getting my second wind

My parents and brother have been busy planning a vacation for the summer that we’re all invited to go on. Their plan is to go back to the place of my childhood - Seneca Lake. We spent every summer vacation at my grandparent’s cottage in Dresden, NY until I was 16 or 17. It’s a small town (around 300 residents) and my grandparents’ cottage was right on the lake. When I think of it, I have this clear vision of the Cottage from the road, with all of our cars (6 families’ worth) spilling out of the small driveway. I see the dock overlooking the lake. I see my grandmother with her cup of coffee on the sun porch, working on something - a cross stitch or maybe a quilt. I see the kids shucking corn - god, how I hated that job - and standing in line to get a Tobin’s “white hots” fresh from the grill.

We kids spent the days swimming, playing cribbage, exploring the “ghost house” (an abandoned cottage down the street), walking to the general store to buy candy, ice cream or pop, and reading - lots + lots of reading. All in all, a great place for a child during the summer.

As I got older, we went less and less. I went for a couple of weeks after I graduated from college with just my dad. And the last time I went was for my grandparents’ funerals.

But I digress… While I don’t want to go on vacation there for many reasons, all of this talk of vacation plus this site has me dreaming of France. Now that’s the vacation for me - exploring while having a place to call home - so you’re not totally living out of a suitcase.

When I first started dreaming, my niece was with me as I showed pictures to my mother. We explained that we were just pretending of going there - but wouldn’t it be fun? On the ride back to my house, she asked me if we could really go. I said maybe, but it would be expensive to fly there- even if she wanted to sit on my lap the whole time. We started talking about what we could do, what we could see, what it would be like. We talked about what I did when I visited Paris, many, many years ago. We were quiet for a while, each thinking about a vacation, I suppose. When suddenly, she asked me - very quietly -

“Laurel, do they speak English there?”

“Some, maybe, but not everyone.”

“How will I be able to talk to them, then?”

“You’ll be with me - I can speak passable French. We’ll be good. Plus, you know how to say hello, right?”

“yeah.” Pause. “I should learn more though. do they know frere jacques there?”

“I’m sure they do.”

“Oh, good. We can sing that together then.”

Yep, Freddy, we can sing that.

Here’s to Frere Jacques … and dreams of Paris.