When you see a pretty Christmas tree, you simply must pose! It's the law in France and many parts of Belgium. So we're doing what's expected of us in Bouillon, and freezing our tushies off at the same time.
In Reims, where they don't pronounce the "m," so it sounds more like Ronz, mainly just to confuse and humiliate me, I posed a question to the universe: "Où est la bibliothèque?" Translation: "Where is the library?" The answer came back, in a shameful manner, courtesy of a son, I forget which one, for I was frosty and traumatized from yet another bad beanie hair day: "It's right in back of you, Ma." "Oh, so it is. Excuse me while I'll go inside and read up on disinheriting my children." "You're not allowed to do that in France," Chloé informed me. "Fine, I'll wait till I get home."
Not to worry, I changed my mind after touring Pommery, a wonderful champagne house in Reims, and sampling several offerings of bubbly. And so ends the French adventures of the SJG and famille.
Santé to you and yours. Or if you prefer, l'chaim.
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