THREE OR FOUR YEARS
Before I left for the USA I got to see Justine for coffee at our favorite spot: La Tour d’Argent. I chose this place so that I could pick up a chaussons aux pommes as my final pastry before going full on fruit over my trip. (YES. I have decided that this trip home will be fruit until dinner (we have the best in SC), and alcohol free (which Simon has just assured me that beer not count. Ha! So, with this permission, I won’t be fully sober).
As we were there – Justine told me that she started to feel “settled into French life after three years of living here.” That shocked me – and yet, I remember feeling similar when I moved to NYC. It’s a grind to live in a city, to be in a new place, have a new home, (in this case, a new language and a new culture), a new job, new friends etc. Three years, when you consider it all… seems about right.
Later that day in fact. I was told the same sentiment by Ana, the owner of Buvette. (I spoke french with Ana, and reminded her that I had met her some three months earlier with our mutual friend, Selden. She remembered me and applauded my French progress.) Without any probing from me at all, she randomly told me that it took her “four years to settle into Paris.” FOUR! And she did it by “avoiding the US.”
I don’t think that’s going to be MY method. I mean, I love both worlds! But I did have a recurring theme that day. In three to four years I would finally be settled.
I ate my lunch outside in the sun and wished for a piece of paper to write down my plan / schedule for the US. About that time, no joke!, a delivery was being made beside my table and a box of white loose leaf paper spilled. White paper was flying everywhere. Flow. The delivery man left it there to liter the street. So… I got up and collected the pieces around me and started to write. A universe wink.
Before my lunch at Buvette (my final meal in France for a while), I swung by Simon’s bureau for a visit. He came down and asked if I’d like to go for a stroll. This was one of my favorirte afternoons with him. We typically stay close to his office – but today… he wanted to walk me around to show me some highlights and get some of that yummy vitamin D that the sun was kicking out. (YES. Mother Nature decided to crank up the volume on summer ummmm two days before I left. On Sunday it was 48° waking up — I could practically see my breath in the church service we attended. More on that later. So, an easy day to leave. But this day?!... It was in the 70°s. Hard day to consider leaving. Unreal!) The weather was making it harder to leave with summer finally peering through the rainy cold LONG winter Parisian clouds.
On our stroll he wandered us through his favorite streets to see some of his best restaurants, pâtisseries, and landmarks. When we walked into the buzzing Palais-Royal, Simon played the part. I caught him taking a royal stance as he peered on the crowd. Ha!
ARRIVING IN THE US
After my short hop (42 min ride) from ATL to MYB, 2nd flight of the day, I made a beeline to the carousel where I spotted my bag and immediately texted my mother… “I’m ready!” That was the cue for her to pull up to the airport from the cell lot. Only eek! As I was practically running to the door, bags in hand, a girl came to me, and asked “does that bag say C. Fisher?” Without slowing my stride, or double checking the tag, (I was determined to get outside and go straight to the ocean, damnit!) I said “No.” But… when I looked down, sure enough, it did not say AC Bethea it DID said “C. Fisher!”Ahhhh I took the wrong bag. We had the exact luggage – down to the ribbon color we chose. Ok ok… her's didn’t have a ribbon at all… but when you have blinders on – doesn’t everything look like alike?!
I gave her the bag and finally… some four (long) mins later… I spotted mine. With seconds to spare, before the impatient police officer was making my mother drive away (she had been parked for a solid 45seconds by then. Too long for this officer evidently), I saw Boggs (my precious nephew) hanging out of the backseat window negotiating with the rule enforcer and frantically looking for his aunt! When he saw me he said “See! There she is! Annie!!” I threw my bags in the back and hopped in. (Here’s hoping all the presents I brought back aren’t crushed by that move!)
We drove directly to the Atlantic Ocean (a solid 3 mins away). I had strategically tucked a bathing suit in my carryon for this exact reason. I had waves to ride with my boppy – Boggs Jr. We reached the Downwind Sails parking lot and the memories flooded me! I, my sister, most of my best friends, and every tan / bleached blond guy in a 5 mile radius worked at this attraction every summer throughout high school and college.
We “raced” - I jogged, he bolted - to the ocean. Dove in and got slammed by the waves. It was EVERYTHING. It was the saltiest I have ever tasted the Atlantic and the waves were alive. Whitecaps for days. We would run in… let the current take us down the beach. Get out. And repeat. I could eat him up. In between one of the belly flops that he was performing for me (we both decided that his back flop looked a lot cooler - but hurt worse!) He asked me to teach him “French bad words.” Ha! When I started to laugh, he said “What? I already know every bad word…” I finished his sentence “... What? In English?” With an 12 year old (edible) eye-roll he said.. “Annie!? I’ve known those my whole life! No. I already know practically every bad Spanish word.” I mean. EDIBLE! (PSA to B’s parents. I didn’t teach him any. He actually forgot. So I pretended to too.)
We ate cones of icecream that night at our local creamery – we walked to and from my mother’s house and soaked in the humidity and heat. Home!
DAYS IN SC
Since I’ve been home, we have gone to two farmers markets, seen my grandmother, gone shopping, bought all the GSB and Edmund’s Oast craft beer, walked Goldie (and watched her sleep hours upon hours throughout the day – moving from one sunny place to the next.), snuggled my sissy down, and walk through the most RIDICULOUS … the reason why American’s have a bad rap.. Unnecessarily huge and littered with mess place there ever was. Buc-ee’s.
Before I moved, this convenient store was becoming all the rage. People were making trips (no joke!) to go see this mega super store gas pump tacky gift shop and brisket restaurant (yes. It is ALL of those things in ONE. My NIGHTMARE. I’m talkin’ truly… makes me have hives to think about.) I felt like (and probably was) the biggest snob that had ever stepped foot in that place. I couldn’t get over the volume. The minute the doors electrically slid open (so to keep all that freezing cold AC on high and encapsulated in the fluorescently lit box) there was an outpour of high pitched words being yelled… something to the tune of: “Mama look at this!! … Can I have this one? Who’s hungry? … How can I help you? … Who’s next? … BBQ this way!” etc Twilight zone. Everything was branded with the beaver logo image. Everyone’s arms were full of mess – but not to be limited to just car snacks… there were rugs, grills, candy, soda, slurpees, bathing suits, beer jerky, stuffed animals, books. You name it! And my little nephew and mama were all giggles staring at my horrified expression.
PARIS
Last Friday night Simon and I met for beers in the rain near our apartment – before going home and feasting on sushi grade sashimi tuna. Simon and I have been hosting and visiting with lots of friends and his family lately, so we decided to stay in this night and enjoy each other. He wanted to make it special with a treat. (I have recently shown him the Jiro Dreams of Sushi documentary – he was obsessed – so we’ve had sushi on the brain!) To pair with our fish, he made the best pea & burrata salad I’ve ever eaten.
AND… to show me he was serious about sushi prep. He dressed the part. Head bandana and all!
The next day we went out to Pontholie for a family-filled few days for his Godson’s first holy communion. The church was freezing (I seem to always forget… even though Simon reminds me at length… that I will freeze in my dress in the no heat/ac/insulated church. Mais, beauty is pain (and COLD)). And since none of us (not even my French family) could understand the Priest – we locked in on an 8 year old practicing her arabesques and pilés to entertain us. Only in France. Precious!!! Simon’s mother and I couldn’t stop giggling at her.
After the ceremony – we all thawed out outside at a reception at Fanny and Martin’s beyond gorgeous home. We had homemade hors d'oeuvres and passed flutes of champagne (Simon’s brother had bought a beer especially for me so I poured beer in my flute. Pas chic. Very gauche, in fact. Believe me – I got some funny looks. But you can’t knock it until you try it, eh?! Seemed to taste even better in that vessel).
After we were nice and warm we made our way inside for a feast. Late in the afternoon the boys and men played soccer, while the ladies gabbed and caught some rays. Simon had to change before we took the train home – so that people didn’t think he had been in a wet tee-shirt contest. He played his heart out!
Monday I finished packing, washing clothes, and sorting what all plans I wanted to tie up before I was USA bound. Simon and I decided to have a beer at our bar in Place des Petits Pères. When I arrived he said “that’s the most famous rugby player, you should get his autograph.” He had already spoken to him / congratulated him on his wins etc. and wanted to play it cool. Yet, as we talked he kept one eye on me and one on him (starstruck), as ummmmm no one else noticed he was there.
This famed player (can’t remember his name – because I was one of the ones who didn’t notice he was there. Ha!) sat and drank his beer in peace. When he left a slew of people started whispering and pointing. The whole bar by the time he was across the street had turned around to stare. So I guess they did notice – they just too wanted to play it cool as my Simon did.
We dinned at Le Gavroche Bar à vins were I choked (this is the third time this has happened to me in four months. Bazar!) so we extended our stay and had the longest date. Walking outside for air and to pass the unpleasant feeling – Inside for a reheated meal and a wonderful rest of the time.
I left at 6:15am on Wednesday morning for my 9am flight. Simon woke up with me and helped me to the car (pictured earlier in En Route). We laughed on the street about his evil eye shirt and said our farewells while the trash truck passed and my Uber pulled up. We FaceTimed last night (pictured earlier in En Route) before I went on a boat ride with Joe, and his three wives. His joke about my mother, Diane and Martha – best friends.
CONWAY
The heat is hot and heavy here in the great state of South Carolina. But the great part? One. It hasn’t rained yet – so that’s something new for me! And Two. Each time you walk out into the steam bath… oooop, I mean the scorching humidity…. It’s like getting a free facial. It’s the best!
Today my mama and I took our coffee on her gorgeous porch that overlooks the river, we took GH for a long stroll through the cemetery, we went to Target (Justine, who is from northern LA, also confirms that there is something about going to Target when you’re back in the US that just feels comfortable / necessary. Ha! I agree.), we went to my favorite supermarket The Fresh Market to buy provisions for our boat ride, we made a stop by the largest wine and beer shop I have ever seen in all of my life to get our local GSB beer for the beach week coming up, and blackcurrant liqueur for Kir Royals (Miller and Boggs asked me to make cocktails white we’re together, I think they will love this French one), we went to get a snack at a Greek restaurant, and then, we drove home the round about way so that I could see my hometown best friend, Maggie’s new hair salon.
Since I’ve arrived. Goldie Hawn has been keeping me busy demanding her body massages and ear tugs that her (original) mama (moi) used to give her. She, I think, was in shock when she saw/smelled me. She just kept looking at me and then looking at the others. She has followed me around as she used to and she smells the same. Like home.
I have watched her move from porch couch, to porch chair, to inside couch, to under the dining room table, to outside grass, to porch bricks … each time resting in place for a LONG Zzzzz. I am reassured everytime I come. She has the ultimate life here!
The church bells just struck 9am. I love that about living downtown. The chimes. I’m actually pretty sure this was the main reason my mother bought this house. To hear the music. At noon and 5pm the bells play 15 mins of hymnals. So sweet, so traditional, so southern.
More to come. Off to cruise around the town and see where people have moved and be with GH, mama, Rachel, Maggie and whoever else we run into.
Xx ac
👋🏻 🤗