Liking Lives

Winde (Wendy) and Sven brought out tomato salads with basil picked from the edge of their 6x4 foot terrace. Tarragon, thyme, mint, petunias and tiny trees bordered the area. Although this Belgian couple look as if they should be cramming for final exams they’re pushing thirty. Despite the age gap, they invited Barbara and me to lunch.

Their rented fieldstone house is part of an old Mas on the Massane River. The Pyrenees rose green against the grey sky that promised storms to come. Most of the houses in the neighbourhood were renovated buildings from the original farm.

Snap, the sort-of golden retriever Sven had adopted when travelling in Paraguay, put her paws and head on my lap, trying to convince me that she was love-deprived. A look at her basket, food dish, and well brushed coat, told more about her place in this household then her acting. Two black kittens that have just gone gangly flew out the door. Winde scooped them up and placed them back inside, and offered them to Barbara and me. We both turned down the offer as we did the next few times. We did promise to be on the outlook for prospective cat parents.

I like having friends from a variety of ages. When I was a bride of 20 living in Stuttgart one of the couples we hung around with was in their 40s. In Geneva, one of my neighbours in her mid 80s was a shared-meals-and-conversation friend. My next door Indian and Syrian neighbours were in their late thirties, and my work buddies were ten years younger than I am. I also have friends my age.

Although my parents loved their retirement community in Florida, I want to hear children running up and down the street and see everything from joggers to wheel chairs. I won’t disparage these communities with names like senior citizen ghettos. That life style made my parents as happy with their choices as I am with mine.

Sven is trying to make it as a free lance journalist. Winde is a sales girl in the new cheese shop working both behind the counter and the marchés. She is good. Since Sven writes in Flemish I have no measure of his talent. Last year, before they found this house they lived in a tent with the animals.

Much of our conversation concerned the French vote on the EU constitution, a little on Barbara’s and my winter in the US, parents, friends and family, especially in context of positioning and expectations.

The time passed quickly. The storm held off. We took our leave. As we headed for our car, one of Winde’s and Sven’s neighbours told his German Shepherd it was not a good idea to chase the black kittens. The dog obeyed instantly. This led to a discussion of a pink spikey flower in the stone pots in front of their house. No one knew its name in French or English.

The man led us down the path to the river. Snap and Winde joined us and Winde told of the pleasure of walking the dog along the river to the next valley. The water burbled over the rocks. The river was down from February and will be trickle in August. Snap and the Shepherd splashed in the water.

One of the things that struck me was Winde’s and Sven’s total satisfaction with their lives. They like their work. They like each other. They have all they need and want. No, that’s not true. They need to find homes for the kittens.