Doors

      

Knock-knock.

Who's there?

Eleanore.

Eleanore Who?

Please. I've been writing this blog for three months.

You should know me by now!

First of all, thank you for reading this blog.

Second, today is our last day in Uzes.

It is also our last blog.

Yes, we have two weeks left in Europe

but we'll be spending those Tryin' to be Italian and Austrian, not Tryin' to be French.

This blog is simple.

The doors and hand-knockers of Uzes. 

We took 100 photos of doors and knockers...
these are our favorites--and the craziest.

I picked the doors.

Frances picked the knockers. She chose only one style of knockers: hands.

Knock knock

Who's there?

Mail man.

The mail man who brings you your junk mail.

If this is what the door looks like, imagine what it's like inside!

                                        

Frances is pretending to knock on the door.

If she knocked for real she would have used the knocker.

This door is two doors down from our door.

The other day with my dad I went out on the street and drew this door.

It took us 2 hours.

The hardest thing was the perspective.

It was so hard to get the depth.

On my drawing, I made up my own designs for the stone carving.

This is my drawing, all finished.

This door is very plain.

It doesn't even have a knocker.

Inside this door is a very special place: our home in Uzes.

We lived at 1 Place d'Austerlitz for three months.

Today I took pictures of every room and every thing in the house.

Even the toilet flusher.

Frances said she was trying not to cry all day.

She keeps thinking she forgot to do something.

My mom has been thinking all week she wouldn't be able to say goodbye to her running friend Jacques, but today she saw him.

My dad didn't ride his bike today because he had a perfect ride yesterday.

I love this place but boy am I excited to come home.

Frances is asleep but I can tell you that tonight,

walking home from dinner on the Place aux Herbes she started to cry

and said, "this is the last time I'll ever walk down this street at night."

My mom says, "We walked every inch of this town again these past days, and kissed every cheek an extra time. My heart feels like it's tearing. I'm like Frances, only with respect to kisses. Whom do I need to kiss one more time?  But as Claudine (our first french teacher and a world traveler) said this morning over coffee, right before she cried and I kissed her, 'When I leave any place I love I cry and cry. And then I get to another place and love it and then I cry and cry when I leave.'

My dad says, "It's fun to not know whether we will ever spend time here again.

I could live the rest of my life here, as I could Truckee or a thousand of other towns around the world. I wonder what our next adventure will be."

Good bye everybody
and we'll see you when we get home!
Eleanore