American WWII Cemetery

Hello once more! It's been quite a while since I posted, ever since the somewhat traumatizing event of the escargot. Your patience shall be rewarded with not one, but two posts today. First up is the side trip we took before heading to Mont St. Michel and Saint Malo. Danuta packed a picnic lunch for us and then the four of us hit the car and drove the two or so hours to the Normandy/Brittany boarder.

Dad and I were both fairly disappointed that we weren't going to get to see the Normandy beaches after our previous plan fell through, so Michel decided that as a compromise, we would stop at the American Cemetery near Mont St. Michel before continuing on to our picnic lunch.

It was an absolutely beautiful day with clear blue skies, and there were roses in bloom everywhere. Despite all that these men suffered during the war, I couldn't help but think that there wasn't a more beautiful place to be laid to rest. They might not have ever made it home, but the perfect stillness and silence of the area, the shady trees with their collection of birds, and the blossoming roses gave a peaceful, comforting aura.

There was a beautiful little chapel that bore a small altar as well as illustrations of the war in French and English, and stained glass windows. Someone had left a beautiful bouquet of flowers at the steps of the altar, with a ribbon in the colors of the German flag.

The gravestones seemed to go on for miles, though I'm sure this one was much smaller than the other located near the D-day beaches. We walked through, reading some of the names and wishing we had the time to read them all. It was one of the saddest and most beautiful things I'd

ever seen. As we began the walk back to the car, the clock struck noon and the bells of the chapel rang out, not with the usual chimes but with the song of the American military I believe is what Dad called it. The bells played four songs, sad but somehow with an edge of hopefulness or at least as hopeful as one can get in a minor key.

War isn't something that I particularly like, nor do many people. I just don't understand why people feel the need to fight with each other when things could be solved much more simply and with considerably less loss of life. But something about the cemetery and those bells ringing out across the otherwise silent grounds made me both sad and proud to be an American. Those boys gave everything they had to our country, but why did they have to go to war in the first place? Nothing is ever so necessary that young people are taken from their homes, willingly or not, and never get to see their families and home again.

Crazy Ideas

For the time being, let's pretend like all pasts posts don't exist and none of you have any idea who I am.

We're introduced at a party and, as usual, talk turns to plans for the future and what we do for jobs/education etc. In May, I couldn't have told you anything specific, just an awkward shoulder shrug and silence and then a desperate jump to a different topic. Well as of July, I could finally give people definite answers: I'm going to France for three months. This, shockingly, was my mother's idea, she's been a Francophile for forever and has passed on to me not only her eyes and questionable attitude about rules but her love for the French and France as well.

Now, most people have been asking me if this is a study abroad thing, something to do with school, and I've been saying no, this has nothing to with school or any other educational organizations. But since I've been here, a grand total of about fifty hours, I have a new answer for that question: Yes. It is a study abroad, a study of myself, of languages, of culture, of life. It may not have any scholastic value, unless I end up a language major which at this rate looks very likely to happen, but the value I will get from this experience is better than anything I could get at school.