Our time in Paris has come to an end. We have mixed emotions about leaving. We have lived in Paris for three months, really lived here, not visited. Leaving at the end of a vacation consists of checking out of a hotel, and getting on an airplane. But we are leaving a home that we made here. We are leaving our favorite butcher across the street. The old grumpy scruffy one who never once smiled at us, but who nodded at us when we ran into him across town. The one who defended us one crowded evening when an old bitty who didn't think we could understand French made an unkind comment about "the Americans". We are leaving the woman who sold us our baguette every day - the first merchant in the neighborhood to treat us like we lived here by asking us to pick out an extra pastry "on the house". [It took some time to figure out what she was saying, but we were touched!]. We are leaving our Cambodian shoe repair guy, who has re-soled two pairs of my shoes, whose booth near the entrance to the grocery store we pass every time we duck in for milk. Not being from Paris, he always has a big smile for us.
While we lived in Paris, we traveled throughout France, heading south, and west, and north. We left France and traveled east into Germany and Austria. Always returning home. There is nothing quite like turning up your street when you have been away. The familiar sidewalk. Waiting at the cross-walk, and noticing that the chocolate shop has changed the display. Waiting for the lift, and squeezing into the impossibly small cage with our suitcases, Ron wondering aloud as he always does about the number of children conceived between floors zero and seven. And then turning the key, flipping on the light, home.
One of my first projects when we arrived in Paris was to carve out a little corner in the kitchen, next to the little balcony, where I could write, and think, and dream about what is next.
This past Sunday we danced our last dance on rue Mouffetard. Ron boldly gave me a twirl. Twice! We said goodbye to Christian and Kamir. We said another goodbye while waiting for our lunch crepes. Yes, these will be our last crepes for a while. Until next time, friend. We lingered on our last stroll through the Bastille market. The fountains were on, and our fellow market-goers seemed to linger as well over their freshly purchased street food, sharing the concrete benches and the brilliant sunshine. I can still hear the accordion, and smell the flowers. Even the Metro ride home was different today, Ron and I each lost in our thoughts. We will miss Paris.
Am I homesick? I am not sure. Since retiring, I catch myself thinking about my childhood, my growing up years, my best friend when I was a little girl, my life before kids and career, before my mom died and my brother got sick. I am not homesick so much as I am longing to put down roots again. Since selling the home in Jupiter last August, I have been on the move, transplanting myself every three or four months. I am anxious to start the next chapter, find my new normal, figure out how I want to spend my time, and who I want to spend it with. A blank page can be intoxicating.
Doris Day passed away last week at the age of 97. She left a legacy of musical treasures, and it seemed appropriate to watch a few of her old movies. Wow, could she sing! My all time favorite Doris Day song is Que Sera Sera. What will be, will be.
I have no idea what is next, but this post will conclude this blog. Thank you for following along. It was awesome to be able to share this very special time with so many very special people.
[Editor's note: Linda does have some ideas about what is next, she just isn't ready to share them quite yet. Stay tuned!]
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