Repairing Faux Laather Couchrip

Françoise Lambolez, friendship against the passage of time

Françoise Lambolez rue Molière lived on the coast of roses. She lost her husband three years ago. When she wakes up in the morning, she hurries to get up when she realizes he's gone. She can not sit there Gamberg: it must not be daunted.

Françoise hails from the region of Remiremont. It is the decline of the textile industry that made him leave the Vosges settling in Lorraine in the years fifty. She changed more often work because the mills were closing one after the other. In the Vosges, it was paid for by the meter rolls of fabric or weight for the coils of wire. We earned a little more to Sollac. Her husband was so party first.

Françoise had joined two years later at St Nicolas in the forest when he had an apartment in the "metal" these buildings coated steel sheet with hints of aluminum in the sun. Frances was happy: a new home with bathroom! The village of St Nicolas was built from scratch on top of a forest by Sollac. It also appeared on any map such that in 1958, a pilot in distress had jumped Florange on a parachute and left his plane spinning toward what he thought was a forest. His plane crashed in the central square of St Nicolas killing two children of school age. a fokker100 like that crashed into the St Rita

The children grew and the family moved to live near Thionville to college because Françoise insisted that his three son returning home for dinner from noon.

The Lambolez therefore reach the coast of roses in the seventies. Building entrances and approaches were rather dirty but the atmosphere was good neighborhood with all these kids.

"We still have a good laugh! "Said his son when they think of their youth to the coast.

Two of them now work for Peugeot and Citroen, the third as he wanted very small already, became a policeman.

Mr. Lambolez was the same village as his wife. She did not know him well because he had a few years older than her and if she was four years old at the beginning of the war, he had already sixteen.

She still remembers the arrival of Germans in front of his grandmother, a soldier took him on his knees and gave him chocolate. They had asked for coffee at the grandmother, but she had the first drink, so they can see that he was not poisoned.

Her husband could not escape the STO labor service in Germany. To force their hand, the authorities had threatened to take their young if they hid father. The STO was hard: twelve hours not days with two quarts of soup as a meal. Mr. Lanbolez had returned home on foot with two friends from Germany with as any provision a bag of sugar for the road. After the war he had undertaken and in 1946 he was in Indochina. That's why they do not attend. Yet they were already linked in some way because her future husband, which is not banal, had been brought by the parents of his own mother like this happened at a time when children were placed to relieve the family. After his three years in the army Mr. Lambolez had returned to the village also work in the textile and that is how, at twenty two years Frances had married.

In the late sixties, life was different , everyone still had no car, Mr. Lambolez itself was over fifty when he obtained a driver's license and bought a R12.

For entertainment, people stayed in the area: there were the fair, music municipal market.

Today there is often not a cat in the street is the death of the little horse!

Lambolez Madame and her two sisters each had three boys!

Fortunately

rest his sister, also a widow, who lives impasse of the past twenty years and woodcock eats for lunch with her and then her neighbor Madame Scherrer who lives in the building as long as she. With Ms. Grasiewicz, a former neighbor, they formed a trio good but Madame Grasiewicz chose to leave the area when she lost her husband three years ago. That her husband had refused all these years, she did. She now has eighty years and is installed somewhere away from all to achieve this dream: to live in the sea Françoise Lambolez admire a bit but never chosen solitude.

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