Back in town, back into my post-partum elastic-waist skirts.

We're back, and jet-lagged. As suspected, internet access was scarce. The one bar in Axat that offered internet service still had pinball machines, and French fifteen year olds were still using them. Very sweet.

The France retrospective posts will appear off and on for awhile, I'll try not to throw out too many of them at once. I'm not sure there's that much worth telling anyway. It kind of went like this:


We ate.


We watched the laundry spin.


We ate.

But then, we do a lot of that in the US. The essence of the France trips is that we do what we do anyway but we do it to excess, laundry excepted. Including indulging in uninterrupted family time: to excess, I'm telling you. Then we finish it off with a twelve hour plane ride, five people stuffed into four seats in the middle aisle of a 747 with pissy, pissy stewards. Of course, they knew that their carrier (Northwest) was going to file for bankruptcy as soon as we hit the tarmac and their retirement funds were going to go the way of United's. We just thought they were misanthropes.

Despite the family overkill, I'm feeling less like a misanthrope myself than I was pre-vacation. My ma, who probably swiped the phrase from Erma Bombeck, says that the purpose of vacations is to stay away long enough that you're glad to come home. Accompli.