Mary DeMuth in France

Author Mary DeMuth fascinates me. You see, she's moved to southern France. Ah, yes, the land of bottled sunshine (olive oil), great vats of red wine and competitive truffle hunts. Peter Mayle's books like A Year in Provence delighted me with stories of the pace of life; hilarious village festivals; tourists from various countries, each with their distinctive cultural personalities; and his search for the perfect olive oil. Ah, southern France with its rich yellow, blue and green patterned tablecloths snapped and smoothed over tables heaped with fresh Mediterranean dishes--can you taste the tomatoes, olives and cheese? Pass the baguette--I'm ready to eat!

My husband and I began our honeymoon in Nice, not far from Mary's new life. I'd love to go back...not only to spend some time by the sea, but also to visit this lovely woman who has uprooted from all she's known to live in a place where she barely speaks the language.

I almost lived that life.

Okay, so I wouldn't have landed in Provence. Several years ago our little family of six almost relocated to Belgium (back when we were a family of five), to be near extended family. It's a long train ride to Nice from Belgium, but I might have struggled with some of the same cross-cultural issues that Mary is sorting through even as I write. I've visited overseas enough to predict what might have unnerved me, and one big aggravation would have been the washing machines.

Oh, those European washers! I've experienced them firsthand, stuffing clothes into the diminutive tubs and trying to set the temperature in Celsius. In fact I shrank a hand-knitted sweater I borrowed from my mother-in-law's neighbor, setting the temperature too high at the well-meaning advice of my sister-in-law. She didn't know the woolen sweater was going in. How humbling to hold up the generous neighbor's sweater shrunk to fit a Barbie doll. I tried to apologize profusely in my grammatically choppy French. I almost cried. I think that translates into most languages.

Anyway, enough about me. I'd love to share with you Mary's article that captures an American view of a European washer (among other things) with lovely prose.

Just when you think you might feel a twinge of jealousy at her spectacular views of the Mediterranean Sea, read this article about sending her daughter to school. If you're a mom, it'll sober you up right quick. I read this and decided that maybe it was best we never moved to Europe. You just try reading it without tears balling up along your lower lid.