June 22, 2012: The Longest Night

          Last night was the Longest Night, which is apparently a French equinox of sorts. En Provence, on June 21, the sun comes up at 4 a.m. and goes down after 10 p.m. (In Phoenix, we call that Tuesday.)

          Anyway. I went to dinner with Catherine and Barry, our Bargemon friends, on the Longest Night. Catherine is either a French woman who moved to Englandwhen she was 20 or a Brit who relocated to Provence right after high school; I can never remember which, because she is fluent in both languages but speaks English with a British accent. (More troubling than my inability to recall Catherine’s heritage is the fact that she’s a doppelganger for an especially terrible editor in my early career; I can’t decide whether my charming friend Catherine has softened my nasty memory of that horrible woman, or if it’s gone the other way: Do I resent poor Catherine because a woman who resembles her routinelly demanded 400-word sidebars at the last minute, then cackled like a witch?)

          We sat outside at La Campana, a village favorite right around the corner from our house, and ordered saumon carpaccio and d’agneu and beaucoup du rosétrop beaucoup, as it turned out. I stumbled home at 10:30, and the sun was still up. So I hung out some laundry.

The village, at 10:30 last night.

 Thing I Hate Today: My toenails


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