Hanging above the antique buffet in the dining room, was an oval frame with a black and white photo of a lovely young woman.
When I asked who she was French Husband's Uncle told me it was his mother.
"You mean Yann's grandmother?" I asked with embarrassment as I had never seen a photo of his grandmother before. And with that French Husband's Uncle told me the story of his mother…. his gentle, sweet, loving mother he was one of seven children, his mother was an artist.
On top of French Husband's Uncle's armoire was a demi John that his Grandmother had painted.
She was sixteen.
Self taught, a natural.
Seeing the demi John, and knowing her needlework (I have two marriage bed linens that she made, not for me, but for Yann's mother.) made me wish more than ever that I and our children could have met her.
French Husband's grandmother also painted this oil painting when she was sixteen years old.
A winter's day along the river.
A signature.
Hers.
I asked to take a photo to pass on to our children.
An artist. A gentle sweet grandmother. A link to my husband's past.
Above the fireplace I saw a charcoal portrait, I teasingly asked, "Is he a family relation too?"
French Husband didn't know.
His Uncle smiled shyly, "Yes, it is your Great Grand Father."
The stories continued… French Husband's Great Grand Father was an architect.
I looked at my husband as if for the first time… one never knows everything about anyone. French Huband's Uncle had plenty of stories to tell.
Chelsea and Sacha I cannot wait to tell you!
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