning more from her style of teaching than any class could teach.
So I arrived at her home, which was absoloutely beautiful, 3 floors, small by american standards but rather large by french. Her furniture collection was astounding, all pieces from before the turn of the century. Also a beautiful black lacquered chinese wardrobe with wonderful handpaintings converted for the television and also A FIREPLACE!! I miss fireplaces so much. Not many houses here I have been to actually have them and france is so damp that I don't know why this is. Her whole family was there to greet me, two sons and daughter (all about my age), her husband, who was so charming, her mother in law, her mother and her aunt. All just lovely and amazing people. I felt so at home and they even printed and made a special Menu with the courses of the evening listed inside, with a photo of Chicago on the front.
The only way I can describe french hospitality is they make you feel like a member of a family and a honored guest at their table. The food is astounding, the conversations ranging from proper pronuciation of koala to china patterns and talk of films and books. I was sent home with a jar of homemade soup, flowers bought in Paris (mimosa's), a desert log her aunt made and a borrowed book, driven back to my village by her very handsome son (sigh). I don't know where to start to repay them, but thanking them profusly and hoping I am invited back soon.
It is days like this I feel I could be at home here. It is days like this I miss my family so much.
