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on being in France

I won’t always be this prolific with posts, mes amis – there’s speedy internet chez my friends, and the weather is so bad, I’m not doing much but getting my wind back. Lots of walks around town, as you can see, and settling into France. Today, Denis came home for lunch. A quick sandwich, perhaps? Are you joking? He sautéed some dorade – white fish – in butter and lemon and steamed some carrots, eaten with, of course, bread, then we had salad, then – yes yes yes – 3 kinds of delicious cheese, then fruit. With a little glass of red. Lunch! It did not take long to make, but we sat eating a meal, talking, drinking.

I so appreciate these things – the effortless style, the appreciation of beauty and taste. Oh, the taste. Bought a baguette on the way home from today’s walk, could not resist ripping into it then and there. Bought my first pain au chocolat too, for gouter – tea – today. She is a happy camper.
We have of course been following the on-going and heartbreaking story of the murders in Toulouse. Nothing but grief has poured from the newspapers here, horror and an attempt to understand who this man is and how he could want to murder children. There’s an election coming up, and the vile Marine Le Pen of the racist ultra-right could be having a field day with this, but instead electioneering has stopped for the time-being, which is the decent thing to do.



2 Responses to “on being in France”

  1. theresa says:

    Ah, pain au chocolat too. Stop, stop, stop…oh, no, don't stop but keep telling us about it. How wonderful, these posts…

  2. beth says:

    Theresa, one day you'll be back in France and I'll be reading your posts and groaning with hunger and envy. One of us has to do it. Onward.

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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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