School's Oh You Tee!

Bonjour and Happy St. Herve's (with an accent over the second "e" - would that be "Herb's" in English?) Day, June 17,

After letting his hair grow for close to three years, Michael decided it was time for a new look, and I agreed to go with him for moral support. And because I needed a trim, too.

Before:







We went to the barber shop - sorry! Styliste, or Centre de Beaute - that I've been going to. Now, Mike has had only one barber shop haircut before this because I'd cut his hair for the first 9 or 10 years, so in addition to the trauma of the cut itself and the radical alteration in his appearance he had to confront tonsorium culture, so to speak. For example, he'd never had someone else wash his hair (other than us, of course, when he was younger.) It turned out to be an experience he won't soon forget, and since it's unlikely that he'll ever read this I can feel free to describe it. Two tres chic young French coiffeuses, one a trainee, were assigned to him by the owner, a hard-bitten woman of my age or thereabouts (who, incidentally, administered my haircut), and they spent over an hour hovering around him clipping, snipping and trying to engage him in conversation, but he was so embarassed, I guess, that he was mostly silent except for occasional brief muttered answers to questions like, "Do you live in Eguilles?" and "Do you speak French?". By the time they were done, everyone in the salon was watching and it felt like they were going to burst into applause when he got out of the chair.

After:



Here he is at the end of his last day of school.




The school held end-of-year festivities and a buffet on the evening of the last day. Michael had a speaking part in his class' production of "High School Musical"; that's Mike at the mike. He played a skateboarder and delivered his lines with authority. We could actually hear him. All the classes presented something, and there were a fashion show, some rock and roll bands and an awards presentation ceremony.

The moon was visible through the mimosas from where we sat.


Here are some of the proud parents. From left to right: Unidentified dog, Francois, Maria and Lois.


More proud parents, who have become friends. Charlotte; Christine and George, and their daughter. And, actually, I think the unidentified dog in the photo above belongs to them.
The culmination of the show was this: the teachers, bewigged, singing a version of an ABBA song with the lyrics revised for the occasion, like, "What went wrong? Homework used to be so gooood!", and "How can we go on after you've left?", and "What happened to the paper you promised me?". This was conceived and rehearsed in secret so the kids were astounded and the rest of us were in hysterics. The whole affair was well-managed, a pleasure to attend. For Mike, it was bittersweet, of course, because he'll probably never see most of these people again. We can all sympathize, I'm sure. Remember being 12 and 1/2? It was a pretty emotional time, as I recall.




The weather is still changing from hour to hour, from sun to showers.

Here's Filu, who belongs to the neighbors who own the horses (neigh-bors; horses; wow, an unintentional pun!) and who looks, from certain angles, a lot like our Lucy...

...speaking of whom, Betsy and Les, who are taking care of her while we're in France, and Donna and Dennis are here for a visit at the midpoint of their European odyssey. They started in Belgium and stopped in Paris enroute to us, and they'll be leaving for Nice and various places in Italy in a couple of days. I'll present photographic evidence and a more detailed description of their visit next time.

Meanwhile, another day draws to a glorious end in Provence.



And tonight, France plays Italy in the European championships. Both teams (who played for the championship of the universe at the last world cup, you'll remember) are, shockingly, in desperate straits, on the verge of elimination. They're in the same 4-team pool with Holland, who has emerged as the surprise juggernaut, and who crushed France and Italy by a cumulative score of 7 to 1 (France 4-1 and Italy 3-0). So, at the very best, only one of them will advance. And if Roumania, who's in 2d place in the pool, beats Holland, who, having already secured a place in the quarterfinals, will be resting their best players, then both of them will have to crawl back home with their tails between their legs and their fans pelting them with abuse. And maybe tomatoes. Dennis and Donna are big fans, and Lois is discovering a hidden streak of fandom, so we'll be glued to the tube. And I smell wondrous aromas emanating from the kitchen, where Les is busy working his culinary magic, so the evening promises to be a memorable one.

And I hope yours is too.

Au revoir.

Tom