Frederic is safely back in his small village (population 16) in France, and Marie-Cecile, having spent a week in New York, arrives this afternoon.  Both have been to Topeka before.  In all, 11 Francais have come to Topeka over the years, and I always want to show them what the Midwest has to offer so that when people say, You were in America and went where?!, they'll have something to answer.  I love showing them Kansas City: the Nelson-Atkins, of course, and the Plaza, a drive through Mission Hills so they can see how the 1% of KC live, but also for some of them Worlds of Fun and a Royals game.  The French always protest that they don't understand baseball and won't enjoy it--and then have a great time eating junk food, having some beer, and enjoying the spectacle on a summer night.  And Lawrence: the KU campus, the Spencer, and downtown, which they particularly like because it feels European with people actually walking Mass Ave. instead of driving everywhere.  And Topeka: Washburn, the Capitol (and now once again one can make the scary trip to the top of the dome and walk around outside), the beautiful public library with all its resources and all the people using it.

I used to take everyone to Lindsborg, where we'd stay at the Swedish Inn and then, on Friday night, drive to Brookville, when the hotel and restaurant were still there.  The Garden of Eden was always a bizarre treat, and for the French, the Eisenhower Museum had a special resonance. 

This time, however, the tourism was a lot more limited.  Of course, the point of the visit had changed.  Frederic's lover of twenty years committed suicide early this summer about the same time I was diagnosed with cancer.  Now the point was just to see each other again, to remember good times.  I met both Frederic and Marie-Cecile in 1987, early in my year teaching at the university in Metz.  For twenty years after that I spent every Christmas and New Year's with Frederic and his family.  The two reveillons were celebrated with huge dinners, many hours spent at the table.  Every year his mother, who was in her 80s, and I split three dozen oysters to begin the meal.  There was good food, many laughs, and, of course, champagne and presents at midnight.  The week here with Frederic was good for both of us, I think.

Still, it is frustrating to be so restricted, to have to interrupt each day with a nap, to be exhausted after a mundane excursion like a trip to the library and the grocery store. 

And now it's on to Marie-Cecile, who is 70 (when did all my friends get so old?) but still a bundle of energy.  We're stocked up on wine and have a couple of tins of imported foie gras.  I'm ready.  On y va!