Tuesday, September 22, 2009
My brother went off to France amid a chaotic chorus of Farewells and Au Revoirs and Bon Chances. I heard the commotion. When my brother- who lives with Mater no longer- came to the telephone for a few moments, I chimed in with a few hearty greetings of my own before our mother took over again.
I heard her call goodbye as my brother slipped noisily out the door into the evening.
"So," I said, "he's away to France for a few days."
"He is," she said.
Eight or nine minutes later she dropped a faint hint about motoring to the airport the next morning.
My sibling could hardly, I reasoned, be returning so soon; something was amiss.
"No," Mater said. "He's not going yet. He just went home to his own place for the evening. He's leaving for France in the morning. I'll be taking him to catch his flight."
"But- wait a moment. You just said goodbye to him! Several times! In French, no less."
"Oh, just for the spirit of it," was the answer. "I'll say goodbye again tomorrow."
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 5:36 PM