Dernière soirée

In 18 hours I'll be home in Washington - pretty impossible to believe. I'm packing my suitcases and reflecting on what a semester this has been, on how unreal it will all seem in a matter of hours. The last metro ride, the last time coming out of the metro at Madeleine at night and seeing there the blue, white, and red of the flag illuminated by the streetlight, the last nocturnal walk down rue de Caumartin as the restaurant and bar owners wipe their counters and close up for the night, the last ride up the tiny little elevator, the last night with my windows of my little garret flung open, etc. etc. It's not hard to think of everything in very dramatic terms. I said goodbye to Lena, who was here visiting yesterday and today, around 7:30 at the Gallieni bus station, and then dined alone with my host mom. (The count is already at the country house for the summer.) It was simple and lovely. We had my favorite appetizer, the croissants with melted goat cheese. Then some sort of pork medallions with veggies and salad, then the abundant selection of cheeses, then rhubarb with kiwi and peaches in it for dessert. She told me stories about her extended family, and we each recounted, as always, what each of us had done that day. As we wrapped up dessert, I was getting marriage advice from the countess. And then she brought out the recipes I had drooled over for the past semester so I could copy them into my handy little Moleskine. We stood at the window in my room together looking out at the courtyard while she shook out the tablecloth and remarked that we were all alone in the building (it's a long weekend here). Then, for the last time, she brought in her new bargain purchases for me to approve. These little habits have become such a welcome part of my day, I don't want to admit it's the last time for everything. When she went to bed, I went to meet my old friend Mary and her boyfriend at a cafe near Republique and we sat for the last time, a la parisienne, sitting in a row looking out at the street for people-watching. And now, the next time I write, I will have (hopefully) escaped the clutches of the American customs apparatus with my specially vacuum-packed gourmet cheeses. Crossing our fingers.