It suddenly dawned on me that this was not just a family story.
The French mother is madly in love with her painter uncle. French moms don't like complicated phone calls. Every piece of French mother furniture is a museum collection level.
The daughter of a French mother is dressed in dazzling fluorescent oranges and bright yellows, lives in New York, and speaks a mixture of English and American accents.
Mom said to her daughter, you don't like art with a historical burden. The tea tray designed by my daughter is so simple and boring.
A collection that Mom has built and maintained throughout her life, and she knows it will eventually fall apart. Those sophistication and elegance are no longer around us, and they are no longer tolerated in daily chores. They can only stand under the spotlights on the booth of the art museum, posing an aloof posture.
Mom doesn't like the direction of the world. Why does the so-called future mean going to a country with cheap labor to make cheap shoes? American-style fast, cheap, and vulgar has occupied most of the world. This is the era of American-owned multinational chain stores. There are Nike Puma Levis McDonald's Pizza Hut in the malls of every Chinese city, the French meal is too slow and too rich, and the time spent on one meal alone is too luxurious.
Maybe the summer in Provence is still the object of many people's lust, but the daughter and the younger son have firmly kissed the summer time of childhood. The granddaughter can't help feeling sad under the cherry tree, the grandmother is gone, the old house can't win the new world.
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