My Parisian Life

                                                                                              
 
                  My Parisian Life

                              

“We’re moving to Paris, mon amie,” he said.

So thinking of wine, soft lights and the Louvre,

I avoired my friends and boxed up my shoes.

But when I arrived a shock I did find

a sea of new faces—not one person I knew!

I needed some friends—even one would do

 but who would talk to me?  Or like me?

would Margie, Pamela or Sue?

My confidence plummeted—my face broke out, too.

And my clothes, oh my gosh,

in the bin they were tossed!

Yet how would I ever ever fit into size 2?

French classes began—all a big blur

of private and group and conversational, too.

Homework and practice were all required,

but who could concentrate on that when I needed new shoes?

So off I would go to buy shoes, scarves, some wine

never giving a thought to my books or the time.

Surprisingly, somehow, I finally made friends—

I had group--I was in. 

My children would ask me,

“Hey, Mom, what do you do?”

My immediate response, “I go clubbing.  I do.”

I go to art club and hiking club, book club and writing club.

On Wednesdays, however, we volunteer at the Louvre.

I do lunches with some friends, coffee with others

and in between we talk for hours.

I worry over what to wear,

why I’m here and not over there.

Half the time I don’t know who I am,

where I came from or where I’ll end.

I feel like a two-year-old though I cover my grey.

I fret “Can I learn this?” and “Will I know the way?”

In short, I tell them the honest truth--

I’m definitely, absolutely, back in High School, Round Two.

Twickenham

22 February 2012