Realities

On the first morning home from my travels I opened my eyes in a dark room and thought,
" Oh no! croissants and tea will not be waiting".  Nor beautiful window boxes, nor church chimes nor unknown birds singing their morning joys.

There was the comfort though of my own nest.

In the 3am dark I wandered  to the bath on auto pilot. No longer in a kaleidoscope of places trying to remember the facilities locations. En suite? Down the hall? Occupied?  I resisted turning on any lights. But. I was awake. It was 3am not 9am. Maybe a Tylenol PM would solve the problem. This decision required light and then... staring back from the mirror was Hagatha the Worst.
Dear God!
I quickly exterminated the vision by turning off the lights and returned to my bed. Later, mercifully, Hagatha was banished and my own visage was returned to the mirror.
A blessing.
Marginal, but still a blessing.

Downstairs I heard Blowfish starting his day. I could tell he was making an effort to be quiet. Smart man as he did not yet know who would be descending the stairs. Fishy, or the other.
I delayed, taking a seat  at the top of the stair like a child awaiting the Christmas reveal. I would not be traversing ancient, winding stone steps worn into loblollies in the center from centuries of footsteps.  I would not pause at 9 foot ancient leaded glass windows with a view of a moat , or breathtaking gardens, or  French blue skies. My hand would not caress ancient railings polished smooth by the hands of French nobility. 

I knew I would not descend our stairs  to embrace the comforts of my own home.  While I was elated to hug my loves I was not elated to leave France. In fact, on my third or fourth day there,
I sent a text message to both Mermaid and Blowfish which said,
"Looking for work, will send for you soonest!" I had hopes of apprenticing with a confectioner or a baker. I have never made
a croissant. Now that I have delighted in the real thing I am urgently wondering how I will find one here. I will have to learn how to make them.

Then too,  there is chocolate. In France, chocolate is an art form. Seriously. The chocolates are so beautiful one hates to consume them and destroy such beauty.  But there is the matter of taste. Oh! to the beauty magnified  in your mouth.  So good in fact, that I did learn to not flinch at the $7.50 cost of a  one inch square confection. Money is irrelevant in this application because just one is enough to satiate.  Worth every Euro.

There are no turrets here at the Pond.
Not even one. Tragically, there also is no family chapel  tucked into the turrets. There are no great stone stables , or vineyards  or manicured grounds.  Also no grooms, vintners or groundskeepers.  Alas.

There will be more on my travels.
Later.
Once croissants are located.