where time stands still

 

I have spoken here about it on a few occasions before, but going home really does feel strange, and the feeling just seems to deepen year after year. Sure, the reasons for that are rooted in childhood,  teenagehood and the endless underlying family issues that come with that territory - I'm sure a lot of you out there know what I'm talking about. But there is also the fact that as years have gone by I have lost all ties with the few school mates I had. Distance does this. That means going home is purely a family business: I go, they get to see baby, we catch up for a while (note to self - remember to avoid talking politics, healthcare, money, and work. I know, that doesn't leave much but it's essential in order to survive even the shortest of visits), eat, walk around the village and that's pretty much it, at least when the weather is not hot enough to be outside.
Still, when the sun shines the light is amazing, the local cheese is out of this world, this time we got to see a small circus, and there are lovely shops in the nearby town - I tend to go a bit crazy to compensate ;)
Maybe it's time to stop visiting France at Easter for me?