We came back in early August and just like last year (and the year before), all I thought was: if only I could, I would have stayed there forever. I love the ocean, the city of Bordeaux, the light, the people, everything. Cold and rain (we had plenty of both) didn’t seem to matter – we were happy.Just like last year, I was the first one up every day, if only to look at the water while knitting. The boy took off for a week for yet another basketball camp, the only German among 40 French teenagers and came back Most Valuable Player (proud mother). The man would read until late every night. “The Day of the Jackal” by Frederick Forsythe, telling me the story for breakfast – believe me, it’s like I read the book myself.
Just like last year (and the year before), we took every bus, every little train, everywhere. We would – again – visit the city of Bordeaux, hang out in the weirdest bookstores, and walk along the coast for days. We would attend the 14th of July festivities in the city of Arcachon, take a boat to Cap Ferret, rediscover two fleamarkets, buy French comics, and listen to French music.
Just like last year (and the year before) I would knit little leaves and the boy would leave them everywhere we went. Carefully choosing background and colors so that the leaves became chameleons.
Since we’re back, I have neither blocked, nor woven in the ends or taken a decent picture at daylight of my beautiful, somewhat golden wrap. Maybe because everyday life has caught up with us again. We’re back in the hamster’s wheel, as the Germans say. Back on track.
I might take care of the wrap right now. If only to lift my spirits.