List of fill in the blank

1. So many happy, friendly people.
2. Unwarranted hugs.
3. Bland food.

Hugs. If it’s not my best friend, mom, grandmother, aunt or the family friend who has merited the equivalent rank after years of love and loyalty, it’s gonna be awkward. There are so many different ways to hug, it’s nearly impossible to guess correctly which one will be their form of acknowledgement to your presence. Even if I once had everyone’s styles memorized, I have forgotten after 8 months of le bisou. With the french bisou, there are two options: start at the left or start at the right. As the foreigner, my job was easy, I let the Parisian begin. Now I wonder, will she try to hug me? Is she going for the side or the front? Should my arms go under her arms? Shucks! How long does she hug? Can I pull away now? This is so awkward! Quick! be composed and happy!

Food. I knew the food wouldn’t be as good but I didn’t expect to use the word bland. Of course, my Mom is a wonderful cook and I had some delicious things but a simple thing like a side of rice, doesn't satisfy. Fortunately, Gram came over for lunch and brought a freshly baked Tollhouse pie with semisweet chocolate chip morsels. Though the ice cream was dull (Bluebell even, but that’s Italy’s fault) it was Gram’s best pie to date, and she’s made many goood pies.

The cherry trees at Notre Dame

I'm sitting in the little kitchen at an old table distinguished with a pale yellow table cloth bearing stains of my final meal with the family the night before.

Last night, Elisabet remarked that she doesn't like partings. She prefers it to be threaded into the day, without the long eulogies. Saying goodbye is like a sort of death, she reflected.

As the moments slip from under me, I try to keep my balance, to make the most of my last days in Paris. But no matter how much I reflect and walk the familiar streets in a desperate effort to imprint everything on my faltering mind, I feel like I'm trying to pin down a cloud.

You know when you start to be conscious of a dream but it's because you are about to wake up? And the dream is so uncommon and good that you tell yourself to keep sleeping which actually awakens you further. Five minutes later you're entirely conscious and the details slip away. Soon, all that remains is that vague tingle that something marvelous happened.

What rests is the memory of a feeling of a dream.

After lunch walk: Emily, Emilie, Sam, Paul

The sun was fading fast so Pascale took the dishes from our hands and pushed us out the door. Since it was Sam's first time to la Flèche and Emilie hadn't been there for years, I took the lead in our ride through and around town.
As we biked along a little stream we changed course to follow the sounds of music. Our search yielded two things: a man on a little drum, leading the group of percussionists encircling him in a catchy tribal hammering and thumping, and a one roomed building emitting stomps and western twang. While Sam held back, hoping his obvious hesitancy would dissuade Emilie/y from any bad ideas, we approached the large, open windows. As we'd hoped, a couple of the hat bearing, boot wearing, middle aged French cowboys noticed and promptly invited us in.

Photo courtesy of Emile 

Emilie immediately informed them that I was from Texas. When I added "Dallas" a sudden choras of the theme song from the 1970's TV series Dallas filled the happy room.
The line dancing instructor called us to the front to teach a new line dance. Once he began playing "God Bless Texas" I showed immense enthusiasm but my feet  never caught on. He sent me home with a book on the beginning of country western dancing to its arrival in France and detail instructions on how to do the line dance.

How funny that I happened to wear boots and the only flannel shirt I own which I never wear in Paris.