I hadn’t really considered the expression “French juice” until I wrote it as today’s title. But something about it seems quite apt. “French juice,” at least the stereotype of what comes to MY mind when I think of it, is wine. And, yes, in the grocery store at Les Carroz I found these “French juice” boxes on the top shelf, between a Riesling, as you can see on the left, and something I did not recognize on the right. Not only did I take this photo of the “French juice” boxes, I had to pick them up to inspect them. What was I looking for? I bet you know. And the answer is no, there were no straws.

As is our method of operation, the rest of the gang left just before 10 this morning to ski (Ella was with them today before reconnecting with me after lunch to relax and nurse her cold). This leaves me to my own devices for several hours. So picture this. I have solitary access to an apartment in the French Alps for several hours each day. Yes, it’s pretty darn incredible, especially with the sun shining brightly as it has done each day so far. I do some reading and a lot of writing, especially as it pertains to my kindness classes. I go for long walks in the town and yesterday even went for a 30 minute jog. I explore the stores, especially the grocery stores, which allows me to discover things like “French juice” boxes.

Speaking of “French juice,” what a gift it is to be living for a week with Laurent and his ability to select delicious red wines. I’ve never been much of a wine drinker but I can see that hanging out with Laurent would change that. I might just learn something (especially if I had a base on which to build it). Each day he has gone to the grocery store and studied, studied, studied the extensive selection, ultimately choosing something divine. Interestingly, I’ve not seen him even give the “French juice” boxes a first look.

I’ll call that Lesson #1.