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We arrived in south west France a few days ago. The neighbours on either side of us are elderly ladies. The Blacksmiths widow keeps herself to herself, is ninety if shes a day, and still dresses smartly with full make-up to hobble down to the boulangerie (thats chic French women for you).
Last year when we moved in, the other neighbour, Luisette, made every effort to talk to me and was very patient with my appalling lack of language. She would say something and make me repeat it back to her until she was satisfied with my pronunciation. The fact that I had no idea what I was saying was quite irrelevant. Luisette would pat my hand in smiling approval and toddle off, softling mumbling the words to herself.
Before we left in January, I gave Luisette my post box key so she could look after our post. We exchanged hugs and she wished us Bon Voyage.
When we arrived both houses were closed up and we hoped our ladies were merely visiting relatives. Yesterday, another neighbour handed me my backlog of post and told me that Luisette had fallen and died in her home. The Blacksmiths widow is away recuperating - also from a fall in her home, and may never return.
So sad!
p.s. sorry this first tale isn't one to 'lighten your day' as promised
Comments
Hold on to the good memories - there's nothing else you can do.
I imagine that the whole atmosphere of the place has now changedfor you.