The Persimmon Tree and the Family Tree

 photo by François Brahic

photo by François Brahic

I can't sum up two weeks offline. Besides my blog philosophy is that it should be short and full of particulars. I could have kept it going by a) sitting on the steps of the village library in freezing temperature and whiplash mistral; b) sitting on my brother-in-law's doorstep in ditto. In fact, the weather was so cold and blustery, though mostly sunny, last week that we had to force ourselves out of the house after lunch for walks. We made it halfway up the Mont Ventoux at least three times and nabbed some persimmons on the way. This involved a long conversation with the custodian of the tree, whose father had planted it, about seventy years ago, when the present "owner" (if trees are owned) was ten years old. He climbed a ladder, we held up a box he also provided. It turned out he and my husband were cousins, after they exchanged family trees--the persimmon tree and the family tree.

Back to Paris last night. I finished my almost-finished Knaussgaard (too fat to transport, besides I had Ferrante, whose more conventionally-organised narrative makes it easier to read when there are a number of other people in the house, all doing their things: slow-cooking a leg of boar shot by our next-door neighbour and offered with great ceremony to us; playing "bananagrams," a speed version of Scrabble, in case, like me,  you didn't know; playing the flute; slow-cooking pork; vacuuming; moving beds; making exquisitely folded paper objects; photo-shopping the day's photos...).

I think I'll add a few photos to this, if i can get my son to send them over from the next room. Stayed tuned.