Rain and contemplation

I'm working on the book (still struggling with the title ... suggestions welcome) and thinking about the funny choices we make in life -- and how we eventually get used to them.

I remember how I'd introduce new friends to my parents' house when I was growing up. I'd take them slowly from room to room to let them take it all in (I may have mentioned this before, this seems to always be one of my favourite examples). And then, eventually, they'd just get it and the house would no longer be unfamilar. They'd know how to find the bathroom, which paintings were on which walls, and would know where to find the crackers in the jar in the cupboard.

For me, things here in France are beginning to seem normal in the same way. Although I'm still not sure how all of this will turn out, I'm adjusting and this life is evolving.

The Professor and I are buying things for the house. We shop for groceries. We go out for drinks. It's basically the same life we would have had together in Canada, except that everything is a little more French than it is Canadian. Funny how what was once foreign can become familiar.

I wonder when or if that gradual descent toward normal (is down the direction?) will begin to take away from the rush of this romantic place where, at first, the grass appeared most definitely greener and the water more blue.