The cat, with her weight gain, is snaking her way through
one of her many cat doors. And I know this because I
have returned to my sweet sweet home in la Francia!!

To my delicious man who set shit in motion while I was
gone for 3 weeks!

We are rebuilding a large'n'long 500 year old ruin
that was originally constructed from handmade bricks and
stones from the river, held together by dirt. Yes. Dirt.

By large I would say that the living room-dining room
is 645 square feet with 13 foot ceilings. And we haven't
even begun the bedrooms.

By ruin, I am talking roof fallen in, first floor fallen
in, walls fallen in. La Ruin. Older than the United States.

By rebuilding, I mean he and I are on the ladders, on the roof,
on our knees rebuilding this hot mess Ourselves--with the
help of others on brief and quite wonderous occasions!
(Which is to say--my hands could scrape the skin from your nose
and my back needs a solo break in the Bahamas-did I mention I am
41? And my darling: 31?)

It has been 4 years of work for him, 2.8 for me. And we are tired.

In one 2.8 year relationship there has been:

Moving from the US to France.
Learning a new language
(which would be French, from his mind's tongue to mine).
Acquiring a cat. Wild.
Transport of 19 boxes of books and 1 old wedding dress.
Rebuilding of a ruin.
Living in said ruin while rebuilding.
Leaving behind of friends and family (O lawdy la Facebook!)
Scrapping about for way to make money in new land.


3 (official) miscarriages.

I hope your eyebrows raised at least one degree,even if
you are on la Botox, for I can tell you that just learning
how to argue in another language is a strain enough.

So back I am. And the house smells of wonderful burning wood
in the most shitastic new stoves we have in the spot.

A smell I can smell because I left.
Just as my loves lips are that much softer since I returned.

ps: the pinkish discharge continues and did for the entire
travel from the US west coast to France. We are not holding
our breath. Which is to say, i am not, as I have not told
Beloved about the discharge. I shall just wait and wish.
(And be ordered to sit down and do nothing for 3 moths).

1 comment:

La Framéricaine said...

That has to have been very fucking disappointing–3 miscarriages, that is. I'm sorry to hear about that and I hope that this pregnancy will stick, even if you have to stay in bed for three, six, nine months.