Au revoir, my friend

This week, I lost a dear friend. Madame Marceline--my French tutor, my confident, my expert on all things French. 

But that can't begin to describe my relationship with Marceline. I met with her every Wednesday afternoon, beginning in 2009 and up until 2015 when my husband and I moved from the Cape to our farm here in the Hudson River Valley.

Marceline and I kept in touch by phone. She continued to tell me her stories of growing up near Grenoble during the war years when her village was occupied--first by the Italians in 1942, and then the Germans in 1943. She told me how she was allowed one egg per week--something special because she was only twelve years old. How a schoolmate "disappeared." How the Nazis were always watching, standing at every street corner--ready to attack, ready to arrest you at any sign of insubordination.

During my French lessons in her home, she would sometimes go into an imitation of a German officer--especially if I had not done my homework. She would squint her eyes and say she would have to take disciplinary measures. It was funny, but it was also a little scary.

How did she manage to make fun of it? Doing Nazi impersonations after having survived the war, coming through it traumatized, malnourished, sickly. Forever scarred. Even into her nineties, she would tell me how she suffered from nightmares involving a Nazi hiding in the barn and suddenly jumping out of the shadows.

And yet, Marceline was probably the most fun-loving woman I have ever met. She took delight in the smallest things--the Yogi tea quotes, fresh strawberries in June, her little black cat, making a fire in her fireplace on a chilly day.

Creative Friends--we are all living through a time of trauma. More than likely, we will not come through this unscathed or without scars. However, if you keep your sense of humor, it just might be the thing that saves you. That's how you will survive and live to inspire others.

Love,

Jamie