I'm Going to Miss the Breadman

Sunday, September 6, 2009







The breadman rolls through at about 10:30. I've learned his distinctive horn sound now.

It was only recently that I learned I could buy fabulous indulgences from him as well as my daily baguette. It's our last time to go to the gate and buy bread, so today we'll have treats.

He asks, as usual, if I want him to stop tomorrow. I tell him Madame Cameron may want him to stop, but that I won't be here because we are returning home. He wishes us a good journey, smiles as he always does, climbs in his van, and soon I hear his horn at Rennie's house as he makes his way to Monce.

Today is my last walk, and I choose the usual route, to Monce. The fields are empty now; we're told there will be another crop planted soon, since this area has moderate winters. I try to picture the landscape covered in snow. Easy, really, since I've seen paintings of snowy French villages from the 19th century. The French countryside looks essentially the same as it did in Monet's day. The old stone buildings have served well.

Rennie's dog, the beautiful red one that can leap straight in the air, comes out to greet me. Rennie and I have one of our usual conversations in which neither of us gets more than two words of what the other is saying. I admire his tomatoes and then worry that he thinks I've asked for one. He asks me again if things are going well. I give him lots of "Ouis" and nod my head vigorously.

Once I'm back at the house, we begin to pack. My suitcase, which was full on the flight over, is now bulging on every side.

I lay my clothes for tomorrow on a chair, and we go to bed.

Just after midnight I hear Joan and Bill pull into the courtyard.