Everything has the smell of the end now, and after so much complaining on this very blog, it's a little embarrassing to say that everyone is sad about it, even Magdalene (but don't tell her I said that, she'd definitely deny it).

The boys had their last Judo class where they got examined to see what belt they can take back to America (we don't know the results yet, I think they actually get the non-white belts next Wednesday in some kind of ceremony).

Simeon had his last sailing class on Tuesday. Mimi and I ran to the sailing school (about 3 miles up the river from where we live) and were caught in several downpours on the way (I hope the last ones of our stay in Nantes, I'm really sick of walking around in sopping wet clothes) and watched Simeon sail back and forth on the Erdre river in his little sail boat with a very concentrated and serious look on his face while most of the other students in the class were falling and leaping in the water in droves (they've had a substitute teacher for the last 3 weeks who is

completely lacking in authority, and boy did it show there on the river!). Next Tuesday they don't have sailing class, instead, they have an

all-day treasure hunt on the river and in the various parks that border it there, where they have to sail their little boats to various places, land find stuff, and then take off again. Pretty cool.

The event that's been the strongest memento abitus (remembrance of departure, as in, memento mori--note, I had to ask Sean to look this up in his Latin dictionary for me so I could look educated) for us, though, has been our joint goodbye party with our friends Muriel and Emmanuel (who are going to Boston for a year). We had it at their house in La Turballe on the coast, with about 25 adults and 28 children there for the weekend (most of them camping in the back yard, but using the one bathroom!).

Here to the left you see Magda in the play she organized with the children. Ok, now, after being pedantic with my bit of Latin, I will add insult to injury by bragging (this is in addition to all the bragging I'm doing about what a wonderful life we're having here, you really shouldn't believe a word, it rains all the time, really): Magdalene actually wrote a play in French and directed about ten 10 year old kids in it (all in French). And it was really good! And everyone had a lot of fun, she did, the other kids did, all the parents who watched it (and also who were freed of their kids for the time it took to put the play together) did.

The men who were there were all completely foot crazy. They were either sneaking away to cafés to watch various matches, or they were playing it with the kids, or, when they had finally succeeded (through I don't know what devious stratagems and sneaky machiavellian machinations) in getting rid of all the kids, playing it with each other (though they got a bit too rough there, and it didn't actually last that long before someone was injured. It was better when they were holding back for the children).

While the men were injuring each other and themselves playing foot, the children and the mothers were swimming and surfing in the waves, finding enormous jellyfish washed up on the

beach, and, for the more unfortunate mothers with very demanding little girls, walking up and down the beach searching for beach-glass and shells. All that took place Saturday afternoon and was followed by a very long evening and night of feeding kids, feeding parents while completely ignoring kids (not brushing their teeth, not putting them to bed, not worrying that they were climbing trees and leaping all over the place and watching too many videos). While we were eating lunch on Sunday (after drinking and dancing all night on Saturday night, yes, I keep telling you France has totally changed us and you don't believe me, but it's really true, we've turned from total sticks in the mud into party animals), Sean commented that you often see in French movies people having these long meals outside in the country with lots of friends all of them discussing interesting things. Sometimes one of the friends will take out a guitar and play French songs that everyone knows, and some of the children will join in while the others keep playing foot in the background. Well, said Sean, I guess they put scenes like that in their movies because life really is like that in France. I guess that's why we're sad to leave. I suppose I hope all these lessons in good living that we've received here can be translated into Bellinghamese. Still, even if they can, it will be hard to leave all these good friends with not much hope of seeing them again (unless they visit us).