Back

I’m back.

I’m totally drained.

“How was your trip?” my mom asked.

“It was a car and an airport and a wait and a plane and an airport and a wait and a plane, and an airport and a wait and a train and a train and a car, “I said. “And a funeral. Then, the same thing in reverse.”

The boys were pretty good on the flights over. Bigglest Boy nearly had a fit just from being stuck on planes for 12 hours, but one of the attendants on the long international flight recognized it and let him sneak up to 1st class and then let him sit in the attendants’ station and played Yahtzee with him for a little while.

In France, we were staying at his brother’s house, which is this converted old stone monstrosity of a house. When we got there, the boys said, “This is a house? It looks like a castle.”

Then they played pirates and castles with their uncle and aunt.

Monsieur’s grandfather’s funeral was quiet and very well attended. I actually borrowed a dress from a cousin, who was tall and elegant and had really gorgeous clothes. I got to wear a lovely black thing with a lovely black hat. I felt like Lauren Bacall.

There must have been five hundred people in that little church. There was a wake later, that was a bit more private as it only had eighty people or so. I gathered they were only family and close friends rather than business people.

Monsieur’s family is very wonderful. They’re all good-looking. There seems to be two types in the family – tall, dark, and gorgeous; and medium, blond, and gorgeous. And lots of both. The language barrier didn’t affect me one bit since everyone said, “Oh, you’re the American!” as soon as I opened my mouth, and everything was in English from then on.

There was much food and all of it was good; some of it was even identifiable.

There was something brown on a plate which Monsieur didn’t touch but I ate with bread things.

“What’s this?” I asked him, shoveling it into my mouth.

“Pork liver,” he said, and turned away to help Littlest Boy to a plate of fruit.

I looked at my plate, then shrugged, and ate another bite.

“You’re with our American boy, aren’t you?” said someone behind me.

I turned and recognized one of Monsieur’s grand-uncles. I introduced myself in French but he answered in English.

“You know,” said the old man, confiding in me, “[Monsieur’s grandfather] didn’t like to admit to having favorite grandchildren. But, I think his favorite was [Monsieur].”

“Do you really?” I said, smiling.

“I do. But he would never say so, so don’t you tell him. But, it is true. And if you have to pick one man in this family to be the favorite, it would be that one. So, don’t let him go.”

“I’ll remember that,” I said with a wink.

“Good. He is my favorite nephew, too.”