Posted at 07:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)
A lovely video about my brother Marty.
Yesterday Marty's body was laid to rest
My family had a private mass in our hometown
Sacha was one of the pallbearers along with other nieces and nephews.
A graveside service followed and cousins and friends were there.
My cousin Julie (Sacha's Godmother) had me on video so I could be there in spirit.
You can imagine our sadness, the grief, the tender goodbye, and also the love that holds us.
Posted at 04:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (30)
At first glance I thought the oil painting I found at the brocante was of an Angel sleeping but after a closer look it is of a young man who has taken off his clothes for a swim, and later resting while using a bunch of twigs as a head rest which at a glance look like Angel wings.
Or maybe it is an earthly Angel in disguise.
Posted at 10:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)
Posted at 07:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)
When an American living in France
makes Spanakopita
in honor of her Greek friend
Annie. Though I never saw her make it
and that doesn't matter.
----------------
Two farm eggs
feta cheese
sliced green onions
dried cranberries
chopped walnuts
fresh spinach
garlic
creme fraiche
salt and pepper to taste.
In a cast-iron skillet lightly brown the chopped walnuts dried cranberries garlic
When lightly browned put aside then in the hot skillet add the fresh spinach with a hint of olive oil or white wine
when slightly wilted remove
and add it to the big bowl that has the walnuts, cranberries, and garlic
stir it up gently and thoroughly
toss in the crumbled feta cheese, green onions, creme fraiche, and fresh eggs stir it up
butter up a baking dish
layer the phyllo dough remember to rub olive oil on each layer
after several layers add the spinach feta cranberry mixture to the center
fold and tuck each phyllo layer around the mixture.
bake at 350
I would show you a picture but we ate it before I thought to take a photo.
Posted at 04:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)
The Silver Dark Sea
"We carry them with us...
We breathe for them,
sing for them,
soak up stories they cannot hear.
We think,
“They would have loved this...”
And we smile for them, on their behalf.
And someday,
after mastering the winds,
the waves,
the tides and gravity,
we shall harness for God
the energies of love.
And then for the second time in the history of the world,
humans will have discovered fire."
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
(Thank you Patrizia for sending me this piece.)
Posted at 10:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)
The face of time. Old photos. Stories told, untold, retold...
then, now and then over again.
Our stories play out, we each have a part.
Digging at the brocante photos unearthed
in a soap tin held together with a rubber band.
The soap tin had a tag it said:
"Photographs from the Canebiere, Marseilles"
Photo of a mother and child:
Marie-Francoise and bebe Mathilde.
Photo of a young girl:
Helene with the latest hairstyle
against her parent's wishes.
Photo of a young man: Was he the father of Mathilde?
or the husband of Marie-Francoise?
Maybe he was Helene's brother Jean-Pierre?
I don't know, only his name is written on the back.
Photo: Young man with a stiff collar and a tie,
Jacques.
Photo: A boy in a sailor outfit missing his white tie.
Blue eyes, ruby lips, straight bangs...
his name: Andre-Michel.
Do you know that most French names have a masculine and feminine pronunciation?
Andrea-Michelle.
Photo: Girl with a monogram on her dress.
dp
Delphine Perrin
Is she Jacques' sister?
Are they facing opposite so that in a photo frame they could be facing one another?
Photo: Girlfriends.
Lise and Cosette with a hint of a smile.
Cosette is wearing a pinafore.
Photo: Serious with earrings.
Was it a rough day?
Marie-Louise doesn't say.
Old photos found in a soap tin.
Photo: Young woman on a boat.
Estelle, with yellow espadrilles.
Taken by her Father Henri one summer at the Vieux-Porte in Marseille.
Photo: Young woman with a yellow purse.
Chelsea. Taken by Martin in Mexico.
Old photos capturing a brief moment in time to be replayed over and over again
in another moment in time.
Who are you, can you share your image in words?
Photo: Middle-Aged Woman
Grieving her brother.
Never wears yellow.
Prefers black --
It is a good thing she doesn't wear yellow or she would be mistaken for a bumblebee.
The oldest child, only daughter, four brothers - Missing one.
--------
If you want to use this example or your own:
Name:
Age
Present-day feeling.
A color you would never wear.
Favorite color.
other...
Posted at 08:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (20)
What I saw at the French Antique auction online
was so beautiful that I felt maybe it was the Louvre
secretly selling off pieces.
Of course, that wasn't true
nevertheless the quality
and the masterpieces of the antiques on auction
were literally stunning and oftentimes unbelievable
that they were being auctioned and yet not scooped up by a museum.
I could not afford anything though the pleasure was worth every minute spend
being gobsmacked.
Here are a few pieces of art that for one reason or another
I thought to post... literally a few grains of sand!
Every day in France there are
over 50,000 pieces auctioned off.
Where does this stuff keep coming from?
Awestruck again by history, beauty and art.
Posted at 09:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)
Gabriel received his third vaccine.
He didn't take it well and threw up a day or two later.
A few days later his parents were worshiping the porcelain god.
Since I have had a horrible cold to the point I
was convinced I had covid (two PCR tests) but do not I could not help them.
Yann went to babysit Gabriel.
Two days later Yann was wiped-out vomiting.
Three days later it hit me,
I woke up freezing thinking I was hungry
but soon realized that feeling wasn't hunger
it was the rumbling of the monster about to unleash.
Today I understand the need to rest.
Gabriel and his parents went to Martin's parent's house
since Chelsea and Martin have been working from home
(due to covid for almost a year now) they need childcare.
Martin's mom is now fighting the monster.
24 hour cleanout.
So far only Martin's dad has been lucky not to have it.
Posted at 05:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)
Posted at 03:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)
Merci
I am in awe of your kindness and thoughtfulness
what an abundance I have to lean on.
I feel guilty for not responding to each of you personally!
My mother said the same thing the other day. She has received many cards, letters, flowers,
food, visit, and acts of kindness... she is overwhelmed by the love and support.
On the phone, my mom said, "How am I ever going to be able to write everyone?
I have been keeping a list but it is becoming longer and longer
and I haven't even started to respond!"
I have felt that weight too of wanting to respond to each of you and yet not being able to...
it is as if each acknowledgment, each thank you reminds me of the reality so very present.
That is not to say we are ungrateful,
because the love shown in so many ways helps us carry our sadness.
We are grateful.
But the energy it
takes to respond isn't there. It will be, but it isn't now.
I talked about this to my mom. Saying, everyone understands.
Nobody expects anything from you.
We all know it is harder to receive than to give.
Grief takes energy and swallows up our everyday thoughts
and rarely gives a space to be or do as we would usually.
Grief is a bag of mixed emotions Kubler-Ross
When I lived in the monastery (19 to 22 years of age) I was fortunate that it was a retreat house
on depth psychology, spiritual direction, seeing fairytales, myth, and scripture intertwined and yet separate.
Amazing people came to visit and share their experiences I was a sponge happily soaking
in such new ideas, wisdom, and the freedom to question.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross's books had a tremendous impact on me.
Grief takes time and while it does it heals.
I often say to others who are grieving,
"Be gentle with yourself. No feeling is a bad feeling. Allow yourself time to sit still, weep and be."
Thank you for every ounce of love and goodness you have shared with me!
Every poem, tear, candle, thought, prayer, quote, card, comment...
I am grateful.
Posted at 04:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)
No Hard Feelings
Avett Brothers
I have listened to this song nearly every day since I heard about my brother's cancer
the words often make me cry
tears of so many reasons-
so truly true of grief and letting go and letting be and being ready.
The song asks, "Will I be ready?"
My brother was due to his circumstance.
He gave his hope and chance for a miracle healing, and when it wasn't to be
he prepared himself and his family
as best as one can.
His last words to me were,
"... be with Gabriel, he needs you, take care of him."
He knew I babysit Gabriel a few days a week and he said,.." you do not need to come home...
you were here when we needed you most, you kept mom safe and I didn't need to worry
because I knew you were there."
____
Posted at 02:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)
A child leads us the way
to the daily doings of living
he depends on us
A carousel
one little ride at a time
If you want to see a little video
of Gabriel riding this carousel I have
Posted at 09:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)
Distant View
I see you
I feel the grass under my feet and
the sound of the leaves as the wind blows through them
you are not far away
unless I try to hold you.
I believed I could go home whenever I wanted
that distance never felt faraway
until now with covid
I cannot go home.
But when I close my eyes
I see you
my heart beats so loudly
as the waterfall splashes to my feet
where I stand still
so faraway.
Posted at 06:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)
softly evening comes
the sky grows dark
darker
the moon rises
with stars blooming like flowers
in an empty field.
Burning brightly
constantly changing
yet to the naked eye
they remain the same
down below in the silence,
in the stillness,
in the darkness...
the garden grows unafraid
of the tiniest seed.
Posted at 06:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)
Posted at 03:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)
(Photos of my Vavie Amaro with some of her 23 grandchildren
My brother Marty is standing by her side then and now)
life is one big full ride
with twists, turns, getting lost,
wild downhill rides
and some long straight boring roads.
Filled with every emotion often in the same day
silly things
how life continues when it feels like it isn't
one moment my brother dies, the next I am washing dishes, a friend calls I cry, then a
a memory is shared and we laugh, I dry the dishes and go to bed.
wake up to my birthday.
Death comes and it doesn't seem real
a profound end
and life continues
but there it is and how it is
one full ride of everything all at once
Our days hold everything
and life simply challenges us to hang on
and live it
Hang on and live it
My brother would want that.
To see us doing all those daily life things
L I V I N G
Thank you for every message, email, FB message... the overwhelming amount of love
streaming in is such a beautiful gift thank you so much. God am I fortunate
to have such a community of brave beautiful clever loving friends that you are.
Thank you for holding my family and me during this long year.
Posted at 09:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (25)
My brother Marty (60) went home this morning
He was surrounded by love and felt your prayers.
His family, brothers and mother were by his side.
His suffering is over. A heavenly host of love is welcoming him.
.... such sorrow, sadness and peace .
And here are some photos of the candles that you lit for him last night.
Thank you x
Thank you for your loving support.
My family thanks you as well. Marty often
talked about the overwhelming
sense of prayer being said and felt.
He said it gave him strenght.
May your journey forward Marty be beautiful.
Posted at 11:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (57)
When I was a child I had an incredible imagination and with that came terrific nightmares.
Many nights I woke up panic-filled, wide-eyed, my heart beating loud enough that any robber in the house could hear.
I was frightened to the point of feeling paralyzed.
My peace of mind came when I would call out to my parents.
The evening pattern went like this:
DAD! Are you awake?
Yes, I am.
Don't go to sleep until I go to sleep, okay?
Okay, I won't go to sleep until you're asleep.
MOM!
Yes?
Are you awake?
Yes, I'm awake.
Don't go to sleep until I go to sleep okay?
Okay, I won't go to sleep until you go to sleep.
DAD?
I'm here, go to sleep Corey. We won't go to sleep until you go to sleep.
Writing these words my eyes fill with tears. My parent's reassured me, night after night, they gave me their word faithfully and without ever seeming to be bothered by my need. They would respond with calm no matter when I called out. As if they never slept.
This went on until I was fourteen. Hard to believe that my parents did not crack.
I would fall asleep trusting my parents were there to protect me from harm.
(When I was fourteen a doctor told them to put a radio in my room with music on low. It did the trick.
I sleep through the night without calling for them.)
(The photo is of a 1900s plaster Paris statue of Saint Joseph holding the Christ Child. When I bought this statue I found a small note carefully tucked into one of the folds. The note was of long ago... a written prayer... pleading for God's mercy to protect their son during WWII. I refolded the note and trustingly placed it back.)
Posted at 08:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)
Repost 2011
My brother's names remind me of the four gospels.. well almost.
Marty, Mathew, Mark, and Zane.
Marty's middle name is John.
And Zane's middle name is Louis which starts with a "L" like Luke.
Not that it counts.
But it does to me.
My oldest brother Marty is in red.
My four brothers are younger than me:
Marty
Mathew
Mark
and
Zane.
Trying to take a photo of these four guys is like trying to put a whale in a teacup.
I begged them.
Told them to stand outside the barn, around the broken old motorcycles.
They did. They drank and talked shop.
Finally, after trying to coax them for a photo, I gave up and took them when I could while they talked shop.
Finally some photos of those guys I love...
Marty, Mathew, Mark, and Zane.
Posted at 10:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (20)
a few weeks ago my mom asked her grandson George
if he could clean up and get running my dad’s Harley that hasn’t run since my dad died over 12 years ago.
my godchild takes after my dad he rides like the wind and has self taught skills in mechanics.
my mom said she wanted to see the Harley go down the lane again before she died.
though I think my mom really wanted to give us a gift
she wanted us to feel dad’s spirit in that Harley roar
she knew
we would see it too
knowing he is here waiting to give my brother
the ride of his life
Sacha went to Willows for the weekend
to be with family
to high five George
to take a ride down the lane
along the rice fields
and let that motor sing to us.
my mom is a genius in how she holds us
leads us
and gives us courage
Posted at 08:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (35)
Posted at 09:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)
Sacha is living in Seattle, has created a company with his friend Conrad
check it out here
Godspeed
PNW Camera Guys
You have the idea, we have the solution!
Gimbal - Drone - Vehicle
Editing - Color Grading - 3D prints
GODSPEEDCINE@GMAIL.COM
He is happy doing what he loves.
I am happy he is happy.
Posted at 09:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)
Violets.
The bravest little flower
dares to bloom before spring announces itself
Receives a white winter coat and a heavy tiara of raindrop diamonds,
Blooming purple with a note of glee.
Here I am,
such a tender little flower
reminding me of faithfulness against the odds, courage with grace.
Posted at 10:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)
Amanda Gorman's
Full Inaugural Poem:
The Hill We Climb:
When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never ending shade?
The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.
We braved the belly of the beast
We’ve learned that quiet isn't always peace, and the norms and notions of what just is isn't always justice.
And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it.
Somehow we do it.
Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn't broken, but simply unfinished.
We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one.
And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn't mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect.
We are striving to forge our union with purpose.
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man.
And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us.
We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside.
We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another.
We seek harm to none and harmony for all.
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true.
That even as we grieved, we grew.
That even as we hurt, we hoped.
That even as we tired, we tried.
That we'll forever be tied together, victorious.
Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.
Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid.
If we're to live up to our own time,
then victory won't lie in the blade,
but in all the bridges we've made.
That is the promise to glade.
The hill we climb, if only we dare,
it's because being American is more than a pride we inherit.
It's the past we step into and how we repair it.
We've seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it,
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy.
And this effort very nearly succeeded.
But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated.
In this truth, in this faith we trust,
for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us.
This is the era of just redemption.
We feared at its inception.
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour.
But within it we found the power to author a new chapter,
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves.
So, while once we asked how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe,
now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was,
but move to what shall be:
a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free.
We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future.
Our blunders become their burdens.
But one thing is certain.
If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children's birthright.
So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left.
With every breath my bronze pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one.
We will rise from the golden hills of the west.
We will rise from the windswept north, east where our forefathers first realized revolution.
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states.
We will rise from the sun-baked south.
We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover.
And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful.
When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame and unafraid.
The new dawn balloons as we free it.
For there is always light,
if only we're brave enough to see it.
If only we're brave enough to be it.
Posted at 09:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (22)
I spoke to my brother today
a few words that said so much
solemnly
how does one live with suffering
pain
a terminal illness
one that challenges
every cell and thought
without end-
is it
faith
courage
or
because living has its grip
and wondering why is
exhausting
and doesn't give you a free ride.
----
Your prayers are deeply appreciated
for peace of mind, heart, and body.
Posted at 10:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (18)
France
We wear masks it is not political.
everyone six years of age and older must.
Not just in shops. Masks are worn the second before you step outside.
Children wear masks all day in school.
You must use hand sanitizer before going into any shop.
Some masks make my glasses fog up, if I take my glasses off I cannot see. Lesson learned: check that glasses don't fog up
when wearing a new mask and before going outside.
Bars, cafes, restaurants have been closed since October.
If you thought finding a bathroom was hard to find when out and about in France let me tell you that now it is impossible.
There is a curfew for the entire country from 6 pm until 6 am.
Cassis is empty.
Streets are silent.
I love walking at night but those nights are gone.
Vaccines are rolling out. My mom's appointment is this week.
When is yours?
I think ours will be in March or April.
Posted at 09:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)
Daily Dose D300
I started a daily flower post due to the upheaval that Covid19
and the election was stirring and filling up my FB page with sadness.
I thought why not add a flower amongst it all to give breathing space.
Naively, I did not think I would be posting 300 days of flowers in a row.
There have been times I would have rather added my two cents instead of adding a flower.
There have been times that a flower seemed dim compared to the darkness that circled around.
I pray for brighter days, good health, and for peace in the community at large.
I will continue to post a flower a day as a mindful watch to remind myself
to focus on what is good, holy, and
to remind me to strive to be my better self.
Small gestures do have an impact, don't they?
I must remind myself daily that they do, that the small kindnesses
are powerful tools for change.
Posted at 09:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)
Picassiette Dresser was seen at a brocante a few years ago.
"The name comes from the French Pique-Assiette, meaning “one who eats from others’ plates, or one who steals other plates”. This is a very loosely used translation of the French words. face Pique Assiette is a style of mosaic that incorporates pieces of broken ceramics—plates, dishes, cups, tiles — and other found objects into the design. The appeal and expressiveness of pique assiette lie in the ideas of lateral thinking, humor, recycling, and the significance of the found objects."
"This form of art is believed to have been originally introduced by Raymond Edouard Isadore, known as the “father of French pique assiette”. He discovered his bits of colored glass and pottery in the fields surrounding his house in Chartres, outside of Paris, and spent his life covering every surface of the inside and outside of the house and his garden area. He supplemented his shards with stuff from auctions, quarries, and the public dump. His home is a popular tourist attraction and is known as “Maison Picassiette” between 1938 and 1964. The monument he left behind is a house and garden covered with intricate mosaics of broken crockery, painting, and sculpture. Much has been written to try to explain why Raymonde Isidore, a middle-aged manual worker, produced such a beautiful, complicated, inspirational, and mystifying environment from the house he had built for his family. Perhaps what is amazing is not just that he chose to devote himself to his project, but that he achieved so much. The scale and richness are awe-inspiring.
In France La Maison Picassiette is set back from a modern urban street not far from the center of Chartres (50 miles – southwest of Paris). You reach it by walking down a narrow footpath. A small ticket booth and traditional French toilets have been added outside the front courtyard of the house. 30,000 visitors a year come to this place of wonder. The house is very modest in size, and is long and thin in shape, matching the dimensions of the plot it stands on. The doors and windows are all on the right-hand side, facing south. All the rage in the 1920s." Via Monika of Myeropeantouch
These are photos of the dresser that I saw at the brocante...
I should have bought it simply because it was a one of a kind piece,
beautiful in its off-beat way and
a touchable storybook for Gabriel.
The battle of want and need is constant.
Cost, space, and practicality (such a mean little word for creativity) usually set my course.
Hence, the reason to sell is handy for my hobby.
But as you know if I bought everything that ever caught my eye
I would be eating dirt and leaves, and living outside as my home would be full.
God, if only I didn't have the brocante bug how easy housecleaning would be, and the urge to
want it all would be far from my thoughts.
Ah such trivial thoughts to play with on my blog and I need trivial thoughts these days.
Look how the grout it made to look like a vine twisting and connecting the pieces.
This dresser was not recently made. The collection of broken dishes is impressive!
The drawer pull is a small curtain ring from the 1900s.
Most of the broken plate pieces are from the 1860s to the turn of the century.
This piece makes me
think how we are all connected
in our brokenness
held together by
leaning into the
strong vine of trust and forgiveness.
Posted at 10:02 PM in Brocante | Permalink | Comments (16)
with so much going on the year has started out
on an uneven path
my family in the States has had its fill
dark tragedy beyond measure
The words I recently read capture the depths
such painful loss such great love
no words just holding sorrow and praying
that time brings healing.
we are this world waiting
for the universal symbolic spring
where that which is
good
holy
pure
life-giving
comes into focus
reassuring us that love never ends.
——
my brother starts chemotherapy again after several painful weeks in the hospital.
The other news I cannot share but I trust you understand and I pray for you who are battling your own dark corners.
Posted at 02:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (26)
Posted at 11:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)