FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

At Château la Tour de L'Evêque, in Pierrefeu du Var

TODAY'S WORD: UN AUXILIAIRE DE VIE

    : a caregiver

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

When I stop to think about it, July has been the most challenging month of this year so far. Though it began with excellent news (Mom’s insurance came through!) and the joy of our 30th wedding anniversary celebration for Jean-Marc and me, tensions were rising between mother and daughter here at our multi-generational home. It seemed the honeymoon phase of this caregiving journey we are on together was over. Nurse Kristi was all but fired! Then the heatwave hit, followed by a strange plague of mites (and their bites), making it feel like I had arrived at the gates of hell.

For some reason, those venom-filled acariens (possibly “les pyémotes”—our friend Pierre suggested) were attacking me with a vengeance! These pests, which come out in spring and summer, nest inside wood, infesting places like the fireplace, antique furniture, and perhaps even the wooden knobs where I hang my bathrobe. Whereas six weeks ago I received a dozen or so of these bites, this time there were too many to count. The venomous piqûres turned into itchy welts, and I was absolutely miserable by Thursday when we were set to go to a vernissage at Château La Tour de l’Evêque, where our son, Max, is in charge of wine export.

Waking up Friday morning, itching and unable to scratch, I was desperate. “Je vais pleurer!” I said to Jean-Marc. I’m learning it helps to say the words “I am going to cry” or “I feel like crying” when my body can’t release tears of despair or frustration. For one, it allows my husband to know I’m at a very low point. Ironically, a 30-second emotional commercial on TV, a wedding, or a baptism can make me bawl instantly. But other matters of the heart and, in this case, psyche, remain invisible when I shut down.

Just when it seemed I could take the torture no longer, my daughter came into the room. “How are you doing, Mom?”

After I let it all out—the unbearable bites and the wicked heat—Jackie assured me: “Ça passera.” My daughter had unknowingly cited one of my favorite assurances, This too shall pass, and the effect was immediate. The itching subsided in light of the thought that this situation would not last forever. Jackie was right. This current trial would soon be over, and things would patch up between Mom and me—just give it time.

In the days following the emotional and physical release, a series of serendipitous encounters took place as friends and helpers came out of the woodwork (instead of those pesky mites!). It began when I was walking back from the pharmacy and a woman on the opposite trottoir said hello. I recognized her because of her chocolate labrador. “Comment allez-vous?” she said, reaching out.

“Très bien, merci!” I was giddy, suddenly imagining an invitation to her avant-garde bungalow, which I’d witnessed being renovated all last year!

A few blocks later, I recognized another local and her pit bull. We’ve run into each other a few times at the farmers market and at les roches plates, the flat rocks where we swim. “Coucou!” she said, crossing the street. We chatted on the sidewalk like old friends. Counting my blessings on the way home, I now had the energy to call on another neighbor I’d met at the beach a year ago while she was training her Australian Shepherd. Nathalie, it turns out, is a nurse. When I explained to her that my mom needed a weekly injection and twice-weekly blood samples, as prescribed recently by her doctor, Nathalie said she could help, and true to her word, she’s been here almost every day this week. And in her absence, she's sent Nicolas, who Mom also likes a lot!

Then, Sunday, while walking to church, I stopped to look at a rack of sundresses (desperate for something cool to wear in this canicule) when a young lady inside the store came out. “Kristi?”

“Yes...”

“It’s Fiona! We met at Esprit—the clothing store where I used to work.”

“Yes, yes! I remember you.” How could I forget this friendly, helpful and professional woman who was about my daughter’s age? She had made an impression on me last fall when I was preparing for a trip to Paris. “Comment ça va?” I smiled.

“Sadly, I was laid off! They have closed down all of the Esprit retail boutiques in France. Thankfully, I found work here two days a week.”

“I’m so sorry you lost your job. What would you like to do?” I asked.

“I’d like to be an auxiliaire de vie and help seniors.”

What a coincidence! “Just this week,” I explained, “I received a flyer in the mail for AIDADOMI (a play on words for Aide à Domicile). I saved it as I am looking for someone to assist my mom! Maybe we can work something out?”

With promises to keep in touch we hugged, and I continued on my way to church, feeling so blessed I couldn’t imagine the prédicateur could top this with a more hopeful message. But he did, and it was, in a nutshell, about opening our hearts: “Jesus stands at the door knocking, but the doorknob is on the other side of the door,” said the Irish preacher, in perfect French, at our tiny local église baptiste.

Well, this week, dear reader, I opened the door, and look at all the angels who rushed in!

It is hard to ask for help, but once you do, things have a way of falling into place. Now that Nathalie and Nicolas are here and Fiona is on the way, it is having an effect on both Mom and me. We’re both up early and dressed, dusting off our counters and preparing for these angels to help a couple of would-be hermits. While I still have some doubts as to whether I can keep up with the regular visitors, I understand that change is good and will keep us from falling into a pit.

Speaking of pits and hell, my mite bites are fading, and I am cooling down with the help of regular splashes of water from the sink, a few ceiling fans, and some sundresses I’ve located in my bags of summer clothes that I need to sort out. Maybe Fiona can help me too? 

I’ll wrap up this entry with a giant hug to all of you. It's surprising how much love manifests when we finally reach for that doorknob. Remember, it’s on the inside of la porte! Only you can reach it. Love is on the outside knocking.

Post Notes: Monday morning I hurried over to Mom’s to wake her before Nurse Nathalie arrived. I was greeted with the biggest hug and several “I LOVE YOUs.”

“You know you are my favorite person,” I assured Mom, hugging her back. Next time Mom is at a low point, as I was recently, I’m going to share my tip: just say the words “J’ai besoin de pleurer”—I need to cry. You may or may not experience a cathartic release, but you’ll have gotten the words out.

Now to get the mites out… I’ve got to mix some beeswax and insecticide together and plug all the holes in our wood furniture. Bestioles begone! See you next week and thank you for reading.

Oh, and one more post note! Just this morning, before posting today's entry, while out on a walk I ran into the woman with the cool, newly-renovated bungalow. She invited me into her house for a tour! 

Grand-mère et petite-fille et petite chienne. Grandmother and granddaughter and granddog

REMERCIEMENTS
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Thanks so much for your delightful newsletter. We enjoy it so much. --Jill B. & John M.

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Max showing us around Château La Tour during a vernissage for American artist Barbara Jauffret.

I was excited to meet this American and French national, who's lived in Marseille since 1981.

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FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File Click here to listen to the French and English terms below

les acariens = mites
les piqûres = bites
le vernissage = art exhibition
le Château La Tour de l'Evêque = Château La Tour de l'Evêque
Je vais pleurer = I am going to cry
Comment allez-vous? = How are you?
Très bien, merci! = Very well, thank you!
le trottoir = sidewalk
les roches plates = the flat rocks
Coucou = Hi
Comment ça va? = How are you?
un auxiliaire de vie = caregiver
le prédicateur = preacher
l'église baptiste = Baptist church
la porte = the door
la bestiole = bug

I wore this dress 30 years ago to our town hall wedding, and again on July 4th to surprise my husband. For more recent pictures, see "La Robe" (the wedding dress story) and scroll to the end.

Agapanthus flowers on the Island of Bréhat.

POSTCARD FROM BRITTANY

When we received an invitation for un mariage in Brittany, Jean-Marc planned a romantic escapade around this joyous event. We only had three days to vacation together, not counting travel time, but it was enough to mark the occasion of our 30th wedding anniversary. After careful research, my former fiancé put together an itinerary including two nights on the island of Bréhat, lunch above the beach in Saint-Sieuc (back on the mainland), and a half-day in the fortified town of St. Malo.

This ambitious périple surrounding his godson’s wedding filled me with doubts, especially after my husband announced we were limited to one carry-on suitcase. Given we were leaving the heatwave in La Ciotat for the rainy north coast—to tromp around a muddy island before heading to a formal affair—packing would be a challenge.

Sacrificing my hairdryer and clothes steamer, I packed two permapress robes, a satin jupe and chemise, two pairs of heels, a raincoat…. (I won’t bore you with the rest), and stepped onto our Volotea flight wearing white jeans and a cream-colored blazer that would hopefully go with all three dressy outfits. Wearing half my party attire, I felt somewhat stiffer than usual, especially for a full day of travel, but how else to keep a portion of my wardrobe pressed for the wedding?

As for my no-fuss Frenchman, he carried a lightweight cotton tote (compliments of our local pharmacy), and somehow managed to fit all his needs inside—with room to spare for my umbrella! The bright yellow floral print on his bag was an amusing contrast against his rugged exterior.

The drive to the airport, the plane ride, the rental car, and la vedette, went smoothly. However, when we stepped off the ferry boat late that afternoon to find a tractor waiting for us, any embarrassment I felt being the only tourist in white was overcome by panic. How to keep these party clothes clean if we were going to ride that muddy thing? This being a car-free island, it was ride the tractor or pédaler!

Soon enough another tractor arrived towing a tiny train behind it. Ouf! Boarding one of the train cars, we enjoyed a scenic tour of the island from the embarcadère to our friend’s house, on a bluff above the English channel, where we would séjour for two nights. Arriving at the little stone cottage, the view during high tide was breathtaking as the sun began to set on the orange horizon.

By morning, three little boats in the cove were temporarily stranded among the seagrass and rocks, making for another charming view from the large rock where we would drink our morning coffee and enjoy the evening apéro both nights. After a breakfast of pain au chocolat and café crème in Le Bourg, a ten-minute walk from our cottage, Jean-Marc suggested we set out to discover le phare du Paon on the northernmost part of the island. But I suddenly felt lazy on learning the distance. It was only four kilometers there and back, but we also had plans to walk to the southernmost end of the island by noon. As I stood there waffling over what to do, the following words tumbled out: “Je te suis!”

I’ll follow you! This new mantra would be my ticket to overcoming indecision, hesitation, and always wanting (if not having) my way. With Jean-Marc in the lead, I was free to photograph the hortensias and the hollyhocks (Bréhat Island is classified as the flower island), the neat stone houses made of local rock, the island dogs, the bikes, the beaches, and coves at high tide and low.

We passed fields with cows, rocky beaches, and curious stone structures. During the peaceful marche, Jean-Marc admitted that one thing he loves about these little islands off the coast of Brittany is the feeling of insularity, or safety. Passing an unmanned stand brimming with produce and confitures, I understood what he meant. The little stand was packed with homemade jams, vibrant produce and there was even fresh-baked bread. A sign read: “Petit Marché. Servez-vous et laissez les sous dans la caisse s'il vous plaît.” Serve yourself and leave the money in the cash box.

“This would not go over well in Marseille,” I giggled, to which Jean-Marc added, “No, they would take the goods and steal the cash!”

When Jean-Marc suggested lunch on the south coast, I resisted the urge to protest and instead said, “Je te suis!” I'm so glad I did. We discovered the island’s only sandy beach, La Plage du Guerzido, with an inviting terrace shaded by a parasol pine. Imagine that! Un pin parasol! We marveled at the exotic flora—jasmine, lavender, fig trees, and even pink tamaris from the desert—all thriving on this enchanting archipelago.

For our last evening, we enjoyed more local huitres, baked brandade de morue, and toasted to our full (and only) day on L'île de Bréhat, hoping to come back and rent a house and bring the family. (The only risk being rain! We were lucky for our sunny day, but rain is de rigueur on this little island along the English Channel. In that case, my family from Seattle would be right at home!)

The next morning we had café and croissants at Hotel Bellevue on the port before boarding la vedette back to the mainland. With time dwindling we hurried to the beach in Lancieux for lunch, before heading to our rental to clean up. Only, there were no sheets or towels in our apartment! (It's not uncommon in France to have to bring your own linens.) Undeterred, we used our t-shirts to dry after showering, and made it to the ancient église in time to see Julia and Baptiste walk down the aisle. I had to split my Kleenex in two when Jean-Marc’s eyes began watering, too! Did he also feel that quiver in his heart? There is something so tender, so innocent, so trusting about two souls uniting pour le meilleur et pour le pire, jusqu'à la mort vous sépare!

Next, we raced back to our résidence hôtelière to put sheets on our bed (Jean-Marc located a janitor who tossed him a duffel bag of bleached linens) and change for the dressy evening reception. Everything had gone incredibly smoothly up till now, so when I saw my horrible chipped toenail polish, pas de panique! I simply let it go. (I would not trade all that walking and sightseeing around the island for a perfect manicure!)

Back at the reception in a picturesque hameau, we joined the bride, groom, and over a hundred invités for a night of dining, dancing, and toasting to une vie à deux. I missed my chance to offer any guidance to the young couple, but now, in retrospect, I suppose one piece of advice I could give would be to incorporate this golden phrase, adopted on this romantic getaway: “Je te suis!” I will follow you! (And then to take turns saying it to each other throughout your marriage.)

Back on the airplane, buckled in and heading home, I am amazed at how smoothly our four-day race to Brittany went. Like the shores of Bréhat, where the tide comes in and goes out, so do our fears, doubts, needs, wants, and moods. We just have to keep our eyes on the horizon, remembering that every little thing will work itself out. As I sit next to Jean-Marc, I reflect on how this trip, with its minor challenges and beautiful moments, has reinforced our bond. “Je te suis, chéri,” I whisper, knowing that these words mean more than just a willingness to follow. They represent trust, love, and a lifelong partnership. No matter where life takes us, I pray we will navigate it together, sometimes leading, sometimes following, but always side by side.

***

At the church in Saint-Lunaire, the bride and groom are cheered with a fleet of bubbles instead of rice.

Jean-Marc watches his newly-wed filleul, or godson, and bride as the groom's parents give a speech at the evening reception.

Picture taken at the wedding reception we attended on Friday night. I don't know if this is a cultural note, but at many events these days you will find a photo box where guests can ham it up and bring the photo souvenir home. Are you familiar with these?

The property where we stayed while visiting Bréhat. This is our friend's cottage, and we stayed in the second cottage located in the spot where I am taking this picture.

The charm of bicycles gliding past...

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REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to the following readers who recently sent in a blog donation. This truly is a reader-supported journal and I appreciate your help in publishing it week after week. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Ann B.
Jill F.
Jo B-R
Mary K.
John C.
Nancy C.
Marion J.
Colleen M.
Michelle M.
Jeanine WW

Merci Kristi pour tous les histoires merveilleuses. Elles font ma journée. —Nancy C.

Merci for your sharing your heartfelt journey with all of your readers! —Michelle M.

I appreciate and enjoy the engaging and beautiful writing of Kristin Espinasse. Kristi is both a wonderful story-teller and photographer. Thank you for your vivid glimpses of French family life. Merci, Kristi! —Marion J.

We thought this was our ride! (Jean-Marc and our luggage, including his only tote. I like how the yellow flowers match his shorts :-)

Finally, we spotted the tractor train coming up the long embarcadère, with its three cales (or docks). Depending on the tide, the boat will arrive at one of the 3 cales. The farthest is a 10 minute walk to the port.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: click here to listen to the French and English terms below

le mariage = a wedding
le périple = journey
la jupe = skirt
la chemise = shirt
la vedette = the ferry
l'embarcadère = the dock
le séjour = stay
le phare du Paon = the Paon lighthouse
la marche = a walk
les hortensias = hydrangeas
le pain au chocolat = chocolate croissant
le café crème = coffee with cream (or rather milk)
le pin parasol = umbrella pine
l'hortensia = hydrangea
la lavande = lavender
les huitres = oysters
la brandade de morue = cod brandade
la vedette = ferry
l'église = church
une résidence hôtelière = a hotel residence
une vie à deux = a life together
un hameau = a hamlet
un invité = a guest
pour le meilleur et pour le pire = for better or for worse
jusqu'à la mort vous sépare = until death do us part
pas de panique = no panic
Je te suis = I will follow you
chéri = dear

La plage de Guerzido

Window on Bréhat Island


A palm tree on Brehat Island, along the English channel...

Earlier I mentioned only one sand beach, clearly there are more!

In St. Malo, a fortified town where we had lunch and a stroll.

Thirty years ago today, this snapshot from our mariage civil at La Bagatelle Town Hall in Marseille.

TODAY’S WORD: LA ROBE DE MARIÉE 

: wedding dress

"I chose my wife as she chose her wedding dress; not for its shiny and delicate appearance but because it would withstand the test of time."

J'ai choisi ma femme comme elle a choisi sa robe de mariée ; pas pour son apparence brillante et délicate mais parce qu'elle résisterait au temps. --Michel Polnareff

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Today is our 30th wedding anniversary! To celebrate this meaningful occasion, Jean-Marc has reserved a table in Marseille, at the beautiful Calanque de Sormiou. It's the very place we dined three decades ago, following our civil ceremony. It will be a casual soirée, just us and our kidults, but when I found out about our plans I knew should wear something soigné.

Several days ago it occurred to me. What about my wedding dress? Did I still have it and would it fit?

Upstairs in the second chambre, I carefully climbed onto a chair and found the wedding dress above our dusty armoire in a vintage suitcase. Quelle chance! It was wrapped lightly in plastic from the dry cleaners. The cleaning tag was still stapled to the dress’s label. Nostalgic, I searched for the cleaning receipt but didn’t find it. Google estimates it would have cost 825 French francs (150 dollars back in the day!). I know I would not have paid that much to clean a dress, wedding, or otherwise. After all, it wasn’t an intricate garment, but a simple flowy-to-the-knees affair. My other, floor-length dress, was reserved for the church ceremony two months later. I see it didn’t do as well in storage, considering the large yellow stain on the front. Quel dommage!

I carefully slipped the little dress out of its bag, to find it was in good condition, if slightly off-white—but then maybe this was its original color? “Pearly”—fit for a 30th or “pearl anniversary". To think this delicate garment survived eight déménagements, amid the heat, the cold, the smoke, the inundations, the mold, and any little critters that might have altered its state.

Standing in awe examining my wedding dress of days gone by, I decided to try it on right there and then. To my surprise, it fit (it had the advantage of being an A-line dress, much more forgiving than my church dress, which would no longer button up the back…).

As for this little wedding dress, I now knew I could wear it! I thought to rush down and show my husband, but why not surprise him on our special day? Even if he planned on us arriving a few hours early, to swim in the calanque, I could always sit on a rock in the shade and try to stay put together for our nice dinner. Or maybe after all these years I might finally let go, enjoy a swim and then slip into the pretty dress, salty skin and all. No, I don’t think I’ve evolved enough to be this carefree.

Back to the dress…It was full of plis from being in the old suitcase. I wondered if I might simply steam out the wrinkles? But what if the heat damages it? You know what they say, "never iron or steam clothing that is soiled." Even if it wasn't dirty, could it be "marked" from time? Did I want to steam in those imagined marks? Why not do as the venerable fashion designer Vivian Westwood, and never clean your couture!

Just leave the dress as is, I decided, no marks, only a few wrinkles. You could treat it as a messy beach cover up! Then you could go swimming with your hubby. And hold your head high when you arrive for dinner. There, problem solved.

Except that the idea of wearing the dress as it was thirty years ago—new, pristine, and so pretty—would feel amazing on this special day!

Back to square one (or three…Where were we?) It didn't seem right to steam a dress that's been in storage so long. Alright, I  would take it to the dry cleaners. Even if it didn’t have “Le parfum du Temps” a cleaning would ensure it had a fresh scent.

Le Nettoyage à sec, however, presented further complications. Would it be ready in 4 days? After all, this is slow France! Voyons voir... Let’s see… On closer look, the tag inside said the dress was made of polyester. Not exactly a noble fabric, but un tissue that can be hand washed as far as I know. Hadn’t I handwashed polyester dozens of times? Then again, the tag inside read “dry clean only”… The gentle cycle in my machine à laver might be worth the risk, considering I would only be wearing it this one time (I can’t see myself unearthing it again for our 60th... then again, why not?). Still, it would be a shame to damage the dress.

Purée! I am beginning to develop decision fatigue. Enough! I'm taking it to the dry cleaners!

Feeling my energy return and, armed with a plan, I left one hour early to tackle what seemed an impossible mission here in France: to get anything done easily, logically, and on time. I am reminded of the time my brother-in-law, Doug, brought 7 shirts to the dry cleaners when we lived in St. Maximin and the owner immediately handed back 4. It is still a mystery why she refused the rest. "Everything is complicated in France," I explained to my brother-in-law, and from that point on I rarely visited le pressing (except to clean our down comforters which don't fit into our tiny washing machine).

Back to my plan of action: with Operation Wedding Dress underway, I would put all chance on my side by getting to the cleaners early. If the first establishment couldn't clean my dress, I had a second place in mind. But I did wonder, even if I found un pressing willing and able to clean my dress in 3 days, what would it cost? Looking at my dress, it didn't appear to be a wedding dress. The a-frame slip dress could be worn on other occasions, like the popular Soirée Blanche the French are so fond of during summertime, where all the guests wear white.

Finally, my guess was 30 euros for the dry cleaning.  Just don’t tell them it’s a wedding dress! Or the cost will double. Allons-y!

I collected my keys, ID, a few forms of payment, and the dress, and snuck past my husband. "I'll be back in an hour," I waved. On my way to the car, I said a little prayer. Remember, the Lord is your helper in big things and small. Speaking of small, what if the cleaners shrunk my dress?

Putting on my seatbelt, I shook off my doubts and hit the road... and before I knew it, I'd found a parking spot at the busy Carrefour Centre Commercial. I saw the sign for le pressing right away. So far so good.

The thin woman at the dry cleaners wore all black and a frown. “Bonjour,” I said.

(No reply.)

“Bonjour, Madame,” I repeated, remembering protocol. "Just a little question to begin with," I said, sweetly. “Are you able to clean a dress by Thursday?”

“Montrez-la-moi,” came the curt response.

Taking the wedding dress out of my fourre-tout, I began to describe the situation. When I paused, before continuing on, the woman interrupted:

“That'll be 15 euros.”

“You mean it will be ready by Thursday?”

The woman nodded. "Would you like une carte de fidélité or is this an exceptional visit?”

“Oh, it’s exceptional!” I said, delighted at how simple this complicated process was after all.

I paid the 15 euros, thanked the dry cleaner, and headed to my car feeling as light and carefree as a fluttering wedding veil. Au fait, maybe I could have dry cleaned my veil too. Oh! I could think of a lot of outfits I could finally take to le pressing! On second thought, I should have gotten the loyalty card!

This little adventure just goes to show that maybe France isn't so slow or difficult after all. Perhaps it was my own mindset that needed a little pressing. With my dress now taken care of and our celebration on the horizon, I am eager to begin the second half of this French life--loyalty card in hand. Joyeux anniversaire, Mon Chéri!

Arriving with friends at la Calanque de Sormiou, July 4th, 1994. Now, just where did I store that hat? I think it got lost in the shuffle of so many moves.


The happy day. At La Marie de Bagatelle in Marseille’s 8th arrondissement. 

And here we are 30 years later.

Jean-Marc was surprised to see the dress. I think he was touched!

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to the following readers who recently sent in a blog donation. This truly is a reader-supported journal and I appreciate your help in publishing it week after week. Merci beaucoup! --Kristi

Ed T.
Tim W.
Rich M.
Mary B.
Rick C.
Owen E.
Carol H.
Rajeev B.
Marcia H.
Ginger B.
Edgar T.
Michele C.
C-Marie P.

God Bless You! --Owen E.
Dear Kristi, Look forward to your posts! Best regards to you and your family! Ginger B.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to the French words

un mariage = wedding 

un anniversaire = anniversary
une Calanque = rocky inlet (specific to the Mediterranean coast)
une soirée = evening event
soigné = elegant, well-groomed
une chambre = bedroom
une armoire = wardrobe
quelle chance = what luck
quel dommage = what a pity
un déménagement = move (relocation)
une inondation = flood
un pli = wrinkle
un nettoyage à sec = dry cleaning
le parfum du temps = the scent of time
un tissu = fabric
une machine à laver = washing machine
purée = darn (mild exclamation)
le pressing = dry cleaner’s
allons-y = let’s go
bonjour = hello
bonjour, Madame = hello, ma’am
montrez-la-moi = show it to me
une carte de fidélité = loyalty card
un fourre-tout = tote bag
au fait = by the way
joyeux anniversaire = happy anniversary
mon chéri = my dear

This past week, in another beautiful calanque, we had the chance to meet up with longtime readers Lou and Gary  (Boulder, Colorado) on Gary's 77th birthday. We also met Barbara and Paul and enjoyed lunch at our favorite Restaurant du Mugel.

And last Sunday… Jean-Marc holding his bike after arriving at the top of Mont Ventoux. He is preparing for "L'Etape du Tour".
Thank you for reading today's edition through to the end. I'll be back in two weeks with more stories and photos. Happy summertime!