(From Warsaw): dejeuner sur l’herbe

It’s kind of unfair to use French in my title for this day. I am in Poland after all. I have no great desire to be in France right now. In fact, I have no great desire to be in France at all in this period of time. But I have always had this image that in France, in the summer especially, family and friends congregate outside on Sundays and linger over a dinner that lasts somewhere to the tune of ten hours.

I have no reason to believe that this is solely a French thing, but you can’t fight images readily and besides, French painters have appropriated this title for monumentally significant canvases and so I feel okay stepping on French toes and appropriating it for my own Polish Sunday in the country.

While Oscar and B made their way to Krakow for an early glimpse of the city, I spent the day with old friends in their country home outside Warsaw.

It was another one of those brightest of bright days. The sun shone, the flies buzzed and Basia, Tomek and their daughter Ania served food while Marcin, Wanda and I ate. And ate. And ate. In the midst of this we took a stroll, in much the same way I imagine turn-of-the-century French men and women took walks through fields, with the men throwing jackets over damp spots so that women would not muddy their footware.

Marcin and Tomek did not throw jackets, but nonetheless they were gallant and kind and the whole day reminded me again that I do well with friends when I see them. Distance makes me distrustful and edgy. Proximity creates the warmth and comfort that allow me to close my eyes and exhale.