I don't know what to say. All this time that I've been here I never thought I could start to miss France even before I left it. Yesterday I said goodbye to some friends that I will probably never see again (like the adorable Africans!) I have loved and have been loved-and I've discovered that is the best thing and ranks far above all the places i've seen and things I've done. I just wish I didn't have to be oceans away from the community over here.
As le prêtre told me, I have options: I can work in France, join the Dominicans or marry a Frenchman. *blush*
Indeed, I have met some of the sweetest, most charming people here in Nancy and I don't want to leave them-but I must. Some of the sweetest things I have ever heard were said to me in farewell yesterday and that became the slowest walk home I have ever experienced.
I don't think my friends even know how comforting they have been to me in all my troubles and challenges-if it wasn't for them, I'm sure I would have lost the spirit to continue.
I dread going home, but only because I dread leaving. The more you travel, the more you begin to realize that it's the friends you make and the people that you meet, not the places, sticks and stones that you visit.
I will end this post with another story:
The bees were all busy in their hives, going about their daily work cheerfully. The littlest bee had planned a voyage to a certain rose patch to collect pollen, but a strong west wind blew her to quite another part of the garden. This part was much wilder than the rest of the garden, but beautiful all the same. The littlest bee recognized it immediately from her other trips around the garden, so she was not frightened. There was a family of sparrows that she decided to visit. They were very generous to her, but when it came time for her to leave, she was put on the charge of the sparrows neighbors-the crickets-who were to take her home. Mother cricket was very kind. She gave the littlest bee honeysuckle wine and mirabelle tea and told the littlest bee all about her big and wonderful family, showing her the waterspout drawings of her sons, singing the praises of each one in his turn. There seemed to be no end to her marvelous family. Dare I add that the sons were searching for brides to share their cricket holes and the mother cricket was most anxious to assist them.
It was during a story of the third son's intelligence and prowess that he had in a fight with a fire ant that the third son actually appeared in person. He was tall-that is, for a cricket, and his accent wasn't at all how the littlest bee had imagined. But he was civil all the same asking about the hive and what work she did there. When at last it was time to go, she knew that they would meet again.
And that not how it was at all.
I happened to speak with this particular bee, and I can tell you quite frankly that she never was so pleased or confused in all her life. For one thing, she offers this piece of advice--if you are working for a dragonfly, and that dragonfly's incredibly handsome son walks into the room right when you are in the middle of working and are covered in pollen dust...well, nothing prepares you for that.
And I have not even begun to tell the stories that happen around the hive!
