summer days
warm with the constant song of the cigales
we are at our friend's Rodger and Arnelle
basking in their friendship
catching up after their long-awaited return
because covid they could not come back to France.
At the same time, we are babysitting Gabriel.
What are you doing this summer day?
A Happy reunion after such a long wait.
more to come…
The path that feels so strong, so secure under my feet, I do not take for granted.
I know how life can change, as quickly as the crack of thunder, or the breaking of a wave.
Nobody knows the future.
Though those who have the amazing fortune of health, and well-being on their side,
seem to have an easier time balancing the thunder and waves that do come.
It takes courage to face the unknown.
Some have faith on their side. Some have grace. Some have family and friends.
Some have it all.
Most have sanity.
I am beginning to think that without it,
no matter what is present (faith, grace, family, or friends)
it can be a darker battleground, the thing called life.
Even my saddest days are nothing compared to those who suffer depression, or mental anxiety.
Nevertheless, heavy days feel heavy for all of us.
Thankfully, I can put the heaviness down and stare at it, and walk away.
I am sorry that I am speaking of such seriousness...
for many of you, my blog is a "happy place".
I write my blog as a way to help me focus on what is good
though today and other days in the last several months
I have had to stop what I am doing to find my balance, my "happy place"
Feeling aware of the fragility of life
is tenderly heavy to hold.
Today I felt unmotivated, off-kilter, sleepwalking
Thankfully, blogging, or keeping a journal, helps me tremendously.
And as it is when one can stop and be in the moment,
even forgetting that one is stopping and being in the moment,
a new rhythm gives way to our steps... call it grace, call it peace, call it a pipeline to an inner voice.
Stillness allows space
and space gives room to let it pour out.
Later in the day-
As I was sitting back on our sofa Gabriel climbed up into my lap, took my face in his hands, and kissed me, then opened my eyelids with his little chubby hands, slid down off my lap grabbed my hands, and said, "Come O E (my name has changed from I E to O E) ."
I didn't bother to ask where I just followed him to a pile of books and read stories.
Happiness is...
Gabriel.
(IF you haven't read yesterday's comments, go do so now. )
My mother would say that hours sitting in a car made her feel exhausted.
Though gardening in the 100-degree heat did not. I never understood her logic until recently.
Chelsea and Martin had a wedding to attend this weekend near Lyon a three-hour drive. They asked me
if I would tag along to babysit they did not need to ask twice I was happy to help out.
After spending nearly thirteen hours traveling due to vacation traffic over two days I can honestly say:
I get it, mom!
(I look as wiped out as I feel.)
Gabriel did very well considering such a long trip.
What a trooper!
(Thanks for the comments about Goldilocks Irene and Diogenes.)
So tell me...
We know we are getting old when...
Reassured him over and over
that his mommy and daddy were coming home after the wedding~
and that he would see them after his sleep.
Sang “Row row row your boat…” countless times-
as he has a thing for boats.
Whispered the story of Goldilocks
more time than Row row row your boat…
I changed the storyline a bit as I couldn’t remember the ending so I simply said that when baby bear found Goldilocks in his bed he giggled and climbed in bed with his mommy and went to sleep. How does it end? I left out the broken chair too… there is a broken chair right?
Gabriel sleeps with his parents so this is a big step sleeping with me. He is a hot potato kicking off the covers. I am on the edge of the bed and he is a barnacle!
When I arrived in France I was thirty years old and did not speak more than three words of French.
Some of you have asked me what was that like and how long did it take me to learn to speak French.
1) It was hard.
Language isn't one of my natural gifts. I also do not like to study.
It took me a very
l.............o.......................n.......................g
time to learn French.
I am still learning.
I have a very thick accent that doesn't bother me in the least because I do not hear it.
Twenty years ago at a dinner party, a man asked me if I could read in French.
I answered that I could read basic French but not classic novels. I also admitted I could not write in French.
In which he replied (in French) "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? After all these years you haven't learned?"
I replied, "I am stupid." I thought I might as well tell him what he thought and avoid any more of his insults.
It worked.
The conversation about my French language skills ended, though the dinner conversation continued on lighter topics.
When French people ask me how long I have lived in France
I know in a small way they are judging my French. If I say, "Ten years," they often reply in one or two ways:
1) You speak well, you have a charming accent.
or
2. You speak like this after twenty years?
After a while, this sort of response started bugging me.
I thought I would change my answer so that we would all feel good.
Therefore when a French person asks me how long had I lived in France I say, "Not too long."
They respond by saying;
1) Incredible! Your French is very very good and I adore your accent.
They smile and I smile
everyone is happy.
Yes, I am bending the truth. But that is a fault I can live with.
Unless God marks all that stuff down in which case I am busted.
I probably am busted for so many other things it won't matter anyway.
and personally, I don't believe God does that, and if God does do that then I
don't believe in God. Did I just go from talking about my French skills to
confessing? That is a fuller conversation and one I enjoy in French and in English.
I speak French.
I dream in French.
I can follow a conversation in French.
I started to speak French when I found out that I had cancer (nearly thirty years ago.)
amazing what a little fear can do to one's language skills.
I can buy antiques in French.
I can also kiss in French,
make crepes, and I feel I have come a long way since the day I couldn't say more than oui and non.
I cannot pray in French.
Swearing in French does do it for me. But I know the swear words
I cannot tell a joke in either language.
Now that Gabriel is in my life I have another brilliant reason to speak English.
Ah, my cousin Christine, Julie’s sister sent me this photo today.
When Yann and I were newlyweds living in Paris, Julie came to visit. She would come visit us many many times as the years came and went.
Julie and I were 30 years old.
In this trip visiting us we went through Paris’ famous underground illegally, climbing on telephone wires with rubber boats we bought in Bon Marche for 150 Francs. It was probably the most daring, outrageous, thrilling experience I had ever had. An eye opener to a world underneath Paris.
Julie told Yann her favorite FRENCH words to say out loud: Poubelle, Gendarmes, Pamplemousse and Libellule. I did not know any of those words at the time. But I remember me and agree they sound pretty:
Poubelle - Garbage can
Gendarmes - Police
Pamplemousse - Grapefruit
Libellule - Dragonfly.
It was the last time I had that style of haircut as nobody knew how to cut my hair like that in France.
In my mind’s eye this is how Julie looks, this is how she looked in my dream the other night.
My cousin, my dear cousin, resides in a rest home now as she is incapable of caring for herself. I bought an airline ticket and I will be in California in September on her birthday.
Whenever I think about her which is often, I well up. When I saw this photo I was thankful of the love we have shared, of our bond, of the numerous memories I hold.
P is for Provence.
P is for parking.
P is for pastis.
P is for parking in Provence with a parking sign transformed to say Pastis.
________________
Thank you for your comments regarding my selfies on my blog. Susan suggested
"Selfie on Saturday" I kinda like that. Saturday comes quickly like every day of the week. I will try.
Since many of you asked about my shoes-
I am notorious for not spending a lot on clothes. I tend to be a replacement shopper. My shoes are about five years old they cost me ten euros. They are thrashed on the bottoms but I love them. My skirt is a hand-me-down from my friend Ching who loves to shop and when she grows tired of certain clothing she sometimes passes them on to me. I am a Lucky Duck otherwise I would be wearing god knows what. I am trying to wear colors... we will see how far that goes.
___
Have you ever had a Pastis?
Do you wear hand-me-downs?
Are you a shopper? I prefer the brocante to clothes I bet you guessed that?!
Photo challenge
posting a photo of myself.
Dare me how often?
This will be a challenge that I might not meet
but I am going to do my best to post more photos of myself,
Sacha's Italian Girlfriend is doing an internship in Barcelona at an art gallery. Amongst learning how to run an art gallery and sell art (every artist can relate to that) the owner of the art gallery is encouraging Elena to create as well by providing the art supplies and paper she needs to create as much art as she wants. At the same time, the gallerist will show her art and takes a small commission. It is a win-win situation, generous and supportive.
Elena, on her Instagram account, posted a video of her creating a piece of art in seven minutes.
She had a picture of The Basílica de la Sagrada Família-
("The Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia, also known as Barcelona Cathedral,
is the Gothic cathedral and seat of the Archbishop of Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain.
The cathedral was constructed from the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries, with the principal work done in the fourteenth century.")
The video is fascinating as she glanced at the photo of the gothic church while her pen dashed across the thick cotton paper.
As she drew I could see in her eye that she knew exactly where she was going, her pen moved quickly without hesitation or pause
what appeared as uneven lines and scribbles transformed in front of the viewer's eyes to a contemporary unmistakeable Basílica de la Sagrada Família-
Four minutes in the church that took hundreds of years to complete splashes on paper.
One vision to another.
One artist to another.
One lifetime to the next.
Elena has studied art for most of her 23 years and recently graduated from university with honor at the top of her class.
I commented on her Instagram story that what she accomplished in seven minutes comes from hours spent perfecting her craft.
As life pours through us sometimes we are able to harness it and ride the wave of something beyond us.
Long may you ride Elena, long may your heart give way to beauty.
What are we harnessing today to power us to our tomorrow?
Thank you Leigh for sharing this x
Certainly, a person wore this since their baptism
Because the medal has been worn
smooth on both sides.
Imagine the prayers that brought confidence
because who would wear a religious medal all their life if they didn’t have a knowing in faith?
Blog reader Ellen has this psalm on her FB
« … why would I fear the future
for I am being
pursued only by your goodness
and unfailing love. »
psalm 23:6
----
The newer translation sparks the psalm anew.
Maybe if I mediate that I am being pursued by goodness and unfailing love
I would sit down and let it pour over me.
When I am in doubt I am going to try this
When I am scared I am going to try this.
and why not anytime? ok ok ok.
Imaging goodness and unfailing love pursuing me
the challenge it on.
Are you in ?
Gathering lavender either early in the morning or after sunset
otherwise, be prepared to be in competition with bees.
The day before I planned to harvest our two thick beautiful lavender plants
it rained steadily the day long. The lavender blossoms browned a bit but not too badly.
I found this old long narrow wicker basket I believe it is for collecting flowers
which was the perfect place for some of the lavender I cut.
The long narrow stick holds the lid secure.
A friend wanted me to send her some lavender this seemed like the dreamest way to do it.
Thank you wicker basket for coming along my path at the brocante the other day.
Such a curious photo-
Two women four children perfectly placed.
Their names above their heads.
The little girl has the sweetest smile amongst the serious regards of the others.
Yet the glowing baby I cannot figure it out.
I wonder if the baby was alive?
What do you think?
And just like that, I went from writing about Lavender to asking about this baby.
A year ago today I was leaving California after being there for over five months.
I went to California because my brother was seriously ill.
Meanwhile, Covid was creating a new passage for everyone.
My time at home was an extended gift, not perfect but perfect.
A year since I have seen my family it feels so odd yet familiar.
So much more happened this year than I ever dared imagine.
This shattered pitcher I bought the other day at the brocante. It is from the 1700s and many many moons
ago someone glued it back together.
Nevertheless, here it is three hundred years later
broken,
cannot hold water,
some would say useless, others would say art.
Of course, I want to know the back story, gee I am curious to know how it has been lucky enough never to have been discarded!
The story is in the wounds.
Imperfection perfection three hundred years later.
Passed down through time, landed unexpectedly in my care.
We do not know what five seconds ahead of us will bring
we cannot dwell on it either. The path is and will be uneven.
Yet, I hold on to the hidden beauty,
to believe that love strong and steady
will be there to hold us together
with compassionate glue.
"...We hold a treasure
Not made of gold
In earthen vessels, wealth untold..." J.Foley
If when we are broken the treasure does not leave.
Some would see the broken pitcher not given it a second thought,
not me.
For you a bouquet
At the seaside
Flowers in a vase
Rows of lavender and wheat
Two boats in Cassis
Walking the trails in Saint Baume
Provencal countryside
A bridge over the Seine.
Which one do you like best?
Last night we went to dinner at our friend's home. We hadn't seen Mo and Mo since last year -you know how
Covid makes us recalculate dates since that whole year seems to have vanished?
Mo (my friend who makes pottery and lives ten minutes away) had covid she was in bed for months and only recently has
started to feel better but her sense of smell and taste have not come back. Though that doesn't stop her from pumping out delicious dishes.
Everything she served was homegrown, homemade, and too much! From experience and memory, I knew better than to eat all-day
so that by dinner I would be able to indulge in Mo's feast.
That egg might be little, though when you have as many chickens as they do it doesn't matter.
The omelet they served had plenty of these little beauties plus homegrown zucchinis and onions.
The potatoes are Mona Lisa variety and they purposefully dig them up when they are undersized
some the size of an olive.
Besides her homegrown goodness, and real McCoy farm-to-table feast Mo served dinner on her handcrafted ceramic dishware.
The wooden serving pieces had a star cut out in them.
A true feast for the tastebuds, eyes, and hearts.
Roasted carrots with coarse salt, olive oil, and herbs.
Panisse (garbanzo beans patties) served with roasted red peppers, olive oil, fresh herbs, and garlic galore.
Goat cheese pizza with fresh tomatoes and tapenade.
Gaspacho that was cooked and chilled, without cucumbers.
Rose.
I didn't take a photo of the cheese platter, nor the squid, nor the apricot tart, or the bread...
We rolled out and into bed and didn't eat today.
Feast and fast.
But above all that deliciousness HOW HAPPY I was to see my friends again!
xxx
Somehow I do not have a photo of Mo or me.
tsk tsk tsk!
The drive home.
Safe and sound and a soft bed to fall into.
Yann thanks you all very much for your thoughtful messages.
If anything this year so far has taught me to love big and bigger and not to stop.
Five hours drive
through magnificent countryside
to an area I had never seen
Aix les Bain.
We went for one night
while there we walked by the lake
Yann told me that
during WWII a German plane crashed into it
two people drown and the other two were rescued.
Germany in turn released four French prisoners.
Random conversation.
We came to attend Yann’s cousin’s funeral
who died of covid… healthy, no underline conditions, loved enormously, a generous figure in the community.
Tragic.
He had his first vaccine, though a few days later he came down with covid. His wife went everyday for two months to the hospital that was an hour and a half of an hour away to see her beloved.
Hours in a car gave plenty of room
for reflection… the faith she mustered to endure and let go.
Returning home…
A tractor in the distance works up the ground.
My thoughts held my brother, my cousins Julie and Jeanne, my friend Cynthia who died earlier this year, my Aunt Louie…
and the baby girl who Chelsea is carrying.
Life
this road
with ever changing landscape and play of light
two birds fly by
the sound of the engine like a heart beat
and Yann sitting by my side.
Adieu Eric
Breakfast at Ching's (my friend who I met on my blog ten or is it twelve years ago) in Cassis with her beautiful collection of dishes from our friend Mo.
The sweetest melon from the market in Cassis, croissants, pain au chocolate, fresh soft cheese, and jams.
Yes, they were buttery, flakey, fresh from the baker's oven which is directly downstairs from Ching's apartment.
Cassis market is every Tuesday and Friday mornings early until noonish.
The cheese stand a favorite and has been there for years.
Ching took this photo of us, sure I who rarely like to be in photos am challenging myself to be in a photo on my blog once a week.
We will see how long that lasts.
Thank you Ching for the lovely breakfast!
"I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June." —L.M. Montgomery
" If it could only be like this always – always summer, the fruit always ripe…" —Evelyn Waugh
"It was June, and the world smelled of roses.
The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside." —Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy-Tacy and Tib
What we do when we are young and in love.
Sacha flew to visit his girlfriend in Spain he was with her for ten days after working literally non-stop for several weeks.
Tired and jetlag seem not to have the same hold on a person at that age, nor when you miss the person you love.
His flight details, crazy itinerary to have the best price ticket.
Plus he did not fly home but to Bozeman for a wedding.
He arrived Friday after midnight and the wedding was today.
Changing planes that many times adding the layovers, and extended hours is not my preferred way of traveling now, though I did that when I was young with two small children... those were the days that I am glad I do not have to repeat.
He arrived safely.
xxx
On another note.
When we saw Sacha Chelsea remarked:
The USA is big, the cars are big, the houses are big, the furniture is big, the servings are big and now my little brother is big.
Anticipation.
Seven-hour drive due to stops to play,
when we arrived in Barcelona
we needed a drink
and Gabriel was for it.
He wanted to sit in a big chair, so here we were waiting for our drinks to come.
These days his favorite foods are pasta, yogurt, and breastmilk-
- a drink in a Tall Glass was coming watching him discover is delightful.
A happy little smile
of wonder and awe.
Apple juice in a tumbler.
Gabriel took hold of his apple juice in the tall glass and went for it. Chelsea and Yann grabbed the glass true and went for it too.
A straw was added.
That is how you do it when you are two.
Red Asoka-Trees were blooming in Barcelona, which I had never seen before, the ground was covered with blooms.
Along with red blossoms above us and at our feet the Tipu trees were in bloom as well.
Red, yellow and purple against striking colorful backdrops.
My neck was sore from looking up all day.
This lovely is a Brazilian Rosewood.
Now, don't think I am clever knowing the names of these blooming trees I know flowers such as roses, tulips, lavender, daisies, and herbs such as
Rosemary, thyme, sage, basil, and plantain, pine, Cyprus, and fig trees... and possibly another twenty or fifty other types of living plants and trees--
maybe-- don't hold me to it.
When Charland, a blog reader of mine, came on a trip to France with me
she asked me the names of every tree and plant she saw. I was uttering, 'I don't know, sorry so many times that at last, I said,
"Hey, this is a brocante trip, not a garden tour!"
We laughed and laughed, Charland replied, "Just makeup names that is all you need to do."
Now I am an app cheater using PICTURE THIS, and wow it is almost my new best friend.
Charland, you would be impressed by me.
I will call these stone flowers.
How original am I right?
And these what would you name them?
Brazilain rosewood against burnt orange.
Easy to spot in bright yellow overalls.
xxx
We went to Barcelona to meet Sacha who flew there to see his Italian Girlfriend. Barcelona is only a five-hour drive which was made extremely enjoyable with Gabriel in the car with us. No screens, barely the radio, just his antics kept us entertained, and his play breaks (who doesn't like to play on a slide at a rest stop?) were full of crumbs, drinks, and cuddles. Let me tell you when you are with a two-year-old there is no reason to go to the gym, going to Barcelona with Gabriel gave us plenty of time to be as a family and not running around trying to see everything.
We walked around the city at leisure. Talking with each other, admiring the blooming trees and architecture.
Gabriel had many arms to fit into, and hands to hold.
He is a real traveler that little Bunch of Love.
Never gave us a pickle moment.
Sacha and Elena (the Italian Girlfriend).
We gave it a nanosecond thought that maybe we would be crashing in on his romantic week ...
But that thought was fleeting and it was Elena's and Martin's idea anyway and of course, guess who paid?
Take a potato,
cut it in a spiral,
deep fry it,
Yum on a stick.
The food market (s) in Barcelona is fabulous, utterly hands down mouth-watering crazy good.
Every type of potato, fruit drink (Blackberry coconut, Lemon Ginger, Mango passion fruit...), vegetable, vegan, organic, flower, fish, spice you could ever dream of having at incredible prices. I wanted to cook right there. Instead, we tasted and sipped happily.
The white sneaker family.
Market place.
Oh yes, this was that good.
Roasted eggplant baked with basil pesto, mozzarella, and cherry tomatoes.
One of the side dishes.
If you know our family you know we are big eaters or piglets.
Martin and Elena are not vegetarian we have forgiven them, especially since Elena is a fabulous cook! And Martin is a go-getter if you need something at the last minute when cooking. Plus he makes the BEST gluten and egg-free chocolate brownie EVER which he created since he cannot have gluten nor eggs.
Cooks and those who enjoy food are some of my favorite people. Add the brocante, dancing, and spirituality into the mix you are a superstar in my book.
A family holiday.
Being present to the moment.
Bike racks are the new jungle gym.
Barcelona in bloom.
I will show more tomorrow.
Always running happily with his arm in the air.
Or maybe he was trying to keep up with us?
Baba and Babou reading about boats.
The family plus one to come in October.
Have you been to Barcelona? If you go there before October ask Elena to give you a tour, you will not be disappointed.
Recipe from blog reader Sue Hofmann.
Follow any basic ice cream recipe.
When you heat the milk and cream, add two or three handfuls of rose petals.
If you know they have not been sprayed, there is no need to wash them.
Otherwise, rinse with hot water.
Follow the recipe and when done heating, remove the petals.
The scent and flavor will remain.
The taste is very faint but a little like rose water.
I like it because it seems like such a romantic thing to eat. 💕
Happy Father’s Day Yann
xxx
Sacha’s Italian Girlfriend is doing an internship at an art gallery in Barcelona (currently she speaks three languages fluently) Sacha flew to Spain yesterday to be with her as their birthdays are within a week of each other and for other obvious reasons. We drove to Spain to surprise him.
Dinner was ready
Chelsea had set the table
Yann was opening the wine
I turned my back to stir a pot and when I turned around
someone had gobbled up the raspberries off the melons.
Our friends Laurie-Annya and Ian Who moved to France three years ago just moved to a new place in Cassis- - amongst the boxes, bags and plies to put away a bouquet stood at their entrance perfectly calm, graceful, and beautiful.
I would not have thought nor taken the time to have bought flowers if I were like they were in full moving mode instead my mind would have been in get it done practical mode.
And yet their flowers spoke of honoring the moment, taking time to breath and be thankful. To let it be.
How are you under pressure ?
(Chelsea made the cake and cookies)
A pail of water
a toy boat
a hot day
a happy baby.
Do you agree?
My village
Mountains circle three-fourths of it-
A thousand-year-old church is at its center
The bells ring around the clock striking the hours.
This view is five minutes on foot from my door.
I have lived here longer than any other place...
over twenty years.
Tell me something about where you live?
PS
Nightbird's song and her message so powerful, eye-opening, and brave that she shared with grace.
I am glad you agreed and were moved as I was hearing her.
Sadly, the end of summer draws near, the warm weather is saying goodbye to Provence, it is the time of year where I grab a sweater in the morning and then again in the evening.
Our maison du village (house in the village) has stone walls that are over three feet thick. Our maison's wall butts up against the neighbor's maison's wall creating a six-foot-thick stone wall. Insulation at its finest: Cool interior in the summer, holds heat in during the winter.
Our home is a mere four hundred years old... and yes most French household keys do look like this.
The bakeries and pastries shop gift wrap their goods. Each item bought, whether a baguette, pain au chocolate, croissant which is wrapped in light paper then the ends on the paper or twisted or, if you buy a cake or other pastries the light paper is used but instead of the ends twisted they tie a box up with a ribbon or string. Then you can carry the package of baked goods from the loop that the shopkeepers make when they tie up the packages.
When in France do what the French do... your bread never goes on your plate, unless a small plate is offered. Otherwise, and in more cases than not, your bread goes on the table, on the left corner of your plate above the fork.
Also instead of biting into a piece of bread, the French tear a bitesize piece of bread and eat it that way. It is considered rude otherwise.
At a restaurant, tips are included in the bill.
You do not need to leave a tip. But you can leave a coin or two in appreciate
but it is not considered rude nor wrong if you do not.
Recently, at the brocante, my friend Mary remarked how impress she was at the variety of French linens and lace one could find. She asked if it was always like this or just the luck of the draw at this particular brocante?
I have said it many times and I'll keep on saying it... If France took out every piece of old linen, lace, dishtowel, bedsheet, and spread them out one by one, they could cover all of France, and have a massive slumber party, and extras for the next day.
Linens are plentiful.
If you want a thousand old nightshirts, or monogrammed bed sheets, or dish towels, or napkins, or lace, or nightgowns, or pantaloons, or table-clothes let me know and I'll have them to you within a week.
I would love to fulfill that bet, as long as I didn't have to pay for it.
The French say babies come from cabbages, just like the Americans say babies come from the stork.
I say that when Chelsea came she was as big as cabbage and I wish the stork had delivered her to me.
In France, the French celebrate their 'name-day.' Every day of the year, a saint is remembered. If your name or middle name is the same name as a saint (or a name that has something to do with a saint) then your family and friends give you a gift and/or say happy feast day to you. It is as if each French person has two birthdays. The word for the 'name-day' is: "Le jour de fête".
List of saints names for each day can be found here.
We do not do this in our Franco/American household as I can barely keep track of the day of the week. Numbers and I are not dancing partners. Plus the fact that Chelsea and Corey are not on the saints day list. We gotta change that.. but being a saint is not my calling.
When I first arrived in France I asked my French Husband if I could have October 2nd as my feast day as it is the feast day of the Guardian Angels and I like angels, and Corey wasn't on the list. He said, "No it doesn't work like this." That was the beginning of what I call French Husband getting,
"French in my face."
"... it doesn't work like this."
Or as I like to say... in France their motto is:
Why be simple when it can be complicated.
Playing cards:
V
D
R
instead of:
J
Q
K
And if that is not enough, the keyboard is not at all the same as the American keyboard. For instance, the A is where the Q is.
Such a shocker. Now I can not type on an American keyboard.
The scarf/shawl thing...
Yes, a French woman does do it best.
Even if it isn't tied at all.
They just got it, like Americans got big smiles. It is what it is and that is that.
Some Facts About France:
- Favorite sport: Soccer which is called football.
- Team sports are not played in school, nor are there cheerleaders, nor school proms.
- Did you know that Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty were penned by a French author?
- The Eiffel Tower is as tall as a 70-floor building. My brothers Zane and Mat climbed to the top when they came to visit me years ago when I lived in Paris. I didn't climb to the top that day as I was seven months pregnant with the ten-pound sweet cabbage.
Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa is owned by the French government and is said to be the most valuable painting in the world. It was bought by French King Francis I in 1519.
In France, the Mona Lisa is called La Joconde.
Did you know that the Mona Lisa painting hung in King Francis I's bathroom?
And did you know that Mona Lisa has no eyebrows? The reason she doesn't isn't that Leonardo forgot, or ran out of paint. It is because it was fashionable in Florence to shave your eyebrows off. Beats plunking them!
There are some 40,000 châteaux in France.
Nîmes is the birthplace of blue jeans. The famous fabric was imported to California by Levi Strauss in order to make tough work trousers for gold diggers. Denim is another way of saying: “de Nîmes”.
The French consume wine with most meals.
The end.....
unless you have something you really want to know about France or the French. I'll try to answer your questions.
Thank you little flowers that are under my feet, giving way without a cry, as I pass by. Thank you fresh air that fills my lungs restoring me without my constant awareness. Thank you light that shows me today and guides me towards tomorrow. Thank you heart for beating, for dancing within me, even when I do not hear your steady song. Thank you for eyes that look like the eyes of many ancestors ahead of me, whose shape I see in the faces I love, who show me I belong. Thank you arms that hold me tight, thank you word sorry for giving me the courage to try again and again. Thank you little flowers that reach to the sun after I walk by and scent my days with a fragrance of peace.
Thank you for your comments and messages, each one felt like a hug that I truly needed.
Photo: Tender little flowers in the field outside my childhood home.
In a box at the flea market,
Dusty and forgotten,
Memories slept closely to one another while
silently dreaming of another place and time.
Once cherished.
Placed carefully.
Peeked at when the heart ached, or feelings surged.
Those secrets, those cherished bits of papers, the letters from someone she held close.
Memories pinned on love.
Years ago, when I was around nineteen years old, I had the opportunity to care for an elderly woman who was housebound.
A beautiful woman who had a house stuffed with beautiful old things. Nevertheless, her curtains were closed and her stacks of fine dishes stored in the basement.
The summer I took care of her, her housekeeper went away for a three-month holiday, I entered a wonder world of someone's life that would have a grand effect on my sensitivities. As soon as I walked in Rose told me, while barely looking up from her soap opera, "I have my meals served on a tray right here in front of the TV. Here is my checkbook and car keys, buy whatever you want to make for my meals, charge it to my account."
I looked around at her lovely old home, "Why?"
She said, "Why, What?"
"Why take your meals in front of the TV?" I asked, "Your home is beautiful!"
She shrugged, "It is easier."
I frowned, "For you or for me?"
She sadly replied, "For you since I do not move very well."
As I was nineteen full of vinegar and honey I marched on with my desire to bring her home alive, "We will have lunch on the terrace. So you can use that walker... come on, I'll help you get up, let's give it a try."
Rose grump-ed, "Oh no! It is okay right here in front of the TV. I don't want to bother you."
"If you want lunch you will have to meet me on the terrace." With that, I turned and walked towards the kitchen to prepare the meal.
The kitchen! Had floor-to-ceiling cupboards, a breakfast nook, and a basement FULL OF LOVELY THINGS! I ran out to the living room, nearly hyperventilating with excitement, "Rose, Oh my God, your home is a treasure box! We will have breakfast tomorrow in the breakfast nook, lunch every day outside in the garden by your roses, or on the terrace, and dinner in the dining room. Can I use any of the dishes you have? And the linens can I use them? And the teacups too? Can we have tea too? And, why do you have the curtains closed?"
I am afraid Rose didn't know what to do with a girl like me.
She moaned though I saw her hidden smile, "Use whatever you like. The curtains are closed because the windows are dirty,
and I don't want to move to eat my lunch."
"I'll wash the windows," I threw the curtains opened, "And we are NOT eating in front of the TV even if I have to drag you
to the dining room to prevent it, or throw the TV out."
Rose's eyes opened wide. Then she laughed out loud.
I drove her car.
Went to the grocery store every day.
Bought delicious treats, and made meals for Queen Rose.
We became fast friends.
She wrote poetry.
Her cupboards were delighted my brocante heart.
Tea was served in sweet teacups.
Meals on different china plates each day.
I stuffed the sugar bowls with sugar cubes, and the cookie jars with my mother's cookies, and her silver trays with cakes, flowers in vases, and lace clothes on all the tables and trays.
Rose sparkled, so did the windows... and her garden provided flowers galore for every inch of her home.
I loved every day with Rose. Her home was a wonderland.
Rose was a storyteller. She had lived a beautiful life yet was left crippled by an infected mosquito that left her tongue hanging out which made it difficult for her to talk... though once she got to know you she never let your ears grow cold.
One day she told me she had a secret love letter from a boyfriend who had died.
"I never could throw them away." She said, then continued, "If you go to bedroom, in the closet, there is a trunk, in the trunk there is a box...
can you bring it to me?"
I sprang to my feet with excitement and raced myself to the hidden love letter.
In the trunk, there was the letter.
Love poured out as she held it in her hands, "I haven't held it in years." she cried.
...
There are some things that tell a story better than words. Rose did not have to tell me why, who, how, or when
her tears spoke the volume that only a heart can hear.
And so it was that I put the letter back in the box, back in the truck in the closet of her bedroom.
Fast forward ten years later, on my wedding day, I went to visit Rose with my newlywed husband Yann.
A few months later I was in France when I received the news that Rose died.
The first thing I remembered was her love letter tucked away in her bedroom closet. I do not know if anyone knew about it.
In a box at a flea market,
Dusty and forgotten.
Memories sleep closely to one another while
silently dreaming of another place and time.