My grandmother spoke French. She sang French songs. She swore in French. And loved in French. She worked in a factory, long nights. I know nothing of her dreams. They called her “everybody’s darling.”
Once upon a time, my grandmother’s beauty would stop you in your tracks. That was long before I knew her. To me, she was just “Grammy”—in whose home I could always get a cup of Lipton tea.
Thank you, Grammy, for giving me a French start. I’m here to create some new history with français, love, beauty, dreams. And tea. Of course, endlessly, ever, tea.
Reader, come along with me?
Let’s say “oui” to what the day lays out before us.
🌷 🌷 🌷
P. S.
Dear Francophiles,
I invite your patient corrections, anytime. You can find me on Twitter or LinkedIn, to whisper sweet observations in my ear.
P. P. S.
I’m learning Spanish, too, if you’d like to come along!