Our House is Not in Paris (2012)
“The thorns were so sharp that they pierced my gloves and gashed me through my long-sleeved shirt. Some brambles still had an uncanny resemblance to climbing roses. But after being scarred last year — this time metaphorically — in my attempts on our very last day to preserve what I foolishly thought were roses, which would climb in a picturesque way on the barn walls, I slashed through them without another thought. Actually, there were some other roses — and, yes, I was convinced they were — tha...t, in my attempt to keep them and have them not decimated by the gardener when he came to mow, the only way I could think of to identify them was to place brightly coloured clothes pegs on their spindly limbs. I could still scarcely get over the fact that last year I carefully preserved brambles rather than roses, and, on our return, I felt quite heartbroken to discover that they were flourishing brambles. What was also etched in my memory about our last precious day was that, still, I worked frantically and turned down an offer to spend the day relaxing by Jean-Claude’s luxurious pool.MoreLess
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