Mmmmmm, green-tea bathwater.
Mmmmmm, meatballs-a-l'espagnol at Jaja's, our famed dancing nonogenarian elder cousin.
Mmmmmm, sharing secret Blues Brother's giggles with Sarah, Helene's mother, and then piping down to listen to Jackie sing his way through far too many ranges of Mozart's magic flute.
He did the tenors comfortably, the baritones almost as comfortably, struggled but not so much through the basses, and then had us in stitches by doing the Queen of the dark's own glass-shattering aria.
It was so warm. In the air wandering up LaTour Moburg street on the way there, in their kisses and questions and laughter, in their discussion of the best way to hypnotize David's ex so that he can come out here with the girls.
I can't believe I talked to my family about a boy. I can't believe they were happy to hear it. I most definitely can't believe that they simply wished me utmost happinness and trusted my decision as to what that could be.
This concept is so utterly foreign, so utterly terrifyingly fairy-tale like in its goodness.
After a lunch of too many courses, salad and meatballs and dessert and coffee and petits-fours, Gabriel curled up on the blue velvet couch in the little blue velvet alcove in the s�jour, his baggy-curtain pants contrasting with the 16th century carved walls and hidden closets, put his head on his elder brother's leg and the two of them closed their eyes contendedly for a sieste. One budding journalist, one brilliant young law student, content to spend time at their granmother's, teasing their strange canadian cousin, curled up in each other's warmth.
Wandering home I ambled past the m�tro opening and into throngs of tourists resting in the already blooming gardens of the 7�me, down a street that David and I had rollerbladed up, past the mus�e de l'arm�e and the sparkling gold dome of Napoleon's tomb, thinking of Bill and how he'd once mentioned that he wanted to see it, peering into the rose-gardens of Varenne and eventually wandering past the gendarmes and into the Varenne's m�tro station.
Coming home I stopped at three different fruit stands, returning laden with fresh yellow plums, deep red strawberries, hand-sticked granola bars for tomorrow's rollerbladers, and magnesium-enriched water since this week has either had me cooking rich foods or forgetting to eat in between bouts of linux-play.
Tomorrow is breakfast chez moi with a new Quebecois who's been in Paris for two years and never goes out and hates it so much that he wants to return to Quebec soon.
So Guillaume is dragging him out amongst ten thousand rollerblading maniacs and tumbling girls to show him what a glorious city he's been hiding behind his television from.
And it will be good to rollerblade beside Mapie again, singing off-key Beatle's tunes in the midst of cheering marathoners, Seb is away for the week in the alps and she's determined to show herself at the randonn�es again.
And my dinner is simmering away on the stove, spinach mingling with the scent of the mimosas, and I am taking deep breaths and steeling myself to dive back in and wrestle with USB drivers.
My windows are wide open and the scent of my home is dizzying.
_____
Oh, and talking to my Marseillais Pierre on the phone as he called to urge me down to visit on his habitual monthly reminder, I told him of the sun beating off the cobbles of Montmartres, of the Lapin Agile that we will drag him to on his next visit up, checked through our calendars and my following two months look like this:
Next weekend: The six hour descent at ChamonixThe weekend after, three day easter weekend in Antibes with my favourite cousinsWeekend of April 6th, rest, rollerblading, probably attempting to catch up with friendsWeekend of the April 13th, Marseilles with Pierre and much talk of mad, mad things, juggling, and origamiWeekend of April 20th, laundry, preparations for the arrival of PRINCESS!!! and hopefully rollerbladingThe next three weekends belong to her, trips to anywhere she wishes, perhaps Amsterdam for Queensday...Weekend of May 18th, HOPEFULLY Montreal for the G&S show...And in between all those weekends, work, trips to Limoges, Passover with a family that I actually feel like celebrating with, and a million other beautiful things.