Stories from the Stringam Family Ranches of Southern Alberta

From the 50s and 60s to today . . .



Monday, March 2, 2015

Paris Rentals

During the two years my Husby lived in Paris, France, he and his companions stayed in many and varied dwellings.
Some nice.
Some . . .
But the best of the best was the time they lived in a guest house on an estate in the Paris suburbs.
A real, four bedroom deluxe guest house.
On a real French estate.
Wow.
The estate, itself, covered ten acres and included said guest house, as well as the main mansion and assorted outbuildings, all owned by an aristocratic octogenarian. A woman whose actions belied her age.
And athletic ability.
Let me explain . . .
Husby and his companions had been living in this, to-eight-young-men-in-their-early-twenties-who-had-lived-in-some-rather-unpleasant-places, remarkable abode, for about four months.
In all that time, owing to the fact that their rental had been handled by the man who directed them, none of them had met, or even laid eyes on, their landlord.
One afternoon, several of them were out in the beautiful grounds, enjoying an unexpected few hours of relaxation. Suddenly a slender, erect person carrying a cane appeared and moved slowly toward them across the yard, chattering in French as she came.
As the figure drew closer, they could see that it was a very well and expensively-dressed woman. She stopped next to them, and they deduced that they were, for the first time, addressing their landlord landlady. They also noted that she had the bearing of someone who was accustomed to being in charge.
For a few moments, they discussed the beautiful weather, and the day in particular.
Suddenly, the woman noticed a sizable bug, crawling up the trunk of the large, mature tree standing next to her.
“Ah!” she shrieked, making the young men jump. She turned and, wielding her cane with intent and purpose, preceded to pound the hapless bug until even the memory of it had disappeared. “C’est mauvais, ca! (That’s bad, that!)” she said.
Then she smiled and nodded at the speechless boys and, turning, continued across the yard.
I will add one more thing . . .
Their rent was always paid on time.

16 comments:

  1. You gotta respect a woman who knows how to work a cane.

    Pearl

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Give her respect - and about 10 feet . . .

      Delete
  2. You don't get to be in your eighties by being a Bashful Bertha, I suppose ...

    And I loved the line "until even the memory of it had disappeared"!

    ReplyDelete
  3. What an intriguing old lady. I'm very glad I wasn't that bug!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I feel the same way. Glad I wasn't that bug - or in the woman's way . . .

      Delete
  4. Now that's the sort of energy I'd like to have when I'm eighty plus! And still retain my mind too of course. Ten acres....sigh. Never having to hear the neighbours cough or pee.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Of course, she did have to put up with eight twenty-something young men . . .

      Delete
  5. What an amazing adventure! I can see them standing there with their mouths wide open!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That's definitely what I would have done!

      Delete
  6. Now, that is how you conduct business! LOL

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Forceful. To the point. Getting the job done. You're right!

      Delete
  7. I wonder what kind of bug it was ...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The operative word being 'was' . . .

      Delete
  8. Now I'm daydreaming about living in Paris on a real French estate!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Me, too. With someone to cook and clean and eradicate unwanted pests . . .

      Delete

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