Back in Time: Pictures of a Bastille Birthday in a 4 Inch Frame

Having only recently freed the stopper in the bottle in which I have kept my words for the past three weeks, it is now time to play a little catch up. Forgive me if this is a bit out of chronological order, but the following few posts need to be purged so that I can move forward. Unfortunately, by the time I finally get things back in order I will be absent for another month while I seek adventure in Northern Spain. Still, I am encouraged because my mood is lifting and I am starting to feel like myself again. Hang in there and hopefully you will be rewarded with something a bit more palatable in days to come. If our current relocation plans hold, my trip to Spain will be the prelude to the end of this project. I have committed myself to continuing through our repatriation, but beyond that, I intend to take this no further. I will follow this project with a Journal about my time on the Camino and then after that . . . who knows. For now, let’s board our time machine and go back a couple of weeks to pick up the things where we left off:

I regret that a fairly busy two weeks has kept me from my usual musings. Entertaining guests from afar requires a certain amount of social presence that I am not terribly used to anymore. The truth is, I have grown quite accustomed to a life of relative solitude. I have discovered that the isolation provided by my remote location is something less than the prison I once believed it to be. It is in this forced sequestration that I have discovered a great amount of happiness over these last two years. While I have no intention of living the remainder of my days in this reclusive fashion, it is clear to me now that it is in this manner that great works of art have been painted and great pieces of literature written. With the constant hum of joyful activity filling our walls, I find myself saddened to see our visitors leave. Still, I cannot help but long for silence to return to this hermitage that we have built for ourselves here in France. We are 4 against the world and I rather like it that way. There is a sweet harmony within our small group that fills each day with a song that I pray will never end. This experience has drawn us together. We have learned a great deal from each other. We have learned to depend on each other for the strength to carry on. I will miss these days terrible when we return to the U.S. and our lives become shattered with activities and obligations pulling us back apart as if carried on a receding tide. I don’t question our decision to return to our homeland, for there is also beauty in the ebb and flow of the life we left behind. It is certain that when the tide rolls back in, we will appreciate our time together all the more. Still, it has been with great luck that we have found ourselves forced into such tight quarters for these past two years. This came at a time in which my children were young and vibrant and sharing their every waking and slumbering moment is a gift that I will cherish for all time.

It is this great strength of family solidarity born of solitude that has helped us weather our most recent storm. In providing you with the details of this most recent episode in our lives, I intend to utilize a tool with which I have only recently become familiar. In a book borrowed from a friend, I have discovered some wonderful truths about writing. It was within this paperbacked volume that I realized that in writing and in life, real beauty can be painted within the confines of a 4 inch frame. One can capture a great deal of life and translate this into written form by looking at an event through this tiny picture frame. So, think back with me . . . back to when you were young and your birthday was something you actually looked forward to rather than something you chose to ignore. When I was young, there were two types of birthdays in my mind. School year birthdays and Summer birthdays. I was the former and forever dreamed of being the latter. Pool parties and Summer BBQ seemed like a lot more fun to me than a potentially cold and windy fall afternoon. I suppose those with Summer birthdays had their own axes to grind. Never getting to bring cupcakes to school on the actual day of their birth and having to recognize it earlier in the year so they didn’t feel left out at school makes for a false summit and somewhat trivializes the actual day when it finally arrives. Still, to this day, I am a bit envious of my eldest son’s great fortune for being born under the sweet sting of the warm Summer sun.

The need to embark on a summer vacation trip the day following his birthday meant that having the shindig on his actual birthday would be a “no-go”, so we opted for the weekend before. Actually, we opted for July 14th to be exact. Does anyone out there know why this was a parental mistake of epic proportions? No? Well, let me explain. In addition to the expected dismal turn out that we had been willing to accept by having his birthday party during a two month span when nearly every Frenchman goes on holiday, we had unwittingly chosen a National holiday. July 14th is Bastile Day. For those that aren’t familiar with this French holiday, just think of it as arranging to host a birthday party on the 4th of July. Even my best childhood friend would have been unwilling to sacrifice popping off fireworks in favor of watching me consume birthday cake after opening a gift he would have preferred to have purchased for himself. Having sent the invitations on the last day of school and not having a school directory from which we could extract the invitees contact information, we were forced to let it ride and prepare for the worst. And the worst is what we got. Refreshments were purchased and lungs were exhausted in the filling of decorative balloons for a party that would never be. Not a single guest would arrive and not a single party favor dispensed. Now, my eldest son is a stoic sort with a resilience equal to the waterproofing on a duck’s back, however, he is still just a child of but 10 years. Watching the rise and fall of his expression made for a theatrical performance that would never leave a dry eye in the audience. 

 There he sat at the head of a table covered in balloons with a setting for six and not a single guest to greet with a smile. He sat there for the longest time, quiet and content. Certain that someone would show. As the minutes ticked by, the sparkle in that sea of blue green beneath each brow began to fade. The usual wrinkle that etches lines down his freckled nose began to relax and all other trappings of his usual smile were now erased. He made light of the situation and handled himself as he always does . . . with grace and confidence, but you could see he was a bit shattered inside. I just sat there next to him . . . lost for words. In a moment in time, I watched him through my 4 inch picture frame. A stiff upper lip guarding against a hint of disappointment and a steely glint in his eye revealing not the child he has been, but the man he is becoming. In that moment, the freckles faded away and his wind-blown tussle of sandy blond hair was replaced with the trappings of a man of my equal age. Through this 4 inch frame, I could see myself. My sorrow was soon matched by a wave of joy at the realization that what we have done for him in this short two years has made him my equal at the tender age of 10. What has taken me my life time to figure out, he has a handle on (if only subconsciously) well before his teens. There is wisdom in those eyes and confidence in that smile. No disappointment could be his equal and what would have many his age in tears would be forgotten in the blink of an eye. And so, to ease the sting felt by all, we did as we have done for these past two years . . . we overcame. Just family, no friends, 4 against the world. We made good with the water balloons and consumed as much of his birthday tart (French kid, what can I say) as we dare. With grandmothers on hand, we even had enough for a badminton tournament of sorts. And though this was a disappointing year where birthday participation is concerned, I know that in coming years his table will be surrounded with those who know a man that has lived a life and endeavored to stand on his own in the face of the Northern wind. They will admire him for that and will fall all over themselves for a seat at that table. He will be measured by who he is, not by what he has. A King without riches except for his heart, and that . . . is a HAPPY Birthday indeed. I wish you the best my son. Cheers. R.