The Most Amazing Dream

Last night I was taken to an amazing place. I dreamt that I was living in Camarat, in that beloved house I treasure so very much. It was summer. The heavy warmth of the air wrapped around my shoulders like a stuffed down blanket; the humidity made the air so thick I could taste it. I sat outside the sunroom overlooking the Mediterranean, the golden snake of Pampelonne beaches, the whimsical sailboats dancing across the emerald water like a broken string of scattering pearls. The orange hammock fluttered gently in the salty breeze and a book weighed heavily in my hand. Tequila panted in the shadows, rays of sunshine finding its way through the leaves to shine off her fluffy white coat.

That, my friend, is heaven.

Reflecting on this dream now, it blends into a slideshow of so many fond memories.

I often lose myself in the memories of this summer. I had such an amazing time in France that I wish to cherish every moment of it for eternity. I'd like to keep every thought I had over those six months in tact, stored in my brain forever. But memories fade, and that terrifies me. How can one remember everything forever? How long will I remember those silly, insignificant details? I don’t want to miss anything; I hate to lose a single moment. But that’s impossible. I cannot Bluetooth my brain and download those memories into a fantastic DVD I could play whenever I wanted.

But wouldn’t it be fun if I could?

Or – as my father suggested – maybe I could get a pensive like in Harry Potter and just put my thoughts in there to stir for eternity, at my fingertips for the rest of my life.

I suppose realistically I should write a book about it. It was such an adventure, full of so many stories. Every day with Ludo was worth writing about, and so many I never did… from the time I was called a “siren” at the crique to the afternoon on the beach with the moon and boys who carved a 10-foot penis in the sand. Discovering the Michel history with all my cousins and aunts, learning the wonderful inner workings of my grandparents, drinking more with my family in two weeks than I probably did during my entire career at Dartmouth – Oh, the chapters I could spin… if only I had the motivation to take the time, or the confidence to think I could do it justice.

– But I can’t. I’m not sure anyone could.

My chapter in France is over - I have a job in Boston now and I will not be returning. I love my job, and apparently I’m damn good at it. But my heart remains abroad, as I realized when I almost cried at work last week when I did something drastic, conclusive:

I closed my Credit Lyonnais bank account.

I’ve begun saving for my next vacation to Paris and Ramatuelle. But from now on – until who-knows-when – I will only live in France in my dreams.