He eagerly reached for the car keys and my mind raced through all the years that flew by in an instant. I watched as he climbed into the driver's seat and started to adjust the seat, the steering wheel, the mirror and the visor. Mentally I needed to brace myself. I wasn't ready to relinquish control of my vehicle to an 80 pound 15 year old boy who was so confident in his ability behind the wheel. He put the van in reverse and backed into the road professing how he "got this". I was commanded to relax as we eased toward the entry way of our subdivision. He slowly pulled to a stop and looked both ways.  Two blocks away a car was approaching and he slowly pressed his foot on the gas pedal, swinging wide into the lane. I sucked in my breath, gripped the "oh crap handle" and scream out, "GO! GO! GO!" to urge him to speed up to keep from causing an accident.  For the next 20 minutes as he confidently drove us to our destination, I bit my lip, my knuckles turned white and my foot was alternatively pressing the imaginary brake and gas pedal in the passenger seat. I glanced down at the console and spied the official "Parent Supervised Student Driving Guide" and thought for sure it should have been titled "Parent Survival Guide to Student Driving".  He pulled in the parking lot and swung into the parking space with inches to spare from one of the cars in the other spot. I opened the door, relieved to have made it to our destination and quickly pocketed the keys only to give them up again for the way home.

I awake and focus on the wood plank ceiling, remembering that I am not at home.  My gaze goes to the window and the light that is filtering into the room. I haven't closed the shutters preferring the light rather than the darkness that shutters bring. The shutters, well if I close them, the light won't come in and neither will the words that play through my mind. I lay quietly as words weave and knit the two languages together. They play games hiding and peeking out, voices and the phrases that go with them are jumbled. A week of living in another country with another language and my mind is on overload. I find words that are fun to have roll off my tongue or frequent phrases that are used over and over again. Words that I probably have heard before but now am trying out for the first time. Words that embody the very action or thing that they are describing. Bousculer meaning to push, bump or shove or to have a rushed life.  It is a word that I notice everywhere even on TV during a soccer game. A word that seems to embody the whole of the time I'm here since my time is the very opposite of bousculer.  On verra, a phrase that also runs through this time.  It's a maybe, a polite way of saying no, a "I'm not sure".  These words have become the motto almost for this time away. Maybe this will happen, we'll see if that works out, I'm not sure if we will be able to.  But each time it is used, it is comfortable and not at all a disappointment.

When I was little and we lived in France, the border was open yet we had to stop at the "frontiere" and pass through much like we do between the USA and Canada.  When visiting later as a kid, it was the same way.  Stop at the border and show my passport when asked for.  Nothing to declare then go on through.  As Europe started the European Union and countries joined, the borders became less controlled. Even into Switzerland who isn't part of the ECU it is wide open and no one "mans" the border. While my mother and I visited my grandparents in the last two weeks it was this way. The offices were closed and people freely walked and drove across without first stopping. The only things that marked the border were the two buildings owned by each government and the sign between them announcing the crossing point. As I sit typing this, the border is now closed. I don't mean that the check point has been reinstated.  I mean closed. When thinking about crossing the border so easily a week ago and now that it's changed I think about how fast and unpredictable life really is. One week ago, I was headed home from a two week retreat at my grandparents house.  We had driven and walked across this border and others without even thinking about it. Grocery shopping in Carouge, a tour of Collongy, a bus into Geneva without showing a passport, without talking to border patrol and now it changed. When reading the news, it is stated that the border hasn't been closed since WWII. My grandparents lived in a country that had it's borders closed due to war, and now once again the border is closed and all due to the violence of men.
While wandering around the village and surrounding area, I am always astounded at the fact that yards are totally enclosed. From the front to the back, with cement walls and hedges that rise above the tallest person. The gates, usually very ornamental and beautiful and generally closed. The only peek into the gardens are through the gates if they are bars instead of being solid.  The enclosed gardens seem to represent tranquility, privacy, a retreat,a sanctuary from the stress of the world.  Although in light of recent events maybe more of a feeling of protection and security than anything else.