Mamy Durandeau

Mamy Durandeau with my God daughter, Emilie

"She was a wonderful cook", said Jacques.  He was misty eyed, sipping his water with a drop of Pastis. "She prepared the most remarkable dishes out of nothing." He was talking about Mamy Durandeau. "Out of nothing", he repeated. "Did you hear me? Even a plain macaroni gratin was special coming from her kitchen." Brigitte's brothers had been arriving in town one by one. We were there to gather as a family to honor her.

After dinner, Brigitte had taken Mamy home, helped her into her bedclothes, and tucked her comfortably into bed. Brigitte, in her constant loving way, folded her blanket back just so. Mamy said to Brigitte "Thankfully, I have you." and smiled. Brigitte made her way home as always.

We were down south for the New Year. Loic came upstairs to deliver my coffee to me in bed and pick up the baby. I have two things to tell you, "...and Mamy passed away". I don't remember what the first thing was. Mamy passed away. His news dropped and everything before and afterward was erased. Mamy Durandeau ... So many memories.

My mother-in-law shared Mamy's recipe with me for Vin d'Orange, among many others.  Yesterday when we were all packed up and rolling out of town, after the funeral in a little church near her old home in Mourillon and a gathering of the surviving generations, I saw a Seville orange tree laden with fruits. It stood in the old dirt courtyard of a house by the road. Cars were filing by and this tree stood gleaming in the dust. My heart caught in my throat. The color was so hot and alive and the air, the day, the sadness, so cold. I asked Loic if I was imagining it or was the whole Cote d'Azur covered with fog that afternoon. It was difficult to appreciate the remarkable color from the tree with how I felt yesterday, but this morning I thought about it again and they came back like a vivid dream in my mind's eye. We are going to do a batch of vin d'orange in honor of Mamy Durandeau this week.