2000-07-23
Dear Diary:

Go have cats.

You know those two furballs I live with, who for many years I have showered with affection, foodie treats and rather expensive medical care when needed? Zoe and Zubby?

Fuzzy ingrates.

When the sin-laws from France (the mom and sis of the guy who is living in sin with my daughter) came for three days, we gave them our queen-sized bed and decamped to Jess' room which has the antique spool 3/4 bed, a rather narrow 48 inch mattress.

Did our cats, who sleep with us every night, loyally pick up their butts and join us in our new quarters? Oh no, they spent THEIR nights in spacious queen sized bed glory with Fran�oise and Isabelle.

They love OUR BED and not us.

Fuzzy ingrates.

Otherwise, the visit went surprisingly well, especially considering the cultural and economic gap between the two households (Paul and I being ignorant, semi-poor hillbillies, the sin-laws being sophisticated, well-educated and upwardly mobile urban folk who don't speak our language.) The key here was wine, mass quantities of wine. Worked like a charm.

The cranky guy is Jess' boyfriend Christian, that's his mom Françoise, and sister Isabelle. Oh and The Bridges of Madison County, that played a big role, too. Remember the movie with Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep which was like a kazillion per cent better than the book? 'Member?

Well, that movie made an enormous impression on both ladies. So they had to see a covered bridge. Oh, and a round barn, too, please, because one of them had read somewhere that sometimes they built round barns in North America because that didn't leave the devil with any corners in which to hide, and hey, they had to see something as charming as that.

Believe it or not, as rare as both these things are, I have them within a 30 minute drive of my home. Oh bliss, oh thrills and a couple of raptures! So off we went, with Jess and boyfriend in tow, too.

The devil gotta run, he can't hide, when he's in a barn like this. (Jess and Christian are people who feel the crack o' dawn is 11 a.m. so you can imagine the shock to their systems when we hit the road at 9:30 each morning. Thank God they're young and heal quickly.)

Evenings we parked the gang in front of the TV and handed them the satellite remote. They will now be taking memories of Iron Chef, live improv at the Montreal Just for Laughs Festival, and Martha Stewart (among other bits of TV bizarreness) back with them to France. I have no idea what they may have thought of it all.

Normally, after the round barn and covered bridge, I would have been staring blankly at these people, wondering what the heck we could do next. This is a ski area and in July the skiing is somewhat sub-par. The Tour des Arts saved my derri�re.

For two weeks every year many of our local artists and artisans open their home studios to the public. Not only do you get to see paintings, sculptures, ceramics, quilts, gorgeous hand knit sweaters, and beautiful one of a kind furniture pieces, you also get to see some of the most beautiful homes and gardens in the region.

No, I'm not talking mansions, because most of the folks who make their living this way are far from rich. But man oh man they have originality and good taste oozing from their pores, so almost all of these places are a big slice of wonderful.

Final day was lunch in Vermont. We chose a restaurant right on Lake Memphremagog that has a lovely deck overlooking the lake and surrounding mountains. Very picturesque. When it's not raining. When you can actually use the deck. And see the mountains.

Of course, the moment we crossed the border into the U.S. it began to rain. This was a rain beyond the cats and dog level, I would describe this rain as raining horses and cows. So of course, the deck was closed, the mountains completely obscured by clouds and rain, the lake itself barely visible.

Canada, land of sunshine, with Vermont, land of rain, directly behind the gang. It stayed that way until we were driving back into Canada. Then, of course, the clouds parted and the sun shone. Of course. Now they're back in Montreal with the kids, exploring the bright lights, big city.

Many of us who have children have a tendency to funnel our hopes and dreams into them, if my group of friends is any indication. We want them to avoid our own mistakes, to do better than us in every way. Paul and I, thoughtful giving parents that we are, set the bar low. Jess won't have any trouble doing better than we did, trust me.

Not so simple for the boyfriend, though, I'm thinking. The bar was set differently for him. I'm sure his parents never dreamed that one day he might choose a life path quite radically different from anything they may have envisioned for him, in a country and culture far from their own.

I was thinking about that as we drove around, absorbing the local sights and sounds. As we made small talk with the sin-laws, I wondered how it might have felt to me if Jess had chosen a life across the ocean from us, in another country and another way of looking at the world.

I wondered how it might have felt if I was the one playing tourist in my child's life. You know, I don't think I would handle it as well as they have.

Manuals, that's what we need here. I got five, count 'em five, manuals with my new camera. You'd think that when you got a kid, the kid would come with at least one manual, wouldn't you?

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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