A French Country Weekend

Charlotte, exhausted from chasing pine cones -- note the one sitting on her paw.

        The snow has melted, the sun is shining, the temperatures are pleasant and everything is mucky and sodden.

          Just back from a long, long visit with my first and best French friend, Anne-Françoise. She and her family had a gorgeous house a five minute walk from ours. (Actually, the verb is "has" a house near us because it's for sale and hasn't yet sold which brought her back to our village for a few days.)

        Last year they bought a house -- 11 bedrooms, 11 bathrooms and 15 toilettes, because as you no doubt know in most French homes the toilette is separate from the bathroom -- in the South of France. The family, at the moment, consists of six children and 14 grandchildren. A-F and her husband decided to find a place in the sun which would be so irresistible that everyone would be drawn to it like a magnet for summer vacations. So far the tactic has worked.

         I now know where we will be spending a July holiday. She invited us. Very exciting.

Tell me, what is more fun than gossip and tea with a best friend? (Oh, no, wait. . .  gossip and Champagne?)

        We met long before we became femmes d'un certain age in the days when my vocabulary consisted of about 15 French words unconnected by verbs and she has been one of the constants in my life ever since. She was undaunted by my inability to communicate and is the very essence of the definition, "best friend."

      Her middle daughter, Pamela, and Andrea have been friends forever. Another example of continuity and deep friendship.

     Anne-Françoise and I spent our time together today gossiping, drinking tea and exchanging beauty and regime tips. I brought her a jar of special night cream from Clarins and then told her my latest regime allowed two glasses of wine per day. She said (in French of course): "Scan that thing and get it to me instantly!" I did, it's in her iPhone.

     A demain my dear friends.