Sunday, on the spur of the moment, we walked out the door, got in the car, and drove east. Just like that. We ignored the washing machine and the endless Sunday laundry, hid the tools scattered on the floor and slid the shelves we were getting ready to put up under the bed. And off we went to France!
The sun seemed brighter in Nice, just across the Italian-French border. Most shops were shut (don't go to France on a Sunday for shopping), yet the streets were crowded with people strolling, sitting outdoors at cafes and brasseries, and enjoying the Côte d'Azur, which was blue as blue can be. But, then, what else could you expect when you're in France?
We got home much later than expected. The pile of laundry was still overflowing from the hamper, the wall full of ugly holes but no shelves up, the Sunday baking not done ... but what an extraordinary day we'd had together! A Sunday out of the ordinary, filled with invigorating foreignness, a breath of fresh french air that charged our batteries and spirits for the week ahead.