Life Changes and So It Goes

After 18 years of living in La Belle France, the time has come to spend some time in the US. Not that I won’t be commuting frequently back and forth to Paris, but for now, Washington, DC is our temporary home.  The reason?  It’s because I’m a product of the baby-boomer “sandwich” generation. With it comes responsibility for a very ill mother and wanting to be with my precious grandchildren, who for myriad reasons aren’t as mobile as before.  While we’re here, we’ll rent out our apartment in Paris, since there is such a thing as having too much real estate.

This year is probably not going to be the year my grandchildren climb aboard a DC – Paris flight (with their parents, bien sur), come visit Gran and Babbo (Italian for grandfather), and experience a very different culture from the one at home. But, then this is the three-year-old who pipes up, “I miss India,” since this well-traveled child went to meet her maternal relatives and had a more than great time living in an extended family. Naturally, she was spoiled by everyone. We were lucky enough to celebrate last Thanksgiving with them. It was an experience we’ll all remember. It’s not everyday you can go up onto the roof of a house and have a private fireworks exhibition.

If you question my three-year-old granddaughter about some of her most vivid recollections of France, she’ll be fast to tell you about our trip last September to the summit of Mt. Ventoux  (remember Lance Armstrong and his sweat-provoking ascension during one of the Tour de France competitions?). His memories were undoubtedly different as he peddled up this killer mountain.

But hers are just as vibrant. She remembers the trucks selling candy (the gooey sticky ones), which you choose from baskets. The choice is mind-boggling for a child. Hell, it’s overwhelming for adults as well, when you factor in the many colors and varieties.  The vendor packages them in plastic bags, weighs them, and tourists overpay for the privilege of location, location, location.

We tried to impose the one candy rule, but just being at that altitude made all of us ravenous while trying to sublimate what the dentists’ bills might cost.  Candy is a quick source of energy for people needing a sugar high, whether they’re biking, hiking or spending the day enjoying incredible views.

On a clear day here, you can see forever and that includes the far off Alps. This is one of the many joys of Provence – and so many other places in Europe. Drive an hour and you’re in a different world, both culturally and architecturally. The omelets we ate for lunch (while nearly freezing since it was a good 30 degrees colder than when we’d climbed in the car that morning), tasted better than if we’d been dining at Taillvant.

Saira and I look at pictures together, and she’s fast to tell me about the Eiffel Tower, the playground at the Luxembourg Garden, and a special toy store that caught her eye. Even though Toys R Us has come to the French suburbs, Saira has an eye for the really good stuff, and it’s hard not to hand over your credit card and say, “Charge it.”

As most women agree when they come to France, shopping is a high priority. This is true for girls of all ages. Even though clothes may be somewhat more expensive in Paris than in the US (unless you’re lucky enough to be there during the sales or go to one of the discount streets – my favorite is the Rue St. Placida), there’s a massive difference when it comes to quality. Even my daughter-in-law who was adamant that her daughter didn’t need any clothes fell in love with some items at Monoprix. Many people think of it as a grocery store, but those in the know are familiar with the fact that it’s owned by Galeries Lafayette, which means many of the clothes for both children and women look great and the prices can’t be beat.

We’re ensconced in an apartment in the Nation’s Capital. It feels as if I’ve come full circle which is a bit disquieting. From our apartment balcony, I can see the building where I grew up.  Rather than being 3000+ miles across the ocean, we’re now living five minutes from my mother and seven minutes from my son and his family. When we parked our car in our assigned space, we were amazed to see that the car next to ours bore the license plate “BONJOUR.”

One of the first things I did upon arriving was order daily delivery of the Washington Post. Compared to papers in France, they’re practically free here, which is why you see them thrown out in the trash by noon on the day of publication. The French appear to hoard theirs. I wonder how many trees are being chopped down so people can have a fast read. But, that’s another story.

Trying to maintain the French frame of mind, I ordered TV5 as an add-on to my cable TV package. I read French newspapers online and am about to enroll for some French lessons.

I’ll join wine and food groups and other Francophile and Francophone organizations. Happily, there are a lot of French diplomats and I hope to meet even more of them. My world will expand, but in a different way than it might have if I didn’t consider France home and weren’t here for very specific reasons. Some people might consider it a sabbatical.

©   Karen Fawcett
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