The characters shall remain nameless to protect their identity . . . It is bettery to be LUCKY than GOOD.
My wife absolutely hates when I combine posts. She has a very low tolerance for my laziness and protects me from myself more often than I care to admit. That being said, I am behind a bit and have an anal retentive need to be up to date. In all fairness, I think that I have a justifiable reason to be a bit behind. You see, the Ozarks Plateau has invaded Southwestern France making my life brilliant and full to a degree that I only wish could last longer than the scheduled week. It has been a welcome distraction and an opportunity to trade my life as a father for my life as a brother and a son. With bedrooms stuffed to capacity, I sit alone and reflect on the days events. Wednesday . . . I think. Time does indeed fly when you are having fun. The days you wish would last forever seem to be those that slip through our hands the fastest. Like capturing a handful of water, it is inevitable that the life sustaining drink will be long gone before it ever reaches your lips.
Our time together has already been more than I could have hoped for. Like my pappy has always said, sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. That would be the theme of this fine day. It would be the first full day of their visit and it would be notable indeed. If I was a wise man, I would pull a George Costansa . . . end on a high note and send them packing come morning. The plan for the day was simple and to be honest, relatively mundane. We thought it would be a nice treat to visit our new home in the country with a purely selfish purpose. We will soon need to purchase some new appliances and this trip would allow us to measure the space we have available for items like a refrigerator and washer and dryer. What I thought would be a 20 minute visit turned into and afternoon that I could not have scripted and that I hope our guests enjoyed at least half as much as I did. We arrived in the little town not far from our new home around the lunch hour. We would have arrived a bit sooner, but my navigation left something to be desired and in the "his and hers" caravan I proved to be the weak link. As luck would have it, their market was still in full swing upon our late arrival and we would spend an hour or so helping ourselves to the local fare. My youngest found the deep fried cod particularly delightful. With sacks brimming with a number culinary marvels we decided we needed to find a spot for lunch before we fulfilled the reason for our trip. Not knowing the area particularly well and having a young set of tastebuds along for the ride, we decided on a spot that sold pizza.
We opted for carry out to keep the youngest entertained. While we waited for our order, a portion of our crew went next door for beverages, macaroons and a lollipop . . . or two. The lollipop was for the youngest. In an age old parental song and dance, the ultimate demise of the first lollipop in the parking lot, soon led to the heroic purchase of a second. Unfortunately, the second met with a similar fate, but with a bit more flair than the first. My youngest is VERY fond of his aunt and uncle and for good reason. I believe it to be well documented fact, that if children and animals flock to you, your heart is pure and your soul well in tact. Semi-patiently, my youngest waited as his Uncle freed his second lollipop from its wrappings only to find the item not fully in tact. Edible, but not in his mind satisfactory, the youngest felt it necessary to discard said item out of the window of my speeding 206 Into oncoming traffic it was pitched, bursting into what I can only imagine to be a milllion pieces on the rigid blacktop. We would settle into a pavillion in the shadow of an ancient church to enjoy the remainder of our lunch.
With stomachs full to capacity, we made our way to our new home. We took a quick tour of our home and jotted down the measurements that we came to procure. Our quick tour soon turned into and afternoon at the Chateau during which we were treated to a private tour of the winery and a wine tasting that soon had us emptying our wallets to procure a bottle or two for the remainder of our week together. The graciousness of our host (the propriatere, our landlord) was second to none. I will provide a better description at a later date, but her wonderful nature could not be a brighter contrast to the ill temper of Madame Chabou. This lovely lady of nobility is one of my favorite people I have met since I have been here and our afternoon together may well have me employed in the wine making industry. I of course am over the moon at the prospect, but I was certain that I was going to have to work very hard to garner this opportunity.
Reluctantly leaving an amazing afternoon in our wake, we piled back into our vehicles for the long ride back to Madam Chabou's Reform School for Girls, which now seems that much more dismal in comparison. Traffic was a nightmare. Upon reaching the main artery for traffic in and out of our fair city, it became obvious from the squaking from the back seat of the 206, that the youngest was not going to make it home before the need to pee would overtake him. In a snap judgment, the gentlemen's ride was pitched off the of the main drag in a frantic search for a good spot to take the young lad to the bathroom. Once a gain, lucky rather than good, we found a vacant lot to handle our business. The youngest was not fond of the idea of a roadside pee once reality had set in, but his Uncle would save the day and located a nice and semi-discreet piece of greenery for my youngest son to sprinkle a bit of hydration on.
Finally back at home for the evening, it was time to crack open a bottle or two of our newly acquired wine and decide on dinner arrangements. The youngest having been tremendously well behaved while us adults enjoyed a nice winery tour was spared another trip out and we opted for a bit of Chinese carryout. Now with a belly full of red wine and alley cat, I find myself with heavy eyes and I wish you the kind of blessings that our day has given us. Until tomorrow my friends . . .
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