Monday, June 25, 2018


I was sitting at La Noisette with my friend and writing cohort in the last bit of shade. We were about to do our writing exercises, the first in a long time because of our schedules.

I glanced up at the church and for a second I thought my husband was coming out of the church. Not possible since just a few minutes before I'd left him at home with Sherlock, our dog.

"Good grief," that looks like Rick.

My friend turned around and agreed. The hair, body type, glasses and way of walking were identical. All the man lacked was a beard.

I'm beginning to think Argel├Ęs is the village of doubles.

My dad's double lives here. The man has the same cleft in his chin, the mouth, the nose, the eyes, the baldness and remaining hair color. There is one difference--my father 37 died years ago.

My dad in the photo above was opening a present at a surprise party I had given to announce my pregnancy to him. He had teased all his brothers and sisters about being so old they had grandchildren, they all asked me to let them know when I was expecting so they could tease back. 

When I first told his look-alike in French he looked a lot like my father, he acted stand-offish. My actions were un-French. Later when I showed him a photo of my dad, his eyes opened and he agreed. Since then when we pass each other, he smiles and we greet each other. I doubt, however, if we will ever get to the two-cheek-kiss stage, which is okay.

Somehow I find comfort in seeing my dad's double. As for my husband's? I'm happy he's still alive.

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