Higher Obedience

One day, my friend Do told me she was going to Old Orchard to spend some time by the ocean with two other friends and she told me I should join them. Having nothing in particular to do during the long weekend, I decided to jump in the car with them and go to the States for a little vacation. I am glad I did.

We went camping (and yes, we put up the tent when it was dark) at a campground where we pretty much only spent our evenings and nights there. Every morning we’d eat breakfast and get our picnic ready and leave for the beach. We’d spend our day bathing in the sun and swam a little bit – the sea was freezing. I did a lot of reading and walking. By the way, I’m reading “The Road” by Cormac McCarthy and I found the book so appropriate for the beach, it’s so … sort of soothing and relax (well what I read anyways). In the evening we would pack up our stuff and go back to the campground, eat supper and spend the evening away by the fire camp, playing the guitar, singing, eating wieners and marshmallows.

There was a man camping in front of us who had a guitar and played Flamenco, we really enjoyed hearing him. On Sunday evening, I was sort of waiting to go take a shower and had little to do, so I picked up Do’s guitar from the trunk of the car and was going to play a little. Then all of the sudden, the man camping in front of us was standing in front of me, telling me that he enjoyed hearing us play the guitar and singing last night. We chatted for a little while and he told me he’d written a song, in French (the man was from Maine and knew very little French) and he wanted us to listen to his song and sort of give feedback. So later on during the evening, he came with his son, brought some coals from his fire camp, made us a nice fire, we put the chairs around it and he showed us his French song. I just loved the melody, and the words were so sweet even though the grammar was quite bad. He then asked us to sing some French songs and he was listening closely, trying to learn from my wya of playing the guitar, which I thought was quite funny for a man with such amazing skills (playing Flamenco is quite something!). Anyways, we had a good time. The next day he wrote a poem about something we’d talked about by the fire and read it to us. He gave us his email address and told me he’d be sending me some poems he’s written and told me that I should learn his French song and play it my own way and share it with him.

Anyways, it was quite a weekend. I didn’t write about our morning spent at the mechanic, the ice cream and the yard sales, but that’s good enough I think.