20 little envelopes, our little secret.

Gran was an amazing lady, she had such a zest for life, spring in her step and a cute little sparkle in her eye. She wasn’t French but my goodness, how she wished that she was, and how she never let us forget what seemed to be her first and longest love! Whenever she spoke of all things French, be it food, wine, places she had visited - from a tiny little town on the northern tip of the Normandy coast to the glitzy glamorous hubs of the Parisienne landscape, and then to the southern shores of her beloved French Riviera, her eyes would twinkle that little bit more. Ahh, but when she spoke of the beloved elusive French man that she loved for decades, her voice may have dropped, and her lips straightened but the twinkle in her eyes was ever present. Gran just adored France and all things French. Apparently, a baguette is not a baguette unless it is banqueted on in France!!

It was impossible not be transported into her memories and to live a little vicariously through her vignettes of French sojourns but as she got frailer, she confessed to me, at first a little cryptically but then with a little more detail, that one day she intended to share her great love – France - with me. I wondered how and what she had planned but she assured me that in good time, all would be revealed.

Eventually, Gran passed; it was a sorrowful heartfelt loss that bore into my soul. Such melancholia. Missing her mischievous smile, her twinkling eyes, and those stories of French frivolity and fun was immediate. I began to revisit those stories that were etched in my memory, both sumptuous and humble stories like how she would intentionally walk out the door from where she was staying and be guided by her intuition as to whether she would turn a gauche or a droit on the cobbled and windy Parisienne streets, her motive always to end up “lost” in order to find whatever or whoever came her way. On one of those occasions, she stumbled across Monsieur George the handsome and very amiable artist in Place des Vosges with whom she idled away hours, chattering in her broken French and him listening unabashedly drinking in her every word (or so Gran would say), them sharing stories of their pasts; he invited her or more, according to her, implored her to miss her flight home the next day to accompany him to a soiree that he was invited to. She took her flight the next day but never ceased to wonder ‘what if…’, had she not flown home. Ahh, Monsieur George, l’homme charmant. She told me of Madame Sylvie, a humble lady who was weary but warm despite having left her home in the dawn haze to come by train to Paris, she had a medical appointment to attend. Madame Sylvie came and sat with Gran who was nibbling on one of her coveted baguettes. The 2 women, one a calm, stoic and humble 80s model and the other, a fanciful, feverish model in her 30s, both tucked away in the quiet sheltered gardens of Eglise de Saint Julien le Pauvre, in the 5th Arrondissment, came together and were transfixed by one other despite the language disparity. Madame Sylvie appealed to my Gran’s desire to connect with someone - anyone willing to share their French story and a little bit of French banter, and for Madame Sylvie, my Gran appealed to her need to connect, FULL STOP. Paris is a big place and for an older model from a faraway village, a connection can bring such joy it seemed Madame Sylvie shared her wholesome French wisdom with Gran, and as she bid her au revoir, she also proffered some of her juicy sweet clementine, a madeleine wrapped in plastic and a pack of Parisienne tissues. That vielle dame left an indelible imprint on Gran.

I digress…

So, Gran had passed, and the time had come for her belongings to find themselves with their new owners. Sad as it was, I began to wonder which of Gran’s copious French treasures she may have left for me, I also entertained the notion about her cryptic messages of sharing her beloved France with me was most likely by way of me inheriting her hundreds of books, trinkets, photos, scarves and mementos that she had picked up during trips to France.

Sure enough, I did inherit a box that was literally bursting at the seams, full to the brim of some of the most beautiful, gawdy, touristique items and, very memorable items that I had once listened to countless stories about from Gran but also, tucked into a corner amongst the How to Learn French - step by step and, several French - English dictionaries, was a small black notebook…

At first, I wondered if the small black notebook was a mistake, a remnant of Gran’s days gone by – Gran was a notorious hoarder of notes, papers, memories and memoirs – but once I opened the notebook and read the inscription in Gran’s shaky handwriting, I knew there was no mistake and that that cryptic puzzle was suddenly a little less cryptic.

Dear Frankie, you listened with your eyes wide open my love. But it’s time to look with your own eyes and to open your heart…Finish what I started.

All my love Gran XXX

I quickly flicked through the little black notebook and it seems Gran had been rather busy for quite some time, not only was there a return ticket for me to go to Paris and accommodation vouchers, but there was also a list of 20 must see places, things and even people, in the order set out by Gran in the little black not book as well. Gran’s eyes would have been twinkling and her smile wicked as she looked down at me for sure, she had known my worst fears were flying and solo travelling, so not only was she pushing me to do what I was petrified of, she was pushing me out of my comfort zone. Ooh, how I feel Gran enjoyed planning this adventure just as much as she likely expected me to enjoy doing it, she no doubt relived her fantastical memories as she planned and prepared every step she had formulated in my trip of a lifetime.

My goodness, that little back notebook, Gran had divvied into 23 sections – a prologue, an epilogue, a glossary and 20 sections covering the places I was to travel; she was once a teacher who adored a project, she often told me about the grade 4 project on France, the very first thing that had sparked her lifelong French flame! On the last page of each of those 20 sections was an envelope that had been sealed shut. Twenty sections. Twenty sealed shut little envelopes. Those little envelopes, in Gran’s shaky but beautiful handwriting bore the phrase

Frankie, Mon Amour, profite! C’est notre petit secret. Avec tout mon Coeur Gran XXX”

Well, I took that trip of a lifetime, I followed Gran’s instructions, I took on board her wisdom and aspirations and it turns out she knew, she knew what I needed and how what I would experience through all my senses in all those people and places she had set out for me that I would expand into my greater self. She knew that I would be better and clearer about life, love and the universe but, to give me strength or donne-moi la force as she would say, to go without worry, it turns out that each of those little envelopes at the end of each of the 20 sections contained $1000. A little note in little each envelope wrote, “Frankie, to give you une joie de vivre!!” Gran had left me her dream of France, but with a ticket to ride and $20000 tucked away in my little black notebook…

Vive la France, and long live Gran!!

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