A Lot to Catch Up On

There is it seems, a lot for us to catch up on. It’s amazing how fast the days fly by, and I worry that if I blink too long I’ll arrive at the end of the month not knowing how I got there.

Friday afternoon I board an AirFrance flight to Toulouse. It amazes me how easy it is to fly in Europe, no one even checks my photo i.d. It also amazes me that you can get completely delicious and simple food while waiting for your plane. I eat a quinoa salad with carrot ratatouille – I can pronounce every single ingredient on the list, and you would find all of them in my own kitchen. That, to me, is success of the pre-packaged meal.

Tookie Graham meets me at the airport – we are all big grins and chatter as we ride the bus into town. We break into each others sentences, our conversation going here and there, but always returning to where it needs to be. We are, it seems, trying to make up for a lifetime of not talking enough. At the same school since I was seventeen, Tookie and I have been waiting until now to discover that we are, as Anne of Green Gable would say “kindred spirits.”

The weekend passes quickly. We wander the rose coloured streets of Toulouse; past the canals; and up to the view from the top of Gallerie Lafayette, which is breath taking at sunset. We go to the Christmas Market, eat crepes, and watch our breath hang in the surprisingly frosty air.

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Saturday we make breakfast, linger over tea and head out the door for some shopping. Then there is dinner at L’Entrecote which is an improbably and highly successful mix of a 1950’s diner, snooty pretension, tartan wall paper and canary yellow table cloths. There is only one thing to eat at L’Entrecote (seriously, there are no menus) and that is steak. The steaks are perfect, the sauce divine, and the fries crispy and plentiful.

Sunday morning we eat brunch at an La Finacée, a totally west coast yet french coffee shop, with awesome coffee and a killer brunch.

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We walk through a church with high vaulted ceilings and uncharacteristically unadorned walls. We are, perhaps, not quite as somber as is proper, but there is youthful energy inside and a brightness you don’t usually see.

Sunday night I’m home again, this time in a new apartment in the 10th arrondissement, which will be home until the end of December. There is more to tell, but for now, I need to scoop up the leeks that are braising in the kitchen and walk to Thomas’ house for dinner.

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