I Married a Frenchman

Only a Year in Provence??

I just got back from a visit to France where I got to visit the new home of one of my best friends.  Well, it has the appearance of a home and it's been under construction for well long enough to be a home, but it's so far away from that status of a cosy retreat that I, frankly, wanted to grab my friend Stacey, pack her in a small bag (she only weighs about 100 lbs so I could do it)  and hijack her back to civilization.....a place with a shower and real hot water.

Now, I have renovated many homes in my part-time career as a stay-at-home-Mom-real-estate-empire-creator and I could always see the light at the end of the tunnel....sure, sometimes that light cost more than I had budgeted for the tunnel....but it shone nonetheless.  Somehow, here in the U.S, we have an unspoken rule in life honed by years of capitalism...you work, you get paid.  You work harder, you get paid more.  Yes, a contractor may take longer, but you still feel he may finish...in your lifetime.

All of these beach bag books about the lure of living in the Mediterraean countries, finding a broken down villa and restoring it to a romantic retreat where you meet the love of your life, become the darling of the villagers and spend your days lazily creating gourmet masterpieces with what you found in the farmer's market that morning....that then become chick flick movies....have done us a grave injustice.  Just ask Stacey.   Now, I am looking for a place in France. 

I have decided that I will not have the romantic romp through the joys of renovation as a second language.  I will look for that magic word "renovee" in the real estate listing, meaning "been there, done that."

Thaddeus...or Taddyoost...woof!

He was so excited to see us....he didn't know we went to France...he doesn't know what France is....he was just glad to have his Mom and sister home.  Dad left for Spain the same day (we crossed in the air ironically) and it turns out he loves the kennel, so our guilt was minimal....what kind of dog loves the kennel??

This is the story of our little adopted dog, Thaddeus, the love of all of our lives.  Isn't is wonderful how dogs are neutral territory?  No matter what happens between the occupants of a home, the dog remains the friend to all of them.

When we brought this little scraggly mutt home six months ago, he had very little hair and was afraid of everything.  Life on the street had not been kind, but his rescuer showered him with love...and a name much bigger than he was.....Cheryl was very clear that we didn't have to take this sad example of a pup - or his name...but we couldn't resist.  We would rescue Thaddeus...but he was really rescuing us.  More on that later.

My daughter, Charlotte, and I brought him home to Dad...Sylvain.  We never tell the Frenchman when we go to find a dog.  It's better to make dog ownership a "fait accompli" than to waste time on discussion.  But, this dog came with a twist...a thoroughly Anglican name.  The Frenchman said "Non! Vee cannut keep ziss name...vat is ziss Taddyoost...who the #$%^ calls a duug Taddyoost??!"

"Tant pis!"  The name was not to be changed.  Honestly, what a sophisticated, elegant name for a bundle of fur (yes, it all grew back).

Back From France

Back from France last night....a long trip that began in the "oui" hours of Tuesday morning and got us home 20 hours and three planes later.

This was a quick trip that began with a transatlantic cruise that went from Florida to Barcelona, where I took a train to France and met up with my three girlfriends....all of us married to French men.  That is how - and why - we are friends....a search for an American "phare" or light in the confusion that was our adopted country.

I escaped!  And am now living the American life in the wine country of California.  But, weirdly, France beckons.  After all, my husband is one of them and, by birth, my daughter, Charlotte, is, too.

Why did I hate to leave this time?  With my duty free-purchased foie gras in hand, my heart tugged to stay, to find a house  with bright colored shutters and raise my French daughter....eating tomatoes like apples and drinking wine with lunch.  I was the one who wanted out.  Now will they let me back in?