French la Vie

When You Come to Provence

 

 

When you come to Provence take time to be, time to let Provence get under your skin and into your heart it won't take long. Provence is a place to aimlessly wander, to taste the countryside, to soak in the sounds and to follow your thoughts until they are just a mountain of softness and valleys of delight.

Provence is spread out like a quilt of many colors starting with the sky and everything under it. The blue sea, the olive trees, vineyards, tiled roofs, confit pots, cigales, rosé, rows of lavender, stone walls, painted shutters, scented foothills of rosemary, thyme, pine, and oak.

Let me lead the way, come on I will give you a key to open the source that is Provence.

 

 

Opening hideaway places, visiting private homes and artist's studios.

 

 

 

 

Discovering the history behind antiques, culture and the Provencal lifestyle.

 

 

 

With time to wander to places worthy of painting, and writing poetry.

Or simply weaving this way and that throughout villages.

 

 

 

With time to sip champagne in the middle of the afternoon and have...

 

 

 

Impromptu picnics, and moments to just be in the moment.

 

 

 

To go to as many brocantes as you would want, without worry about how to take your purchases home.

 

 

 

Sharing meals with friends, meals at restaurants and my home where I will cook for you a feast of friendship.

 

 

 

 

To be inspired

 

 

throughout every moment and to be surrounded by happy places.

 

 

To allow you to feel home in a foreign land.

 

 

 

 

 

History connecting you to a never-ending story.

 

 

 

 

Under a tiled roof, comfy-cozy without a care in the world.

 

 

 

Transportation provided, I wish it were this, with a linen canopy and fluffy chunky floral pillows to soften the bumps. Transportation so you can enjoy the scenery without reading a map, nor missing a turn or a sight to remember long after the days have gone by.

 

 

 

May Poppies,

June Lavender,

September Grapes,

October, pumpkins

Everyday landscapes to discover.

My favorite time of the year, May for flowers, Winter for calm, June for a touch of summer, October for the markets...

The weekends for the brocantes.

Today because it is what I have.

 

 

 

 

The dates for the French la Vie 2020

 

Please join me on:

 

 

 

April 7th - 14th Easter 2020 ... Two places remain

 

April 28th - May 5th, 2020... SOLD OUT

 

May 12th - 19th ... SOLD OUT

 

September 8th to the 15th... One Place Remains

 

September 29th to October 6th... Three places remain

 

 

 

If these dates do not correspond with you I am open to adding another week to create a private tour

for you and or two to three more friends of yours. 

 

For more information email me please:

coreyamaro@aol.com

 

 

 

Please share.

And if you are in Provence just come by and say hi!

 

Christmas Treats

 

A star or an angel at the top of your Christmas tree?

Mine is an angel, but it is still yet to be found as it is at the bottom of the Christmas ornament box.

 

 

 

My friends have paperwhites instead of poinsettias. 

What do you have?

 

 

 

Santa's little helper or an elf in disguise?

 

 

 

Have you written your letter to Santa? Or are you Santa? 

 

 

 

Handmade lace ornaments that I bought but my friend does not make them anymore. Darn it. I have these in a bowl on the dining table in Paris that is the extent of Christmas decorations in our apartment that is rented over the holidays.

 

 

An old wind up music piece that I bought years ago at the brocante. It is still one of my favorite pieces.

Okay, I gotta get a moving I still have Christmas mostly in a box and that is just not going to cut it when Chelsea, Martin, Sacha, and Gabriel come home next week. 

I dread putting the Christmas tree lights on the tree.

Really dread doing them until their up.

 

‘‘Tis the Season

 

Finally, our home is beginning to feel like Christmas.

'Tis the season and what a season it will be having a grandchild to share it with. 

 

Buche de Noel Birthday Cake

Photo Via Buche de Noel Pierre Herme

1988 

 "Buche de Noel is my favorite cake!" Bright-eyed and hopeful was the response eagerly given by my French Husband, the newlywed. The flavor was a known fac; spread chocolate on anything and it was labeled Yann's.

My mother had made jelly-roll cakes for my brothers and me when we were younger, was that the same thing as Buche de Noel? The only difference between the two cakes as I could see was that we could have a jelly cake any time of the year and in France during Christmas as it is a traditional Christmas dessert. Kind of like candy canes, you can eat them any time of the year but usually, they are out of sight until December.

30 some years ago, before the Internet and ex-pats were easy to find in France, anything in English was reduced to one word, "Hello." Peter Mayle was probably writing, "A Year in Provence," while I was struggling in Paris with only three words of French in my pocket of vocabulary. How was I going to find the recipe? Calling my Mom in California was out of the question given the ridiculous cost five dollars a minute plus the surcharge and tax. Which meant fast talk and no umm, let's see, I think it takes, oh no, just a minute, let me go check. 

To make a French Christmas cake, a Buche de Noel was going to be a challenge equal to anything Napoleon had to do. Napoleon is believed to have said, "The man who never makes mistakes never makes a war." Couldn't Yann have said brownies? His expectations were high as he asked me to make a Buche de Noel for his birthday which is in September, "Imagine a Buche de Noel in September!" Yann said like a child at Christmas. With Napoleon on my mind, I decided chocolate anything, even chocolate batter would be a hit.

Down to the metro, direction Rue de Rivoli, destination: Brentano's, the bookshop in Paris (since 1895) with a large English section. Certainly, they would have a cookbook in English.

On entering Brentano's in Paris there stood an American the size of a fortress. With a can of Coke in hand, he was carrying on like his world was coming to an end, demanding the saleslady, "... Don't you understand, E-N-G-L-I-S-H! I want a map of Paris IN English! I want a map that says, "Big White Church on top of the Hill," none of this rue crap, you understand! Why tell me why can't you folks just print a map that says street instead of rue?!" he was the ultimate tourist with his camera around his neck and coke-a-cola in one hand he continued, "I don't want any of this rue shit on my map." The petite saleslady looked bewildered as she tried to explain. I left the bookshop, to embarrass to request a French cookbook in English.

Up above the markets of Les Halles, battling in our kitchen the size of a nutshell, mustering up memories of my Mother making jelly-roll cakes, gathering allies in chocolate, sugar, eggs, and flour I conquered my Waterloo. We "ate cake" that night Buche de Noel in September.

 

 

Photo Via Buche de Noel Pierre Herme

1988 

 "Buche de Noel is my favorite cake!" Bright-eyed and hopeful was the response eagerly given by my French Husband, the newlywed. The flavor was a known fac; spread chocolate on anything and it was labeled Yann's.

My mother had made jelly-roll cakes for my brothers and me when we were younger, was that the same thing as Buche de Noel? The only difference between the two cakes as I could see was that we could have a jelly cake any time of the year and in France during Christmas as it is a traditional Christmas dessert. Kind of like candy canes, you can eat them any time of the year but usually, they are out of sight until December.

30 some years ago, before the Internet and ex-pats were easy to find in France, anything in English was reduced to one word, "Hello." Peter Mayle was probably writing, "A Year in Provence," while I was struggling in Paris with only three words of French in my pocket of vocabulary. How was I going to find the recipe? Calling my Mom in California was out of the question given the ridiculous cost five dollars a minute plus the surcharge and tax. Which meant fast talk and no umm, let's see, I think it takes, oh no, just a minute, let me go check. 

To make a French Christmas cake, a Buche de Noel was going to be a challenge equal to anything Napoleon had to do. Napoleon is believed to have said, "The man who never makes mistakes never makes a war." Couldn't Yann have said brownies? His expectations were high as he asked me to make a Buche de Noel for his birthday which is in September, "Imagine a Buche de Noel in September!" Yann said like a child at Christmas. With Napoleon on my mind, I decided chocolate anything, even chocolate batter would be a hit.

Down to the metro, direction Rue de Rivoli, destination: Brentano's, the bookshop in Paris (since 1895) with a large English section. Certainly, they would have a cookbook in English.

On entering Brentano's in Paris there stood an American the size of a fortress. With a can of Coke in hand, he was carrying on like his world was coming to an end, demanding the saleslady, "... Don't you understand, E-N-G-L-I-S-H! I want a map of Paris IN English! I want a map that says, "Big White Church on top of the Hill," none of this rue crap, you understand! Why tell me why can't you folks just print a map that says street instead of rue?!" he was the ultimate tourist with his camera around his neck and coke-a-cola in one hand he continued, "I don't want any of this rue shit on my map." The petite saleslady looked bewildered as she tried to explain. I left the bookshop, to embarrass to request a French cookbook in English.

Up above the markets of Les Halles, battling in our kitchen the size of a nutshell, mustering up memories of my Mother making jelly-roll cakes, gathering allies in chocolate, sugar, eggs, and flour I conquered my Waterloo. We "ate cake" that night Buche de Noel in September.

 

Finally on my Way Home

 

Finally, I caught a train home! Tomorrow the strike in Paris will intensify as if the other day wasn’t intense enough. The train station was a Ghost Town only a hand full of trains, most of the shops and vendors were located around and in the train station were closed. Usually, the train station is a hub of activity and thousands of people go every which way. But today it was completely opposite of that.

On the other hand, the train staff was all smiles, asking if there was anything they could do to help, and going out of their way to say, "Bonjour, Bienvenue." That just seemed odd usually that is not the case and given that the strike has affected many people and businesses I was surprised that nobody called them out on it. But one thing I have learned in France is the French are very patience and usually respect others' right to protest. In the few metros, the lines were endless, and the train cars packed like sardines and yet everyone was respectfully tolerant. When the train staff said, "Hi Welcome!" to me I wanted to say, "REALLY!!!" But what would have that helped?

As I rolled my heavy suitcase to my waiting train car. The Custom Officers (Police) were at my train car searching someone's bag, I have never seen that before on a train. A young man asked if I needed help carrying my bag upstairs (double-decker train) I thanked him and said please. As he lugged it upstairs he asked me what I had inside as it weighed a ton. I do not know why but I said, "A body." He looked at me like he believed me. I just grinned. Until I saw the Custom Officer eyeing me.

Onward to Provence and waiting arms!

The Runaway Chocolate Chip Cookie

A memory...

I was seven years old the first and last time I ran away from home. I remember I was mad at my mother-- but at what I do not know.
I put a few things in a brown paper bag, announced that I was leaving and walked towards the kitchen door.
I do remember my mother saying, "Goodbye, and have fun." I was bothered by her casualness, didn't she realize that I was seriously leaving?

I walked to the end of our graveled lane and since I didn't know which way to go. I sat down by the mailbox.

Soon thereafter my brother Marty (who was five years old) came walking down the lane. He too had a brown paper bag. He sat down beside me. I assumed he didn't know which way to go either.

He opened his brown paper bag and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie and ate it. I asked him for one. He said, "Mommy told me not to share them with you unless you decided to come home."

I recall the sound of my brother opening that paper bag and the taste of love in those cookies.

 

Did you ever run away from home?

Lesson of the Day

 

Still in Paris.

Yes, I could fly home but I am too cheap to shell out the money (300 plus Euros).

I could take a taxi to the train station and hope to find a train that might be going to Marseille and that I might be able to take if there is room, and if not take a taxi back to my apartment. The thought of it is draining as I have been feeling under the weather.

Sacha suggested a bus home. After the long flight, I don't want to go on a bus for ten to twelve hours while sneezing and spreading my cold germs. 

I could hitchhike.

Or I could wait it out.

Life could be worse. Far worse than this hiccup. But it isn't thankfully.

A man poorly dressed, disheveled with eyes that spoke of sadness stood outside of a grocery store, he wasn't begging, he wasn't saying anything. He just seemed to be lost in his own world. Another man walked up to him and gave him food which the man took and thanked the other one for and then ravenously ate it. I watched and felt ashamed that I was bothered about my unimportant issue with the train strike. I went over to him and asked him what I could do to help. He looked at me and with such kindness in his eyes said,

"Just knowing you cared enough to ask helps." 

Wow. 

Raindrops in Paris

The strike in Paris continues leaving those in Paris to figure out transportation routes normally available on strike for the next few days. Chelsea had a meeting she had to attend, so I happily watched Gabriel with the instructions to meet her at a certain point so she could breastfeed him. When the time arrived it was raining which seldom slows down anyone accustom to rain, nor first time babysitter’s who want to babysit again. I bundle the precious cargo into a burrito put him in the YoYo (most popular baby stroller in Paris) and put the plastic shield around it. But first I put on my coat, gloves, umbrella in hand and then proceeded to prepare Gabriel for the big adventure. As any parent knows the adult has to be ready first as it saves time. 
as soon as we were outside Gabriel looked up through the plastic shield with an odd expression that seemed to say, “What is this!” Of course I would add a swear word in there but as he is five months old he hasn’t heard it yet.

We walked to meet Chelsea who wasn’t faraway, stopped at a cafe so she could breastfeed. Everything went well Chelsea had her meeting, I babysat, and Gabriel saw the rain and after a few minutes he fell asleep.

 

 

 

Sign of Winter

Christmas Ornaments Using Antique Pieces

 

Christmas this year is going to be at our home. Chelsea, Martin, Baby, Martin's family, and Sacha is coming from Seattle, his Italian girlfriend will join us a few days after Christmas.

I am gathering bits of sparkle from little antique pieces I have. My creative juices need to kick in so I can get a move on to how I will set up the Christmas tree and pray it doesn't fall over like it did one year.

The menu too has to be planned. 

Chestnut soup is on the menu as well as a Christmas log cake. Everything in between will fall into place.

 

 

 

Crystals, and gold thread church tassels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Simply pretty as is. No need to do much just tie the pieces here and there.

 

A Unique French Fashion Show

 

Over a year ago I found these fashion design examples from the late 1800s at a second-hand shop in Northern France while visiting a friend. The fashion designs were gathered in an old folder and appeared to be made by a teenager maybe for an art class or simply for her amusement. Each design was handmade on paper, the images were drawn then painted and then clothes were made for the "models" and stuffed to give a 3D effect.

 

 

 

A true artist giving each page a distinct

look with background design to match the "model's" attire.

The detailing of each outfit is elaborate and well crafted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the corner, you see a glimpse of my finger which thankfully as it gives you the viewer a sense of the size of these designs. I would have loved to meet this young person to hear why she created these. The fashion patterns are her own and hand sewn on to the paper.

 

 

 

Note the variety of scraps she used and the umbrella handle. The "models" are not of one person but of many which allow me to believe the paintings were of her own imagination and not of a singular muse.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please note that the "model" on the right is drawn in pencil, her face is painted as well as a back of a chair and a plant in the background. With this, design, we can see a step or two on how she created them.

 

 

 

 

 

The faces amaze me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As in any haute couture fashion show, there is a bride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gone with the wind comes to mind.

 

 

 

 

 

Notice the hand made embroidery?

 

 

 

I love the color palette of this one.

 

 

 

 

 

A close-up of a previous example.

 

 

Aren't they lovely? 

 

Long Distance Love

 

Saying goodbye to my family in California does not grow easier. How could it be? Instead of going down the rabbit hole of longing to have everyone I love in one place, the impossible dream. I remind myself how fortunate I am to have two worlds that I can call home and be grateful that I am able to travel back and forth, saying goodbye and living far away is not easy nor should it be. That is the bittersweet gift of long-distance love. Seeing my mom and sharing Gabriel with my family pulled every single heartstring at once. Instead of hearing that as a sad song, I am learning to move with the melody even if slowly.

Coming back to France after being home takes me a few days to put my roots back into the soil of where I am, I suppose the surrealness of travel, the changing hours plus being jet-lagged gives way to my sensitivities about family and living abroad.

Happiness does not change it is simply an adjustment period.

Walking around Paris, beautiful Paris, was a far cry from Willows

my home base of a different type of beauty. 

 

 

 

Gabriel was held nearly every minute of the day and somehow learned how to roll over and sit up.

What a lucky little person to be born into such goodness. He was smothered in love and rolled up in sugar. If he was edible there would not have been a single crumb of him left.

Such a good thing that he loved being passed around into one waiting arm after another.

 

-After a three-hour car trip to the airport,

-Arriving two hours before takeoff to go through customs,

-Sitting for nine hours plus on an airplane,

-Then going through customs again and taking a forty-five-minute taxi home.

-With a nine-hour time difference, we arrived in Paris safely, without a single tear or problem.

Of course, we held and played with Gabriel the entire way otherwise the narrative would have been vastly different, thankfully he slept more coming back then going over.

 

Sleep is on the agenda and letting my roots settle in.

 

 

Fueling my Soul

 

I felt it, stopped right there letting it soak through me,

absorbed my surroundings,

took it in gulps, thanking the high heavens for such beauty, for such a life, for my family

and for knowing the gift that it is.

Leaning on that moment, with humble gratitude.

I love those moments, that come with the day, no reason though not always received.

How they affect each of us differently. Some see a field, some see a harvest, some see work, some see stress, and some see paradise.

I see my homeland with praise.

As my mother said to me, "This is your Homebase."

 

I felt it, stopped right there and then letting it soak through me,

absorbed my surroundings, took it in gulps, thanking the high heavens for such beauty, for such a life, for my family and for knowing the gift that it is.

 

Leaning on that moment, with humble gratitude.

 

I love those moments, that come with the day, no reason though not always received.

How they affect each of us differently. Some see a field, some see a harvest, some see work, some see stress, and some see paradise.

I see my homeland.

The base of who I am.

Thanksgiving Photos

As usual, my mom created her magic. Planned and made a lovely lunch for twenty-three of us. If only Yann and Martin had been here we would have been all together. The newest member baby Gabriel had attention galore and soaked up every ounce of it as he went from one person to another, some of my nieces and nephews had never held a baby before, but you could not tell.

 

 

 

Chelsea and my niece Kate made my mom's traditional sugar cookies and used the pesky turkey cookie cutter to make them. As expected my brother Marty ate some of the heads, if he didn't we would think it wasn't Thanksgiving.

 

 

Before lunch is served some of us step in to help my mom who guides and directs her band of sous chefs. Being my mom's sous chef is a breeze she knows what she wants and how she wants it the only pressure we have is to do it well as she says, "If you are going to help then do it 100 percent and nothing less."

 

 

 

Three tables. What I found funny was without anyone saying anything or directing anyone to sit in any particular place, the younger set sat together, the young adults sat at another table and the oldies sat in the dining room.

 

 

 

Sacha came home!

The best treat.

 

 

 

 

Homemade pumpkin and apricot pies, plus cookies and mud pie.

 

 

 

The first cousin lineup plus the next generation at the end:

Patti, Chelsea, Andy, Sacha, Sam, Jack, Joe, Gina, Marie, Maci, George, Molly, Kate, Warren, and Gabriel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sacha took better photos, these are just snapshots from my cell. 

 

 

These five came to Paris with me a year and a half ago.

 

 

 

 

My mom with my sister-in-laws and nieces.

 

 

Some of the guys.

 

 

 

I am eternally grateful for the family I was born into, for the love and faith I was taught, for the respect we have for another, for my parents who taught us by their example what love is.

How fortunate I am, we are, to have such bounty.

Be Present Gratefully

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving endless reasons to be.

 

Happy Thanksgiving dear friends!

 

I will post photos of my family's Thanksgiving day tomorrow.

 

 

 

 

 

Note: I found the above poem but do not know who wrote it.

 

Snickerdoodle Button

 

My Mom's kitchen.

or the family's constant hang out.

Being back home is being in the kitchen.

Up at six, my mother's day begins

Five thousand cookies, pies, cakes...

and it is only nine in the morning.

Yes, I have unbuttoned the top button on my pants.

 

Gabriel Meets Some More Cousins

Something Delish: Quinoa

 

 

Quinoa, small grains that look like seed pearls.

Saute the quinoa until golden brown, then add boiling water (two parts to one,) cover allowing it time for it to become one.

Dice red, green and yellow pepper saute them with olive oil and garlic. When the stiff peppers have surrendered to softness, add chopped almonds and saute until they change color.

In a blender blend a clove of garlic, a handful of dried tomatoes and parsley, (or coriander) add small amounts of olive oil to help it become creamy.

When the grains of quinoa are softened, toss the ingredients together. With a fork lightly fluff and delicately mix the dried tomato cream, sauteed peppers, and almonds.

 

 

 

Serve at room temperature.

Checkerboard Creativity

  

 

 

Salt and pepper shakers on a piece of checkered marble (tile) board.

My mother keeps coming up with creative fun ideas for her home.

 

 

 

 

 A piece of marble checkered tile my mom smiles, "Isn't it a great piece, I use it for many things, usually cheese and crackers." That is so my mom: Mrs. Re-Purposing, a thinker outside of the box when it comes to decorating, "I get a lot of compliments on it too, a piece of tile that will never be used as a piece of tile." She laughs.

 

 

 

Mom placed the heavy tile on the dining room table, then went around gathering her collection of salt and pepper shakers and put them on the marble checkered tile, "I had this idea to use it as a centerpiece with salt and pepper shakers. Using the pepper shakers as the black tokens and the salt shakers as the white tokens... and play checkers, a conversational piece."

Original Mom!

 

 

 

 

 

I imagined putting the checkered tile in my suitcase and taking it home.

If it didn't weigh as much as a small child I might.

Playing in the Dirt

A Few Random Snapshots

 

 

My oldest brother Marty and his wife Suzy.

 

 

 

My cousin Joan's grandson Hank holding Gabriel. Hank gathered a bunch of his old "baby" toys for his younger cousin.

 

 

 

 

My niece Molly and nephew Warren.

 

 

 

Sacha's Budda-Mere meets Gabriel.

 

 

My cousin Judy invited me to her home for lunch.

 

 

My mom's sister, my Aunt Louie.

 

 

 

My brother Mark with Penny.

 

 

Yann in Vietnam

 

 

Under the golden leaves is where we crack walnuts.

 

 

 

A rare moment, a first, Gabriel fell asleep in the car seat!

 

 

Oldest Niece, with the youngest in our family.

 

 

 

George, my nephew after a motorcycle race.

 

 

During Warren's basketball game.

 

 

 

 

Baking up a storm.

 

 

Cookie making.

 

 

Some of the nieces.

 

 

Pomegranates from my mother's garden. 

 

 

 

 

 

Maci making Chocolate Chip cookies.

 

My brother Zane 

 

Teething Baby

Late at night, during the day, someone is teething.

Rosy cheeks, glassy eyes, uncomfortable... poor little guy.

Soon though we are going to see a pearly white.

Hopefully by next Saturday when we return he will feel better xx

My Mom

Two Cultures One Turkey

Thanksgiving is an American holiday. Thanksgiving celebrates the beginning of life in a new land. The seeds of friendship between two different cultures. The pilgrims and the Indians. The journey of the Mayflower. The need for one another. The helping hands of family and friends. The feast of giving thanks for where we have come from and for what we have.

Or my symbolic journey of two cultures.

 

Thanksgiving is the dining room table. Family gathered. The blessing. The smell of turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie and the sound of football in the background. My brother Marty eating the heads of the turkey cookies.

Celebrating Thanksgiving abroad is not the same.

The first Thanksgiving I spent in France we lived in Paris. A group of Americans that I knew from working at the American Church in Paris had a dinner party. Everyone was in charge of bringing something for dinner. We knew it was going to be hard to find the necessary ingredients. I was in charge of the pumpkin pies. I had never made pumpkin pie. Canned pumpkin did not exist in France. I went to the market to buy a pumpkin. When I saw the pumpkin it seemed to say, "Carve me, I am Halloween."

I took that heavy monster home. Cut it up, seeded it, simmered it, added fresh cream, brown sugar (that was not like brown sugar back home), the last of the maple syrup that I had brought back in my suitcase, brown eggs, a tad of cognac and spices. Then I whipped it until my hand nearly fell off, and baked it.

It was delicious.

French Husband was confused, "Why do zee Americans eat salt and sugar at zee same time?"
Instead of answering him I groaned, "Eat it."
He did.
Then he said, "I prefer Chocolate."

The guests said my pies were delicious. I beamed, "I made it from a real pumpkin!"
French Husband leaned towards me and whispered, "Does fake Pump KEEN exist?"

 

 

The following year at Thanksgiving, I was three weeks shy of delivering Chelsea.

I am five foot three. I gained over 50 pounds when I was pregnant. I looked like I had swallowed the turkey whole.

Two weeks before Thanksgiving, I went to the butcher to order a "Dinde (turkey in French)." Though we were vegetarians I decided I was going to prepare a turkey that Thanksgiving. When the butcher asked me in French what size I wanted I froze. I did not have the right French words in my pocket to answer him. Flustered (like what type of person goes to order a turkey at a French butcher and doesn't have the right vocabulary in their repertoire?) I pointed to my big belly and said, "Gros comme ca " which in English translates, "Fat like this," though I thought I had said, "Big like this."

The butcher laughed then chopped his big knife into the cutting board. I gulped.

 

 

 

Two weeks later I went back to pick up the turkey. It was larger than a child. The butcher was proud, overly jolly as he carried the turkey around the counter because it was too large to hand it over to me.

The basket I brought was far too small to carry the turkey back home. The people in line at the butchers began to laugh when they saw it. There I stood big as a cow, holding the cold-plucked-turkey-child on my pregnant belly. My hormones got the best of me as I cried in English, "I am a vegetarian who just wanted a normal Thanksgiving."

Nobody understood me.

 

Slowly, I carried the turkey home. The people on the street moved away as I walked by. My face was beet red, I huffed and puffed and swore I was going into labor. I climbed the four flights of stairs wishing for an elevator. I dragged the turkey-child into the kitchen. Then sat next to the turkey down on the floor.

An hour or so later French Husband came home he spotted me with the turkey fanning myself with a recipe I had copied from the American bookstore.

French Husband gasped, "What are you doing? What is it?"

"A turkey"

"But we don't eat turkey."

"I know."

"What is it doing here?"

"Thanksgiving. We eat turkey on Thanksgiving."

"We do?"

"No. But in America we do."

"Oh. Do you miss America?"

"I miss home," then I hugged the turkey child.

"Are we going to eat it?"

"No. But I am going to cook it and you are going to help me, and our friends are going to eat it."

"How many friends do we have?"

"Not enough. But what we don't eat they can take home."

"In France, we do not give food to take home."

"Well, we are going to break that habit."

 

 

 

Each year Thanksgiving has been an adventure in a new land. Happy and very Thankful. I don't want to tell you all my Thanksgiving stories today because I need to save them for the years to come.

Notes:
Photos of my Mom's friend Holly's Country Home.

Four Generations

Weaving with Golden Thread

 

Gold threads, the real deal, on wooden bobbins.

Most likely from the 1800s.

Found at the brocante.

I know how to sew but don't. Never could I sew as beautifully as I have seen on altar cloth that I have seen at brocantes the work of steadfast creative hands. Delicate, nimble and certainly quick, mostly meditative.

Though holding these in hand I can weave a path back to a day where such art was made, cherished and used with care.

Amongst people who brought beauty to the everyday. Who created art as a form of prayer, passing the time in being creative, resourceful, making something worthy of all time.

Golden thread we hold...

What am I creating today for tomorrow is the question.

 

Oh Sweetheart

 

Where is French Husband?

Where is French Husband?

On a journey on his motorcycle riding along the backroads

discovering the countryside of Vietnam.

 

Pumpkin Shell

...put it in a pumpkin shell and there it kept very well...

A planter with succulents.

Such a clever idea.

Cousin Love

My niece Marie hugged me, so my niece Molly joined in and soon thereafter Kate joined in I laughed saying, "Group hug!" Chelsea came over with her hands full of pie-crust-making-crumbs and Patti leaned in with baby Gabriel. My mom chimed in by saying, "Oh what a darling photo of all of you ! I need to take a photo. Someone give me a camera." 

Hence a photo was created. 

I am hugging Marie, then Molly, Kate, Chelsea, Gabriel, and Patti. Cousin love. 

 

Passing the Time

 

Late Autumn days sunshine beckon us to stay outside.

We have spent countless hours sitting around the wooden picnic table talking, cracking walnuts, eating pomegranates from my mother’s yard while visiting family and friends.

Happy place !

Sleep Over

 

A sleepover.

Junkfood.

Mattress in the living room.

Soda.

I am on the couch.

The Party Pooper in me says, "I am not staying up all night."

 

 

 

Baby Love Love

Chelsea's Nickname for Baby Gabriel "Love Love". 

Refraining from eating him in one bite is becoming harder and harder to resist.

Though with that said holding him longer and longer is becoming harder too, he is a chunk.

All that sweetness.

Such a beautiful dream come true.

Autumn Delight in November

 

 

Such incredibly beautiful weather for this time of the year. We had lunch outside today.

My mom made her delicious cream puffs I wanted to devour all of them and somehow manage to refrain. 

 

 

 

 

 

We had chilled pea soup, roasted and fresh vegetable salad, mushroom rice, and dessert. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Homecoming King and Queen

First Time in America

 

We arrived safely. The flight was not difficult. We took turns holding Gabriel for eleven and a half hours. As long as we held him he was happy, and we were happy even if my arms felt like they might fall off.

Gabriel slept for about three hours in the twenty-some hours we traveled. He was curious and noticed everything about the plane and travelers. Like I said if he was in our arms he was entertained. 

When we arrived at my mom's home my brothers, sisters-in-laws, nieces, and nephews were there  waiting to see the newest arrival to our family. Their love was as thick as peanut butter and spread out throughout the house. Joyous! Loving! Happy! Wonderful! Everyone took turns holding him in the quiet dark house. A nest was prepared in that space I call home, their open arms that I know so well were the gift I expected. Gabriel was welcomed.

He slept well that night.

The next day he slept from four in the afternoon breastfeeding periodically throughout but never really waking until seven the next morning.

He is a trooper!

Thank you for your love, prayers, vibes, and messages for our well being. We are basking in the love that we have come to know so well.

xxx

A Favorite Memory Each Time I Go Back Home

                      

 

Repost from 2007

Yesterday I called home to confirm to my parents our flight information. My little nieces and nephew were there. I had already bought gifts to bring for them, but I thought I'd ask them anyway what they might like me to bring for them.

Chelsea shook her head, "Mom, why did you ask them what they wanted? When are you going to find the time to buy these things. What if you don't find what they want? Mom, you do remember we leave tomorrow?"

My daughter thinks before she acts. I've said many times before, that she should have been the Mom and I the kid.

 

                             

 

My niece Gina (8)

simply asked for a fancy doll to put on her bedroom shelf.

"As in breakable?" I asked. I love carry-ons. Especially fragile, odd-shaped ones.

 

 

                       

 

Gina told me that Marie (8) wasn't there to say what she wanted.

I asked her if she had any ideas. Gina offered, "Sure I do, Clothes! Something sweet and pink. But not fou fou Aunt CoCo."

"Pink and not fou fou? Pink and yet not girly?" I asked nervously.

"Yeah pink and pretty, but not girly." I could see her pink cheeks glowing, "Oh that is easy like a pink tee-shirt?"

Gina replied, "Oh no that is boring."

I am doomed.

 

 

                             

 

Next came May-May (6),

she told me she wanted a horse.

"A HORSE! How am I going to stuff a real horse in my suitcase?" She reassured me, "Silly Aunt CoCo. It doesn't have to be a real horse. Just soft and blue."

"Blue?"

"No, soft and blue."

 

 

                             

 

George (4) my Godchild, asked for Spider-Man. "Hum. That is going to be a challenge. Tell me if I can't find Spider-Man, will Superman, or Snoopy, or Mickey Mouse do the job?"

"No. Um not really," he replied. "I like Spider-Man."

Hum, Chelsea was right. 

 

                            

 

Molly (4) thought the longest. After a while, she said,

"I cannot make up my mind. I'm going to tell you two things and you can surprise me. I'd like a seashell and Jesus."

Oh God, help me.

We leave today.

 .......................

Every time I prepare to return to Willows

I recall this memory.

Long Distance Flights Always Give Room for Endless Thoughts

Why is there such unrest in the world? We know most of the reasons. 

Often I think if countries would just gather people together to share a meal, a potluck of sorts in silence. A few children, a baby or two, a few people in their nineties and several more people from various backgrounds well I think it couldn't hurt.

Food nurtures. Being together does as well.

I didn't mean this to edge on politics. You know that isn't what this blog is about. 

If only borders, language, culture, faith, awareness... 

If only kindness was valued more than being right wouldn't the price of peace and harmony be easier to obtain?

 

 

I suppose in the world there is something standing in the middle of peace.

A stubbornness.

instead of 

Love.

 

Little Bird

This is Gabriel he is four months old.

We are flying to California tomorrow. I asked him what he thought and if he will be a calm sleepy baby... gulp. 11 hours is a long time to be on a plane with a baby. Every year from the time Chelsea was five months old I flew back to California to visit my family, Chelsea as an easy baby. I don't think she ever cried in her life. Sacha on the other hand... this will be my forty-fifth time or more flying to California. It will be the first of many I hope with Gabriel x

(If you would like to see the video of him talking please go to my Facebook page.)

 

The Endless Road

 

 

Northern California during autumn,

golden valley, harvested fields, open spaces, geese in flight.

Country roads leading near and far.

 

 

 

 

Clouds adding texture between the valley and the foothills.

A single tree sets the stage.

 

 

 

 

A barn in the middle of a harvested rice field.

I grew up in this valley,

under these clouds,

surrounded by rice fields,

in wide spaces,

with long grey paved roads,

and barns in the middle of nowhere, but at the center of our lives.

 

 

 

The foothills north of San Francisco are rolling gold,

The fence post holding nothing in,

are the first sign that my childhood home is nearing.

My heart opens,

I feel the rolling gold, rolling gold, rolling gold.....

 

 

 

Pouring into the Sacramento valley.

 

 

 

 

Sacha my son asked, "How could you leave?"

And my heart stings.

Following your heart is not always easy.

Especially when it divides you in two.

 

Oh, distant geese that fly overhead where are you going?

Rolling gold along the long grey paved road?

 

 

 

 

I left because I fell in love.

I come back because I am in love.

That is the gift of an abundant harvest.

But toil you must.

 

 

 

At the end of the valley, Mount Shasta rises.

What do I see the valley or do I see the mountain, the peak or the flatland?

Oh, both depending on the day.

A blend makes it interesting, helps to keep one focused. 

 

Blue sky with clouds overhead.

 

 

 

A journey far and wide.

It is not a straight shot.

Blurred are the borders, vast is the horizon,

Home.

Heading Home

Packing my bags as I will be going to visit my family in California with Chelsea and baby Gabriel- Nov 4th to Dec 15th. If you are in my childhood hometown I hope to see you. Please add some good vibes that Baby Gabriel has a sleepful, calm flight and not one that will hurt ears.

I cannot wait to see my mom hold Gabriel and see my family gobble him up like a love ball.

I will be posting here on my blog so stay tuned for a view of my family in California.

 

xxxx

 

 

 

Happy Halloween

Life with a Baby

Autumn Vibes Take Me Home

 

Preparing for Autumn. Gathering the abundant harvest at the end of summer. Canning the last of the vegetables and making pomegranate jam. Watching the first leaves dance down to the ground, grabbing from the upper shelf a sweater to wear, taking out the rake, stacking the cord of wood in the shed, smelling the fall aroma in the air.

 

 

More than any other season Autumn reminds me of Willows. The decor of my mother's home is an autumn home: Soothing, homey, comfortable, inviting, always something baking in the oven, clothes drying on the line... A home where soaking up the pleasures of simple living is as easy as running through a pile of leaves. Generous ripe love.

 

 

My mom rearranges her home with the seasons. Decorating it to celebrate the moments at hand. I miss that tradition, I miss home most during Autumn. Is that pumpkin pie I smell hot from the oven? My memory tells me it is.

 

Growing up in the country with my four brothers meant we played outside most of the time. We rode bikes, helped our parents clean the yard, played around the barn, gathered the eggs, collected walnuts, pomegranates and watched the harvest moon rise over Willow Creek.

 

Chelsea, Baby Gabriel and I will be going to Willows November 4th until December. 

 

XXX

Hand Painted Antique Wallpaper Samples

Yes, I know you can imagine how thrilled I was when I opened this box at a brocante and found these hand-painted antique wallpaper designs. Instead of screaming YAHOO! I simply closed the box and asked, "How much for all of those papers?"

I sold them soon after.

Thankfully I have these photos to remind me how beautiful they were.

 

 

 

This one shows the design in progress, one part is completed and the other part has yet to be painted.

 

The color samples on the side indicating the color palette for this particular design. Frameable as is.

 

 

 

French la Vie Road Trip

 

 

After a wonderful visit with my daughter, son in law and grandson my friend @seeninprovence and I hit the brocantes in Paris. We had to take a taxi van to a rental car as we accumulated so many good finds. An unexpected road trip back to Provence, with a stuffed car, late in the evening we found a very charming manoir to spend the night. Breakfast was delightful, delicious by a roaring fire. Serendipity. Joy. I had to dance!

 

 

 

We stopped which added more time to the several hour journey... of course, we had to stop at a few brocantes along the way.

 

 

 

And because of this adventure, I am thinking why not offer a French la Vie Experience to Paris and create a road trip.

A Moment of Awe at the Brocante

 

The way the painting has crackled around the woman’s face it appears as a non threatening spider web, or a touch of mystical wonder? Fascinating to me. The crackling gives the painting a new story a curious perspective and dimension. My friend Gina bought it in Paris this weekend.

Later as I was walking around the brocante I heard a familiar laugh it caught me by surprise. I instantly turned around to see who it was but did not recognize anyone in particular, then a French man spoke and even though he wasn’t speaking English his voice was exactly like my Father’s. I closed my eyes and smiled imagining my Father at the brocante and then teared up with missing him.

Layers of wonder beyond the surface.

 

 

Happiness Shared

Paris Views

 

Here are some random views of Paris as I walked to and from Chelsea's apartment. Our apartment is in the fourteenth by Montparnasse and Chelsea's and Martin's apartment is in the tenth by Saint Martin's Canal.

If you would like to see more photos but mainly videos please follow my Instagram account and look at the daily stories. I posted several black and white videos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inside of Hermes next to the Bon Marche.

 

 

When in Paris one cannot miss the incredible architecture.

Honestly, you could spend a day on any of the public transport buses looking up.

 

 

Saint Jacques Tour

 

 

Best Souffles in town Recamier in the seventh.

 

I had the goat cheese with black cherries and thyme.

And the Grand Marnier...

Delicious.

 

 

 

Hotel de Ville, City Hall in the tenth by Chelsea and Martin's apartment.

 

 

 

Outdoor cafe rattan chairs are so very French.