Tomorrow we go back to America, and we'll stay there, probably, until Sept. 1. Our feelings about leaving France, leaving Nice, are different one from the other and all mixed up in other ways as well. Peggy was born here, her first language was French. France is her country. Her American passport, which she has had from the age of 28, can't change that. She seems to be more relaxed here, happier--which is normal, I suppose. I too am relaxed and comfortable in France--up to a point. We were married in Nice, I began my career here, we lived in Nice or in Paris during most of those early years, and one of our children was born in France. I sometimes remark that France is where I became a man. I learned to speak the language, we have many friends. It is also where I set a number of my novels. Nonetheless, my comfort level is not the same as hers. The French are very nice, I also sometimes remark, they let me live here among them, but I am not French. So when we cross the ocean tomorrow I will be going home, and Peggy will be leaving home, which is a major difference. Home to me is the most beautiful word in the English language. It is also a word no one can precisely define.
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8/11/2015 03:53:22 am
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