years ago i was traveling in the south of france with my dearest friend. she grew up in the area and knew it like the back of her hand. one day she drove up a winding road high above the mediterranean and came to a stop in front of a gate. the posted sign read, 'santo sospir.' i felt a shiver as it sounded familiar. a tiny gatekeeper emerged and spoke french with my friend. the next thing i knew, we were standing in the home of mrs. weisweiller, patron of the arts and great friend of jean cocteau. the gatekeeper led us inside and put a finger to his lips, implying someone was asleep in another room. could she still be alive? as i looked around the room at the large paintings cocteau did right on the walls, i burst into tears. the little gatekeeper left the room and returned with a smile and a handful of pastel colored tissues. tears and a smile, truly the universal language. memories can be divine.
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