Mimi had her school fête on Friday, with singing from the little ones (that's one of Mimi's best friends Gwenaelle, whose mother is British and who speaks English) and then all manner of treats: parent-provided food (not good enough to justify my feeling inferior and self-conscious about my cooking all year; I wish I'd tasted it when we first got here and continued to feel proud of what I cook) that was sold to raise money for the school, and then fun games like lottery, fishing for prizes, and face-painting: here is Magdalene painting one of Matthias's good friends' face (she has a twin sister whose hair is just as red, and both of them REALLY like Matthias). Mimi was so serious and focused on her singing, she reminded us of Magdalene who was in French school in Toronto at that age and who, when she sang in her school choir, seemed to think the entire world's welfare depended on her performance. The other kids seemed to have fun!

On Saturday, we went to a bay full of islands in the coast of Brittany (le Golfe du Morbihan) with one of Sean's colleagues who grew up near there. She wanted to take us to this large tumulus (prehistoric building full of carvings) located on an island accessible only by boat. Of course, the boat wouldn't let on the dog, which I had brought along knowing she would cause trouble because it was her last day with us (about which more later), so I volunteered to stay on the shore while the others went to visit the tumulus (that dog is seriously interfering with my cultural improvement). As a consequence, I will not tell a story of connecting with the mind of ancient and to us forever obscure human beings, but instead, a story about my own heroism and my dog's complete lack of it. When the others were safely loaded onto their little boat, Tipomme and I went along the beach to find another island that is accessible only at low time through a causeway between two huge bays. Well, of course, when we got there, the causeway was deep under furiously rushing water (it looked like one of the bays was emptying into the other one... Sean had the camera, which explains why, though I'm not telling a story about tumuluses, I'm still illustrating it with a picture of one). So we went for a walk in the village, found one of those magic/sacred springs that are so abundant in this celtic area, an ancient cemetery, many beautiful houses... and after 20 minutes, we returned to the island to see if the causeway was passable. Well, having tried once and had to give up, I wasn't going to be put off a second time, despite the still rushing (though shallower) water. So off came my shoes and socks, and slowly, fighting the whole way against the current, walking sideways so as not to be pushed over (the water was up to my thighs at the deepest), trying hard not to slip on the algae, all the while self-conscious that at least 50 people who were waiting for the tide to be low enough were watching me intently, I made it across... only to discover that my dog had not followed me!

Not only had she not followed me, but she showed no sign of coming when I called her. She got anxious and ran along the edge of the water, but she didn't even dip her tiny paws in. I called sweetly, I called authoritatively, then bossily, then positively dictatorially, but she continued to display anxiety amounting to no action, until in the end, she ran back towards the boat landing and disappeared. I panicked right away (being anxious about her anyway for other reasons, about which more later), and off came my shoes and socks again (which I had put on after crossing and before realizing what a coward my dog was), and across I walked, much faster, getting soaked (but without falling). When I got to the other side, I though my audience should really have clapped, but the consolation prize was that I caught Tipomme, put her on a leash, and dragged her across the causeway, which, by this time (whether because the tide had gone down quite a lot, or because I was becoming such a pro) seemed nothing at all. It was all worth it. I had a whole island to circumambulate all by myself, (only when I was coming off were other people finally daring to come on) and it was beautiful. There were beautiful old rock houses on there, and an old chapel, sandy beaches, and a throne carved into the rock with a view of water rushing around the various islands (and since I was alone on there, I got the throne, ahem, especially since my children weren't there to take it from me).

Anyway, the poor dog is a coward, but I miss her dearly, and the whole family has had to make many sacrifices for her. She couldn't fly back with us (problems with the airline companies and the planes that were too small), so we had to send her by freight on her own from Paris. Only she had to be in Paris 5 hours before her flight (the direct Paris to Seattle flight which leaves at 10:30 every morning). Sean rented a car and left Nantes at midnight so as to make it to Paris at 5:30 in the morning. He sent Tipomme on her way (which costs such an obscene amount of money I cannot write how much here) and then faced another 5 hour drive after a whole night of driving. In order to make his trip worth something, he drove through Chartres (another illustration that requires an explanation) and, though he did not find the Cathedral quite as impressive as he had when he last saw it when he was 14, he still said it was the most luminous of them all (I myself have never seen it I think, unless I did when I was a child and can't remember, perhaps it was Rheims). In any case, he made it home in one piece, stopping several times to sleep in rest stop areas, and drinking a lot of tea and coke for the caffeine. Tipomme made it safely to Seattle to my mother's house, we already have pictures of her in my mother's yard looking quite herself and happy... Still, now we have sent one of us home, it really feels like the end, even more than last week.