Diary: The Visitors

This past weekend, the regional field director and his wife spent the weekend at our house.   I liked them right off the bat. Mr. W grew up in the West Indies. His mostly white head and beard, along with his cheerful countenance remind me of the kindest of grandfathers. Mrs. W’s curly brown hair and spunky personality also resonated with me. She and Mr. W had lived in France for 20 years, so we had a lot to talk about after our dinner of homemade calzones. I asked about castles they visited, and we looked at photos of the Château d’Amboise. He told me about the red tiled roofs of the south of France, and the bluish grey slate roofs of northern France. I asked about French dialects and their old neighborhood.

On Sunday, my stepdad was late, so I rode with the W’s to church. Papa finally arrived, slightly disheveled and taught the morning lesson. Mr. W gave an encouraging message, and they treated us to dinner with the deacon’s family. I wanted to take them to a unique local place, but Papa didn’t want brunch, so we went to Longhorn. The daughter, Tender (she only orders chicken fingers or chicken tenders), is studying French. She is a bit shy, but Mr. W chatted to her in French for a bit. I rode with them to our house, only to find the power had gone out! Mr. W took a nap, as did Papa, who snored so loud, I mistook it for the howling winds of the far away tornado. Mama and I played dominos and ate Harvest Cheddar SunChips. Average often ate them during my visit to Grin’s store, so I finally caved. They taste just like I remember! The W’s left around 10a.m. on Monday, and I wish they hadn’t left.

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