Left Behind in France

C'est fini. C'est complet. No matter how I say it or in what language, our time in France has reached an end. Our friends ask how it feels to leave. I have been asking myself that question for days. How does it feel?

On one hand, it's a blur that leaves me dazed. After all, we just got here! We met with our rental agent, Ruth, so she could go over the house to make sure we hadn't destroyed anything (we hadn't). Her first words to us were, "It seems like yesterday that it was 2009 when we first met, and now it's time for you to leave!" Exactly.

This experience - this remarkable experience - has been both simple and profound; filled with big events and small; has held surprises at every turn; and still has more in store.

The experiences stack up like books on a shelf (real books - not the phony, electronic kind): The pageantry of the Palio, the spires and domes of Salzburg, the music of Aida in the Verona coliseum and Carmen at La Scala, the walls of Carcassone, the flamingos of the Camargue, the markets of Strasbourg, the pines of the Porquerolles, the caves of the Dordogne, the destruction and unforgiving, white crosses of Normandy, the lights of Lyon, the exhilarating beauty of hiking in Switzerland, and the thrill of the Tour de France peloton pedaling furiously past. We've literally been from sea to shining sea. In our case, from the Mediterranean to the English Channel. And that's just the big stuff.

It seems to me that the big stuff is glued together with the little stuff - those countless moments of wonder, a laugh, a smile, and knowing that the moment, that instant, just became a part of me and a shared history between me and Mike. Maybe the imprint those moments leave is the essence of this experience. And I've come to learn, the experience doesn't end here. It keeps going and going or, maybe more appropriately, giving and giving.

Some of these gifts are already clear. My morning walks, for example, taught me how to “see” with all my senses. Living here, I had the space to be attentive to how I feel – every day. I had freedom to write, draw, paint, compose, sleep, read, meditate, walk and, now, even run. Other gifts will become more apparent as we continue our travels and return home to Annapolis. We aren't bringing home many souvenirs - at least not the kind you can see. We are coming home as new and enriched people with perhaps a broader world view and definitely a broader view of ourselves.

But before we get home, we have more experiences ahead as we travel around the world. And, I'll be blogging every step of the way! We leave January 25 from Nice en route to Istanbul, Egypt, Bangkok, the Orient Express, Singapore, New Zealand, Honolulu, Los Angeles, Smithville and home. Touch down is on March 20. I go back to work on April 11, but I’m not thinking about that yet.

As I write these words, I already feel that it's time to come home. I miss my friends and family. It will be shear joy to feel friends' arms around me rather than just hear their voices or see fuzzy, halting images across Skype. I’ve discovered that the miracle of technology can span the miles, but I’ve also discovered the limitations. There’s simply nothing like that spark of energy from a smile, laugh, and touch between friends.

By the time we get to Texas – our last stop before Annapolis – it will have been a year since I saw my mother. Our timing is a little off as we will just miss George’s 80th birthday and we’ll be a month too early for my mother’s 80th. They’ve both been such good sports about our living in France. They’ve kept their longing to themselves and tried their best to support me and Mike. For that, I am forever grateful. Someone asked me what are the first foods that I will have when we return. Here’s my list: Mexican food, barbecue, iced tea, and Mike’s grilled chicken and veggies. Mother and George assure me that they will take care of the first three!

In the meantime, I’m conscious of the many moments - so easily overlooked - that brought this experience to life. Those moments may be left behind in France but they will be forever etched into my soul.
- Smell of buttery croissants baking
- Hanging clothes on the line in the scorching sunlight
- Hearing “Bonjour, Monsieur-Dames!”
- Bells ringing over the valley
- Walking to the market
- Our view
- The pines on the hill
- Meals on the patio
- Stone walls terracing olive groves
- Happy smiles from the shop owners
- The frogs in summer
- Moonlight shining through the bedroom window, and
- A little piece of my heart