So, a post for last Saturday:
I have decided to just write this in Word first. I’m home
alone; I don’t want to wait another day to write. I don’t want to forget
something that people at home may want to know about.
Day 14 – Saturday:
I wake up at 7:00am as usual. My brain is now trained to
wake up at that time so that I can get to school. I went down, had breakfast,
and sat…bored while waiting for Colette’s sister. She and her daughter, Emilie,
took me to Colette’s mother’s house. Most of the family came in order to
celebrate her 90th birthday (party on Sunday).
Apparently, it was a good thing that I was riding with them,
because Emilie and her mother don’t get along very well. Marie (Emilie’s twin
sister) told me later that Emilie was so happy I was there to stop the
arguments from even starting.
I get to the house and start taking pictures while observing
for the first time a busy, rather large, French family, which is like an
American family: siblings don’t get along, but they come together for their
mother. Actually, Marie was telling me that a lot of French families don’t even
speak to each other…so maybe these are special people.
So, the main front door opens up to a room with a huge sink
on the left, and the grandmother’s (Emilie and Marie’s grandmother, that is)
bedroom and bathroom is behind a door straight ahead. On the right wall, are
three doors: the first opens to a staircase that goes down to a living room +
dining room. Further down the hall down there is a bathroom and a kitchen.
I don’t know what was behind the second door. No one ever
opened it and I didn’t bother being nosy.
The third door opened to a staircase that went up. And guess
who had to climb those stairs? Yep: me. Up the stairs to a tiny room in which
they were nice enough to let me sleep for one night.
But you don’t have to enter inside to go downstairs! There
is a set of stone stairs on the left side of the house outside which lead you
down to a door that opens into the dining/living room area.
The garden beside the stairs outside:
The cows beside the house:
The bottom of the outside staircase:
So, their grandmother lives
in a small house. Her youngest son (therefore, Colette’s youngest brother)
lives in the family’s original farmhouse, which is larger. Most of the family
members who came for the birthday party (including Emilie and Marie) spent the
night in the house in which Colette was born:
Here’s the window in the
living room:
The fireplace in the living
room:
The “dining room”:
A better picture of the garden by the stairs:
It seemed that I was going to be put to work. For the entire
weekend. And it started when Colette told me that I was going with her. I
didn’t catch where, but I was okay with whatever because I was a bit
uncomfortable with her brothers. It’s not that I thought they were going to do
anything for me. It’s just that her brothers are not like the men in my family.
In my family, the men know that women do not have to bend over backwards for
them. They are not old fashioned: they can cook, clean, and take care of a
house when they put their mind to it, and don’t think that they are better than
us.
For example, one day Colette was making apricot jam. She was
asking if I ever make jam. “No,” I said. “But my uncle makes the best jam
ever.” And she’s like, “Your aunt?” with complete confusion in her voice. To
which I replied, “No. My Uncle.”
Complete and utter shock. It was as if she had never heard
of a man cooking before. This cooking topic came up again in a different form
today (Sunday). More on this later…
So, when I got to the grandmother’s house, Marie explained
in detail: the men in the family were pretty much spoiled. They are, after all,
the youngest. And the eldest is a perfectionist: he has to have everything his
way or else.
I just don’t understand…
Any-who: My first job of the weekend turned out to be
helping Colette clean her summer home, not too far from the grandmother’s
house. I think it is really pretty. Why did we have to clean it? Because she
rents it out to people when she is not using it.
The main room downstairs (living room, dining room, &
kitchen):
I didn’t have time to take anymore pictures. I was too busy
vacuuming. But, I sat down outside and took a picture of a butterfly on the
flowers as Colette talked to her next renters, who arrived just after we
finished:
And I heard that bird that
Mom keeps asking me about. And I saw its silhouette in the bushes…but I
couldn’t make it out. I bet you can’t either:
Then, on to the place that the family rented for the party
on Sunday…I helped carry in food that we were going to cook together. Colette,
her sister, Marie, and a friend of the family who is called, I believe, Evie
(?) worked until 5 to 7:30 by ourselves: putting the tables up with
tablecloths, decorations, origami napkins, and chairs. And Colette and her
sister kept changing their minds; we moved those tables at least three times.
Then Marie and I joined Evie in the kitchen. Evie was making
a juice from scratch (actually cutting up fruit…it was amazing. I would’ve paid
more attention if I wasn’t cooking too). Marie had me help her make tiramisu, a
dessert I’ve always been afraid to try because it’s made with coffee. And, I
immediately messed up by dropping the egg yolk into the bowl as we were
separating the whites. Ooops.
After making the
tiramisu (which was actually really easy and fun), we went back into the main
room with all the tables and resumed putting the origami napkins on each plate.
By this time, though, the eldest brother had arrived with his share of the
food: which included red wine and pineapples. And the night commenced into
Allyson showing that she has the patience of a saint and loving that she can’t
really understand French, no matter what her poor, ignorant family members
think back home.
He never yelled at me. He just doesn’t get along with
Colette. Because Colette is the eldest and, therefore, naturally takes the lead
in everything. And he hates this.
Because everything must be his way and his idea. Colette got out the
champagne glasses and told me to take them into the kitchen and wash them
(really, rinse them in hot water and dry them so that the water spots would
disappear). Before I left that night, there was two more tables added and the
arrangement changed again.
So, I’m cleaning the champagne glasses, and he feels the
need to come in and inspect. It took him forever to leave. Just kept asking me
for specific answers: are you just rinsing them? Is the water cold? (He, of
course, has to check with his hand). Are you drying them right away?
But he couldn’t find any fault in what I was doing. That, I’m sure, has to be some kind of a
record.
After the champagne glasses, I went back out and helped put more
plates, silverware, and napkins on the added tables. Then, I kind of wandered around…watching
Colette’s other sister make the pretty flowers (pictures in the next post) for
the table settings. I think this was when Marie told me that Colette was very
impressed with me: how hard working I am and that I don’t mind being put to
work. Really, I would rather be told to do something. Keep busy so that I’m not
bored or thinking too much about things that I miss at home or frustrated that
I cannot communicate my full personality to anyone around me.
And it’s 11:00 at night. And Colette and her brother are
still arguing about where to seat people. Yes: they assigned seats. I don’t know
why it had to be such a formal occasion. Maybe the French always do this.
(Don’t worry, I got a seat I liked. Actually, I have a story about my seat for
the next post).
So, Colette would put these people beside each other. At this point, I thought I was going to fall off of my chair and
pass out, I was so tired.
Colette’s sister and “husband” (because some French people,
like Americans, don’t know how to get married…they should be husband and wife.
They have lived together, I’ve been informed, for more than 30 years) took me back to the house. But could Allyson
go to bed? Oh, no. We haven’t had dinner. Heaven forbid the French to skip a
meal.
Suffice to say, Colette and her brother returned around
11:45, and I got to bed a little after midnight, too tired to be angry.
Oh, sibling fights. They happen no matter what country you live in...
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