Ann is small, sophisticated and chic. I am not.
She grew up in Paris. I grew up in Buffalo.
Our differences are obvious, our similarities have been a joyous life lesson.
A friend invited Ann to join our wine group several months ago and I was instantly intimidated by her easy sense of style and self-assurance. I knew the French wine selections we showcased that night were weak, but she was too gracious to comment. The others would stop their chatter to listen to her accent and then move their chairs to be closer to her orbit.
A community of 19,000 may seem large to some people, but this is a very little island. I've lived here for five years and it has never fit me well. Ann seemed to effortlessly adapt within a few short months.
I might have abandoned her to that pedestal if not for Google's basic, clunky translation tool. Ann sent me a link to photos of a party at our house which she posted on her family website. My daughter introduced me to the Google translator to read the captions.
I tried the same trick on Ann's blog (which is linked to this page... do yourself a favor) and found the heart and soul of a wordsmith. She is a keen observer and gifted translator of her American experience.
Writing and wordplay are obviously an essential part of Ann. She shares the passions and frustrations of needing to bend and shape words to illustrate and share her perspective.
She speaks very carefully in English. She writes expansively in French. In translation, I found a person I ignorantly assumed could not be possible beneath such an elegant veneer.
I try to imagine what it would be like to be forced to communicate without the English language I've loved and played with all my life. I do not envy the struggle she has accepted in order to be with her husband while he works here. Her children chatter easily in English with an odd French and Southern accent mix. Is it hard for her not to envy their facility?
I no longer see myself on this island as a fish out of water, just one swimming upstream in excellent company.