I've got the Easter blues.

I wish it weren't so, but I miss home.

Maybe I wouldn't if I had dyed Easter eggs last Sunday in keeping with my family's tradition. Molly and I always compete for the prize of the most creative egg. The French don't sell white eggs, only brown, so the PAAS dying kit my Dad sent me will go to waste.

Maybe I wouldn't if I had gone to a traditional Lutheran service where the organ belts and the congregation choruses "He has risen indeed, Alleluia!". Although the catholic mass I attended this morning was lovely, it was long, and in French. Church is often a battle with consciousness in the early morning, but add in a different language and unfamiliar songs, and it is downright impossible to enjoy, even on the joyous occasion of Easter.

Maybe I wouldn't Annie, Haley, Maggie, and mine's Easter feast today had been spiral ham with potato salad and rolls as per another family tradition. Our Easter lunch this afternoon was beautiful, and the pigs in a blanket, potato casserole, and lemon cake tasted of America, but maybe, that made me miss home even more.

Maybe I wouldn't if it would simply act like Provence and stop raining already. This is day number three without sunshine, and I have come to realize more and more that my mood is entirely dependent on whether or not the sun decides to show its face.

I know I'll feel better about things tomorrow, but for now, I'm going to snuggle up with a book and wish that my television would suddenly play American programs in English and that the brie cheese in my fridge would magically transform into simple American cheddar.