Just after I got home to Stockholm today after three weeks in the US, I stood at the balcony door looking out at the snow and the neighborhood. And then I noticed a guy standing in front of the garage across the street. He was in the corner facing in toward the door. And simultaneously as I was wondering what the heck he was up to, I noticed the snow melting in front of him. Then he turned around while zipping up his pants.
And I thought of my friend Rosalie and her belief in signs. You know, signs like: “I saw the sun break through the clouds on the way to work and I took it as a sign that it would be a great day.” She’s a very positive person and I like that about her.
Then that somehow reminded me of the time several years ago when, just after arriving in Paris, Robert and I were walking along the Seine on a gorgeously sunny day. We had gone MAYBE 10 steps when Robert stepped in that Parisian street specialty: le puppy poo.
He had on a new pair of shoes. It was a fresh, messy, steaming pile. And oh my, Robert was so angry as he worked to clean off le poo.
Meanwhile, I laughed so hard I cried.I laughed so hard that my stomach hurt.
This laughter did not help lighten Robert’s mood. In fact, I would say that he got just a bit more grumpy. Then, wisely and like the good wife that I am, I stopped laughing long enough to steer him over to a sidewalk cafe and ordered some red wine. After drinking a carafe, he was willing to admit that le poo was kind of funny. But he also said that he was not impressed by his opening reception to Paris.
Which brings me back to today and the Manneken Pis, as I’ve come to call him. I don’t really need to take him as a sign of what’s to come in my welcome home, do I? By the way, the trip to Paris was a fabulous one…