Salut les amis! (Hi Friends!) We're all in a funny place about now. It's been such a long time since the middle of March when the world suddenly flipped on its head. Stir-crazy hardly describes it anymore, does it? However, things will soon change. At least, this is what we believe. This may be the homestretch...
 |
| Sunrise over my village - and a symbol of France |
Day 47 - My partner wakes first and rolls up the shutters. The morning sun pours into the room and it feels good against my face. I doubt that the sunshine will last but then the thought goes through my mind that it won't be cold again until November. I quickly amend that by adding a mental note - "if the seasons are normal." Aye, there's the rub. There is no normal anymore. And that includes more than the weather. Our habits,
 |
| The sun rises over the Alberes |
food supplies, and social rules have all been upended. The weather has been hotting up in summer and freezing in winter like never in my memory. It really doesn't matter if it's a natural phenomenon or not. It is causing catastrophes. Then this virus hits the world like a ton of bricks and we're all reeling. I close my eyes again and let the sun warm my soul the way that a hot cup of coffee cheers cold hands. For just a moment I can feel that life is just good and beautiful. I've found a man I hope to spend the rest of my life with and he tells me he feels the same way. We have a lot in common: a love of travel, history, socializing, literature, and outdoor sports. Granted there are cultural and language differences but they are small amusements in our shared happiness. I soak in the sunshine and imagine the world in which we met last year. We go anywhere we want. We have lists of places we want to see and plans to make our dreams come true. I daydream of a world where nothing has changed.
But it has changed and so I get up and have breakfast. The news is better. France had only 218 deaths yesterday and fewer new cases have been added to the stark statistics. That is the best it has been since I began to keep track at the end of March. It bodes well. We eat
 |
A single Pinon tree on the hilltop
by the vineyards of my village. |
breakfast and afterwards, we exchange silly comments with each other on Facebook. Y posts that it's World Naked Gardening Day, with appropriately not-dressed people doing yard work. I comment, "Et toi, mon amour, tu fais le jardinage sur la terrasse comme ça?" (And you, my love, are you going to the gardening on the terrace like that?) and he comments back "Si ça peut faire plaisir a quelqu'un, pas de problème." (If that gives pleasure to someone, no problem.) We smile over our phones at each other. Our friends online add their comments and tell Y to get to work on trimming "la pelouse!" (the lawn) Very funny. The terrace is our only outdoor space for now and if I hadn't brought five of my houseplants over the day before quarantine began, we'd have nothing to care for. We have spent half a year making the house a home and left the terrace on our 'to-do' list for next year.
The sun hid behind a light veil of clouds but we went and sat out on the terrace anyway. Instead of preparing to shop in the open-air market and meet friends in a cafe as we would have done just two months ago, Y and I have a homemade espresso and make a shopping list. However - this time there is hope as we talk about it. Yes,we can only shop in a small circumference of the house. But there are only nine days left on which we must carry a note stating what time we left the house and return within an hour. Nine days sounds reasonable after forty-seven days!
We clear the table and each do our accounts. The fact that we have not bought
 |
| The Chateau in my village |
gasoline since March is astonishing! For the month of April, we spent no money in the cafes and that totals a bit more than a hundred Euros. Well, I'm sure we'll find a way to spend it soon but it won't be in the cafes. We know they won't open in May, perhaps not even in June. I tell Y that I'm looking forward to going to my village to work on my house. Back at the end of February, he and I began to redecorate my home. It has five rooms. We had finished one. The decorating (or "re-looking" as Y calls it) is something I had longed to do for a year but it is very hard to do alone. For example, I'm useless at building shelves and couldn't move my heavy furniture to rearrange it. But most of what I need to do is remove things that no longer give joy or have purpose. And with his help, it was happening until the lock-down made us decide which house would be better for a long-time stay. No contest and we've been very happy here. But the more I think about my village, the more I long to go home and take care of my place.
Then, as if my thoughts have winged across the vineyards, river, and small lanes sending a call to those I am thinking about, the phone rings. And it is Danielle, my next-door neighbor in my village. "Ma Puce!" she exclaims when I say "'Allo?" Ma puce actually means 'my flea' in
 |
| A barn conversion in my village |
literal words, but when used like this it means I am dear to her. Oh, what a wonderful coincidence! We chat for an hour. I'm so happy to hear that the Mairie (the mayor) is providing a delivery service for the seniors (among whom, she and her husband are counted.) She only has to call and they add what she needs to a shopping list then deliver the goods the next day. No wonder I love my village and the people in it. I tell her we will be there soon, when the quarantine ends and send our love to her and her husband. I ask about the across the street neighbor and Dani goes to the window and calls out, "Marelene! C'est Robin! Elle te donne le bonjour!" I can just about hear what she's saying and
 |
| The tower is a residence! |
Dani repeats it to me. How wonderful to know that they can see the flowers blooming on my terrace with only care from the frequent rain we have suffered last month. There, I tell myself, that makes it worth it. We chat for an hour and finally ring off with a lot of "Bisous!" those air-kisses we all exchange. I expect that for a very long time to come, these bisous are going to be spoken or mimed. But never mind, the main thing is there have been no deaths in my village and that those closest to me are sending their love.
With that happiness in my heart, I sit down at the computer to write. But first, because of that unexpected call, I take a look at my photos of my village. I will share a few with you. In the months to come, perhaps I'll have a chance to share new ones. Shelves will go up in my library room and car-loads of un-needed items can be donated to the charity outlet. May has arrived, warm and filled with promise. In just over a week, we will be able to go see the flowers on my terrace for ourselves. I can hardly wait! We’re in the homestretch...
I will finish on a serious note. The president promised that we would do this "ensemble" (together), but there will be some areas where day care centers, middle schools, parks, and small museums will remain closed. The number of infected people is too great in
 |
| My terrace in June last year. Soon, I hope to see it again. |
some départements. Those areas are "red" while the less affected are labeled “green.” But the shops will open for all and people can go outdoors without the restrictions we have now. The day of liberation is near. The greatest fear is that the numbers will rise. Y and I will do our best to help keep people safe around us. Our masks have arrived and we will wear them. It's the very least that any of us can do.
No comments:
Post a Comment