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9 p.m., Canada Day

I did my best. I went down to the village to get beer, pickles, (wasn’t sure they’d have cornichons in Gordes but I was game to try) and some kind of bun for burgers. But it’s the day the two little grocery stores are closed, I guess, and the bakery too. It was odd to find everything closed, but it was. So I had to make do.

For supper, we had potato salad without pickle juice, which my mother-in-law swears is the vital secret ingredient, and with green pepper instead of celery, but it wasn’t bad at all, and we had hamburgers without buns but with lettuce, onion, tomato, ketchup, mustard. I had found a Canadian flag in a cupboard and draped it nearby. Our Canada Day fest. With red wine.

Denis, however, as perhaps I have mentioned, is French. He never eats with his hands. So he ate a plain hamburger with a knife and fork, then had the lettuce and tomato as a salad, and then the potato salad. Which he said was delicious.
I have heard from my children and dear friends. I miss everyone. But there’s a beautiful garden in front of me, birds, lavender and rosemary, a sunset creeping up the sky to the right, storm clouds to the left. Below in the garden is a borie – a habitation made of piled up stones, centuries old. Denis uses this one to store his lawn-mower, and has three others further down the property. He said he tried to open one once, and a snake curled up in the keyhole would not let him in.
I hope you have all had a wonderful day. Hooray for Canada, for those Canada-lovers who are there right now, and for those who are not.

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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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