I wasn't really planning to blog on the first day of my vacation with Georges; really, I wasn't. I mean, I do have SOME restraint and I know "vacation" means unplugging and relaxing. I was planning to do pretty much exactly what we ended up doing:
- Sleep in
- Eat breakfast
- Take a walk with Georges around Saint-Raphael
- Buy a fresh melon at the Sunday marché
- Take photos of some of the pretty Provençal houses in the old town
- See some shoes in a store window, making mental note to come back later in the week
- Get excited to see the Mediterranean for the first time
- Be amazed at the unexpected sunshine and warmer-than-we-expected temperatures
- Test how cold the waters are (not bad, really; no one swimming but some kids in bare feet in the shallow surf)
- Look at the pretty views of the beach, harbor and marina
- Take a walk along the waterfront promenade and enjoy all the palm trees
- Stop for some champagne at a beach-front terrace to celebrate
- Have lunch at a place on the beach with Georges, the Little Guy and his sister
- Come home and have a sieste like everyone else in this part of France does on a Sunday (seriously, there was barely a soul -- bold or otherwise -- out on the streets after 3pm)
- Hang out, play games, talk together as a group
But something happened between #10 and #11 that took me by surprise.
As we stood next to the water's edge, he put down the bag with the melon. I thought he just wanted to have both hands free to kiss me some more. He took my camera and camera bag and put it on the sand. I started to wonder what was going on. Then he removed his hat. I couldn't breathe for a moment. And he put his arms around me, looked me in the eyes and said he wanted to ask me a question. I started to cry.
Slowly, he lowered himself on one knee, right there on the plage. And he asked me the question -- in French and English -- we both knew was already decided between us long ago, but which still needed to be asked.
And answered.
