French la Vie

The Gift of Silence

Rarely is silence truly heard. Quiet yes, where one can hear a distance car or white noise in the background. Utter silence where my other sense become more apparent that is silence. The gift of silence is the space it opens within us, anew room within ourselves to enter.

 

 

 

 

Our friends Arnelle and Rodger offered their amazing home to us for a "family moon" they called it. A gift to baby Gabriel, a time for our family to be together. Unfortunately, it did not work out when Sacha was here. We have simply enjoyed ever single minute together in their enchanting universe.

Today was the first day my wrist did not hurt. 

 

 

While sitting by the pool reading I heard an unfamiliar brief sound, it came from above but I couldn't imagine what it could be.

I looked around and saw nothing but blue skies, the olive trees, the last tiny blooms on the lavender plants and the stone walls. The sound came again, I saw two birds, was the sound of bird's wings? I couldn't believe that to be true. So I waited to hear again believing I was mistaken. Then two doves flew overhead and not only did I hear the same sound but I saw their wings flutter the same moment as I heard them.

The gift of silence is hearing sounds that rarely are heard within all the noise that deafens the song of nature.

 

 

 

 

Later as I took a walk down the lane along the stonewall, passed the fields of grapevines full of fruit nearly ready for harvest, with crickets singing I heard the wind rustling through the dry wildflowers.

Enchanting the simplicity of this moment, the gift so freely giving and so often not seen.

Need a Bookshelf Idea?

My friend Arnelle's bookshelf.

Very French.

Great ladder.

Repurposed.

B  R  A  V  O!

A New Place to Dream About

 

Our friends Arnelle and Rodger  (from San Francisco) have a stunning old home in France. They come here often and when we can we get together. This summer Chelsea and Martin were having a baby which meant our paths did not cross one another. Before Arnelle and Rodger left to go back to the States they offered us to take a mini vacation and to stay in their home in France. 

Chelsea, Martin, Yann, Gabriel and I are here...

I am never leaving.

I have loved their home since the very first time I came here, but now I am going to move in. Chelsea, Martin, and Yann are dreaming up schemes.

 

 

He is staying too.

Just don't tell his parents.

Old Photographs from the 1900s

 

His tilted hat and sailor shirt.

Somebody's great great grandfather.

How I would love such a photo of mine.

 

 

 

 

 

A few tattered notebook pages found in a box with some mix-matched trinkets. Photographs are plenty at the French brocantes so I shouldn't be surprised by them any more than seeing all the discarded antiques, but I am. Old photographs that were most likely stored and left upstairs in the attic or on the top of a closet shelf. Families come and go and with it, some things were left behind or were displaced after the war.

 

 

 

The pages contain various sizes of black and white photos of one family over several years in starting in 1907.

 

 

 

 

This photo feels like a painting. I love the shadows playing on the clothes.

Renoir!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A young woman in a beret runs behinds a horse-drawn carriage. A trunk sits on top of the carriage as someone leans out to say good-bye. The note below reads, "1906 Leaving for England."

 

 

 

 

Roses with a Bee

My hope was to take photos of what I found this week at the brocante. Though I ran out of daylight to take the photo of the item that I found.  Sometimes my good intentions become clouded by either my forgetfulness, over-planning or a diversion of the path actually I am rarely on a path, and my forgetfulness plays havoc on most of my best-laid plans. Daydreamers (or I should say someone like me,) tend to not only stop and smell the roses, they become the roses or in my case roses, a few thorns, with a bee in the middle.

Tomorrow we are going away for a few days on a much-needed break. Chelsea, Martin, and Baby are coming with us. Arnelle and her husband Rodger (blog readers) have graciously offered their beautiful home for us to stay in. My only regret is they won't be there.

xxx

What did you do Today?

 

Today was my first day back to the brocante since the end of June when there was a French la Vie.  

One-handed but I managed with Yann's help. Do you know that Yann started to help me at the brocante when I broke my wrist six years ago.

I found many fantastic things, but I saw much more than I could buy. 

What did you do today?

 

 

Roses Sent me Off

 

 

Rose petals are love notes from the other side.

 

They have to be as they are so simply lovely.

This morning before heading to the brocante I saw the roses outside my kitchen are in their second time this year.

 

 

 

 

 

Petal by petal.

Word for word... Love.

 

 

 

 

A pink Prince Charming.

 

 

 

Lovely graceful beautiful roses,

Thank you for blooming year after year outside my kitchen window.

 

xxx

Seeing Purpose in the Smallest Things

                                     

 

Seeing purpose in all things no matter how small, or undefined. Each small task, minuscule, insignificant seemingly unimportant

holds a reason for being.

The seed

the toiled dirt

the pollen

the spinning spool

the collected shell

The tool to carve the shell into a button

the needle

the stitch

the knot at the end

the hand the many hands that passed the button on to me.

 

Hand-sewn button on the backside of a 19th-century linen pillowcase.

Perfect harmony, and still intact. Whatever task I do, no matter how small, I want to give it my best.

 

Can I Post Baby Photos All Day Long?

 

 

 

 

 

Two Months Old Today

For the Love of Old Paper

 

Old papers carry stories, memories, personal messages that one day will be lost as we use less and less the written word.

What will be passed on will not be touchable. 

One of my fondest things to do when I go home to my Mother's house is to sit at her desk and pull out the Rolodex and see addresses and phone number written out in my Father's and Mother's hand.

I see them in their writing. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A sampling of old wallpapers that I use to have.

Some I regret giving or selling.

 

 

 

Paper bundles. I started selling paper bundles because my addiction got carried away. 

I still make them on demand.

 

 

When I worked with Georgianne Lane for Victoria Magazine we went to my friend Odile's shop to do a photoshoot. 

Odile loves old paper and textiles too.

 

 

Epiphany King's Cake feves or tokens that are baked in the cake.

If ever you want some let me know. Plenty of different designs and shapes. 

 

 

 

I cannot help myself when it comes to old papers. 

It is what I am drawn to the most at the brocantes.

 

 

 

I found this example on Pinterest without a link to who it belongs to. But I see my walls slowly looking like this.

My mom can say I am a wall hoarder.

 

 

This type of tinted engravings I just eat up blame it on the romantic in me.

They are easy to find at the brocantes.

 

 

 

 

For years I have been searching for old playing cards like these. I have found plenty of playing cards, but not of this design. One day I will.

Sweet Summer Days

 

Sweet summer days consist of being with this Butterball.

Thank you for your many encouraging comments, thoughts, and prayers. I am appreciative of all of you. I hope I encourage you as much as you encourage me. My life is fuller because of this community gathered here. I have seen the power of friendship over and over through this little blog.

My wrist is better than yesterday, though I took less medication today and it hurt a bit more so I am not doing that again.

On a completely different note, I am letting my hair go white because I am curious to see what it looks like. It is a bit weird to see the roots, and I have doubts, and most likely I won't like it as much but I started, it has been several weeks so far. I hope I do not chicken out (sorry chickens I shouldn't reference you.) I hope I do not change my mind. But I have been known to change my mind even before I have made my mind up.

 

 

 

This is us

This is us.

After our friend's marriage at the church,

before the cocktails and hours before the dinner where we would dance until three in the morning and be one of the first people to leave.

While dancing I would miss Yann's hand on a move that we have done a hundred times before, which would send me sailing without a boat to a distant shore.

Now to wash my hair the tricky part of having one free hand. The humbling part of an illness or an accident or mishap is realizing how much I take for granted. How much I am thankful for the health I have and the care I received and the many notes you sent me! Thank you.

Little by little this will heal, I am fortunate xxx

Wrist Update

 

The very first thing I thought of was, “Oh no I won’t be able to hold Gabriel!”

At least it isn’t broken. Painful more than when I did break it over six years ago. Has anyone had this happen before?

 

about last night

During a beautiful wonderful wedding, Yann and I were dancing, on one of our moves we missed each other's hands and I went flying backward landing most painfully on my hands. After several hours in the emergency ward, I have sprained badly my wrist that I severely broke several years ago the pin and plate are still there and that is why the sprain is so bad.

more later when I can see straight.

A Sweet Dream of Annie

 

Last night Annie came to me in my dreams and held my hand.

Dreams have a way of healing us, I was sad yesterday after saying goodbye to Sacha.

Annie walked with me along the river I had my hand in hers, she talked about roses and how I should pick some from her old garden. She leaned into me as I put my arm around her she gave me three dried roses

Laughing I said, "Hey, remember you use to tell me this was not the moment to cut roses and plant them, let along dried ones?" 

She smiled,

"Life has a way of surviving you'll see."

 

Selfie with Gabriel

Aleady Time to Say Goodbye

 

Where did that month go? An entire month passed about in seconds. Sacha returns to Seattle on Friday, but he is heading for Paris tomorrow.

In fairness to time, I must say that a chunk of his time was spent in Italy. You see over a year ago he met a young woman on the family cruise we went on. She was on the cruise with her family too. The two of them met and kept in touch over the internet. Italian Girlfriend speaks English, Sacha is studying Italian. Sacha spent nearly two weeks with her and her family (homemade pasta) in Verona. Verona! Romeo and Juliette, maybe I will reference her as Juliette? No, I think the Italian Girlfriend is her name for now. They spent one week in France with us, well with us but not really. They spend most their time discovery Provence and one another... as it should be.

Sacha will be back soon. His heart is in Italy and Italy is closer than Seattle.

xxx

 

 

 

 

Beautiful Pieces from the 1700s and Older.

 

As I am at the brocante more often than not I come across many varied beautiful pieces, some I know the origin, the history and or purpose, some I do not. Usually, when I do not know about something, I look things up, read about them, or ask other antique dealers what they know. The vast amount of knowledge goes beyond "this is a book for the 1700s" it connects dots of history, culture, art and in the end day to day life of another period and time.

France is a rich soulful country. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paperback books such as these are my utter downfall.

Better than purses, shoes, diamonds do I dare say food?

 

 

Faded tapestry.

Most likely if the colors were vivid as they once were I would not be as attraced. 

 

Paper old handwritten paper amazes me. That is survived. That someone's hand comes through the ages to my hand.

 

 

The other day I found a very small tinted engraving of the royal family. I was lucky enough to pay far less for it than what they usually go for, that is the advantage of going to a flea market. The disadvantage is that usually, one has to hit several fleamarkets to find one needle in the haystack. But when you find the needle the story is as good as any BIG FISH story.

 

 

 

If I found any of these pieces I would be as happy as a lark. Instead, I am happy to keep looking to find similar items. I found these images on the internet while trying to look up information on other pieces I have. 

The last photo is Louis 16th and Marie-Antoinette's wedding announcement.

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photos were taken from the internet, with keywords:

 

Cabinet of Curiosity

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life Unfolds

Being a kid in the country meant being free to do what I wanted to do pretty much all of the time. Unless I was at school or had chores to tend to. I grew up in a small rural town in California. Most people think of California as one long coastline with actors dotting the beaches and where everyone has a year-round tan. But California is more than that. It actually has farmland, my Father had a dairy farm and grew rice.

 

               

 

 

Surrounding my childhood home there were fields, a creek, a canal and a cemetery on the other side. Growing up we were told that having land mattered. If you had land you could live; with a patch of dirt, seeds, and water at least you would never starve. I felt safe knowing my Dad had land, that he knew how to farm and that my Mom knew how to cook. You see food and love went hand in hand. I had plenty of both.

 

 

               

 

 

As a child growing up on a farm I took for granted the freedom that the land had to offer. The wide space to run and play. I took for granted the daily lessons of nature. Most often I didn't realize the soothing sound of silence during the day. These natural parts of my day seemed unimportant until I went to the urban side of the world. Though the moment I went to live in the city where my feet touched concrete instead of the earth, where the sun and moon weren't visible at a glance but often peering between buildings and seasons were reduced to simple words such as it is too hot or too cold. I realized how lucky I was to have experienced dirt underneath my feet. The country became my "Emerald City." The lessons I gathered rose strong within me.

My French Husband grew up in Rennes a city in Northern France. His work is investing in urban dwellings, land called an urban jungle.

Far away are his city experiences, from my growing up in the country. 

When we first were married we lived in Paris for a few years, and as beautiful as it was, the moment my feet touched the dry earthy ground of Provence I knew then I could call France home. Of course, it helped to have my French Husband by my side, even if he wasn't a farmer...

If ever need be we could grow tomatoes in flower pots.

 

 

               

 

Isn't it funny how at times we can look back somehow somewhere see a connection, see a vague cosmic order? As if a string ties this to that, and makes us say,  "Isn't that funny..." and other times simply wonder how life unfolds?"

 

The Best Nap Ever

 

 

 

 

2020 Dates Set for the French La Vie

 

The dates for the French la Vie 2020

 

Please join me on:

 

 

 

April 7th - 14th over Easter 2020 ... Three places remain

 

May 12th - 19th ... Two places remain

 

September 8th to the 15th... Four places remain

 

September 29th to October 6th... Four 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 two to three more friends of yours. 

 

Hopefully, we can see each other next year,

 

Corey

 

A New Chapter in an Old Book

 

Worn, faded covers, tattered, spotted, aged, a page-turner in their day.

Eighteenth-century paper-back books gathered, what do they say? I have no idea... I bought them for their covers.

On the pages of my life, what is written? Do I like the story that is unfolding? Is the voice of the critic heard? Are there chapters I'd like to skip? Dog-eared pages? Notes on the side? Stories left untold? What is the title? Incomplete sentences waiting ...

Certainly becoming a Grandmother has added a new storyline and hopefully many chapters to come.

xxx

 

Hands Up

 

The first photo with my new camera a Lumnix 100 that I did not ask for and was very surprised by my family who gifted me with it. Sacha said that he was tired of seeing photos taken with my cell phone. The camera is super small and very light and will take me a while to figure it out. 

Gabriel's hand at Six weeks.

There in that little palm, I noticed a strain of Chelsea hair and fuzzies from his blanket.

Note to self: micro lens notices everything.

French la Vie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

soon I will post the dates for the 2020 French la Vie Journeys. 

If you are interested please send me an email. 

The Meaning of Stamps

 

 

Most of us will be familiar with the Language of Flowers. In Victorian times flowers were often sent to convey messages. Even today roses still represent love and white flowers, a sense of purity. However few will be aware of the Language of Stamps.

Many letters posted in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century had stamps affixed to envelopes and picture postcards in all sorts of odd positions and angles.

This was due to the development in England of a ‘language of stamps,’ which soon spread around the world. The position of the stamp on the envelope was supposed to relay a message to the receiver. I imagine that people who lived on the edge of Society found this a convenient way of expressing their feelings. I wonder, too, if spies or criminals had stamp languages of their own…

The problem of postmarking the stamps placed on various parts of the envelope finally became so great, that postal administrations of the world introduced regulations requiring the sender of mail to affix stamps in the upright corner of the envelope.

Collectors of postal history and picture postcards should be on the look-out for envelopes and postcards with stamps affixed in odd positions, as they could well form an interesting thematic/topical collection.

 

 

Note: Should PDb members have scans of such items in their collections, we should be pleased to publish them and include them with this article.

Here are some of the interpretations of the stamp language:

Stamp Positions & Meaning

Upside down, top left corner = I love you

Crosswise on top left corner = My heart is another’s

Centre of envelope, at top = Yes

Center of envelope, at bottom = No

Straight up and down, any position = Goodbye sweetheart

Upside down, top right corner = Write no more

At right angle, top right corner = Do you love me?

At right angle, top left corner = I hate you

Upright top right corner = I desire your friendship

Upright in line with surname = Accept my love

Upside down in line with surname = I am engaged

At right angle in line with the surname = I long to see you

Centred on right edge = Write immediately!

http://www.philatelicdatabase.com/nostalgia/the-language-of-stamps/

 

 

Postcards that Tell a Story

 

 

 

 

 

The French Wedding Babysitter

 

 

Martin's best friend since childhood is marrying today. Guillaume was Martin's best man at his wedding last year and Martin is his best man today. A French wedding usually starts in the morning at the City Hall since by law you must marry in the City Hall where you reside. Then and only then if you want can you marry in a church or pronounce your vows in another venue. Usually, the second part, the Church wedding takes place later in the afternoon. French weddings usually go on all night long. At Chelsea and Martin's wedding, I went to bed at 4:30 am I was an early bird.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Chelsea is breastfeeding and Gabriel is six weeks old today, I was invited as the babysitter. The best job ever. I am staying at the Chateau where the reception is taking place, the ballroom is steps away. When Chelsea needs to breastfeed, or when Gabriel needs Chelsea it is easy for her to pop into my room. So far all is good, Gabriel is sleeping and I am writing this blog post. 

If I could be in two places at once I would take some photos, instead, Chelsea has sent me a few to use.

 

What an enchanted summer this is. 

I added the photos of Chelsea and Martin after I posted this blog.

Nearly midnight and the dinner is barely started.

 

Homemade Tomato Sauce and a Summer Evening

 

Homemade tomato sauce is what you do after you have eaten enough tomatoes to make ketchup go out of business. Annie always added hand-picked then dried Marjolaine to her homemade tomato sauce. She spoiled me by giving me a jar of her own dried Marjolaine each summer. Now I am on my own which means I am probably eating weeds. Honestly, I could eat it by the spoonful on a salad or mozzarella. It is deliciously sweet.
French Husband is the one who makes the tomato sauce. He follows Annie's recipe. I boil pasta, sliced buffalo mozzarella, pour wine, turn on the music and put my feet on the table (wishful thinking about the feet part... usually I prepare the jars.)

 

 

 

Fortunately, we have a farmer in our village who sells his homegrown vegetables. We are regular customers. French Husband has even gone out and helped him pick. Though I don't think that is advantageous to the farmer. French Husband eats more than he picks. I have seen him: Knife in his back pocket, a baguette and a bottle of wine under his arm, a chunk of cheese under his hat, garlic in his breast pocket- tomatoes on the vine, the cicadas singing, the blue provencal sky as a blanket.

He knows a good thing about summertime.

 

 

 

 

In a large pan saute a couple of yellow onions and cloves of garlic in olive oil.

Add a ton of chopped tomatoes, some salt, a handful of Marjolaine and some white wine.

 

 

 

Slowly cook for half a century.

Go out and enjoy the day, let the tomato sauce reduce, then blend to the consistency you like.

 

 

Cook some pasta, drain it, then pour in the homemade tomato sauce. Wrap it up in a blanket, carry it to the garden, spread out the blanket, put down some plates, take out the knife in your back pocket, tear off a chunk of baguette, uncork a bottle of red wine, grate some cheese, take off your hat, listen to the cicadas under the evening sky, while you twirl some pasta around your fork. 

 

....................................

 

Summer Garden Fresh

When Friend’s Children Come to Visit

 

 

 

The day started with Sacha making home made pancakes.

Amylia came to visit us from California, she is the daughter of one of my most treasured friends... Erika.

 

 

The pancakes literally made me gain two pounds.

I had to eat them with maple syrup.

Sacha’s pancakes are the bomb.

 

 

 

 

 

Natacha came over with her lovely boyfriend from

 New Zealand. Natacha’s family use to live in France and moved to New Zealand over 12 years ago. We miss you xxx

 

 

 

 

 

One Word

 

 

                             

When we find a place that calls our name in a way that it feels like a sacred song

as if hearing poetry where the lines become arrows piercing our very being.

Where doubt does not enter, and freedom extends her hand with a nod as if saying come sit down be yourself with me. 

When we find a place where our voice echos back a song that we know, a song the sings deeper and higher than we have ever dreamed possible, the song that chants our name in such a way that makes us feel anything is possible.

When we find a place that knows us before we knew it, a place that says...yes you! 

Where we are set free and like that everything within us finds a place and breathes.

Sit still with your poem, tell me one word that describes you.

 

This New Life

 

This is new life. This gift. This new little person has captured every bit of me. 

Hold Close What You Love

Seashells

 

 

First, I must say I use to collect seashells. But that is not why I gave Chelsea her name. 

Secondly, my daughter's prenom-first name is, "CHELSEA." My Father-in-law, a man of very few words, let alone English ones, said to me at her birth: "Chelsea is, "Sea-Shell, backward, non?"

The French pronounce CH as SH, my daughter's name, therefore, is pronounced, "Shel-sea".

When I was pregnant I mentioned to Yann that I liked the name; "Chelsea." Yann looked at me, mouthed the name without any sound coming out, then despite himself he said, "Chilli, you said Chilli!" That should have been my first indicator that English names were not pronounced the same in French, and picking a name that sounds the same in both countries should be foremost in importance.

But I didn't catch that name pronouncing detail back then.

English pronounce Yann as Yawn. French pronounce Corey as Core-Ay. Names like Anna sound the same as does Laura or Mark, well more or less the same, but not nearly as butchered as Chelsea. Chelsea was often called, "Jealsee" by her teachers when a child in school.

Luckily, in France everyone gets by with Monsieur or Madame, names are something reserved for a future relationship. Though, when you have a prenom that isn't French, you are left as a Madame Americaine forever.

Hence Gabriel sounds close enough Gay-briel in English, and Gab riel in French.

I just call him baby.

A Memory of Chelsea as a Child

Child's Play 1991

 

"What can I give her to play with?" My neighbor asked herself. Glancing around her beautiful apartment my eyes could only see one fragile object after another. "Don't worry, I have plenty of toys in my diaper bag." Though my reply fell on deaf ears, she continued opening buffets and shuffling things around.

 

While I was admiring the entrance walls, which were covered in thin hand-painted leather, something that had belonged in her family since the 15th century- Chelsea had crawled under the dining room table and was pressing the servant's bell button. Jeanette came down from the hallway, where the kitchen was located, whipping her hands on her apron she smiled, "Oh little one what is your desire?"

 

Madame Lombard waved her finger, "Ca-va ça-va, I have found something to interest her." With that, she added, "Jeanette, we will take our tea in the salon." Picking up Chelsea, I followed her into another stunning room, were in the corner sat a harp that belonged to Marie-Antoinette. How was I going to manage my baby from touching that, plus sip my tea lady-like?

 

"Come here Chérie," as she placed a shoebox with wine stoppers on the rug, "look at these shiny things." All I could think about was how someone's tiny hands were going to have a field day tossing them about. Concerned I questioned whether it was a good idea to let Chelsea play with the crystal wine bottle stoppers? Without lifting her head up she reasoned, "Bien sur, not a problem, these things are old and the bottles are long gone. Anyway, Chelsea is "sage," she won't throw them." Next to the shoebox of stoppers, Madame Lombard put a silver wine bottle holder.

 

While we sat on the signed Louis 15th armchairs sipping tea, Chelsea seemed to be under a spell. Like a Princess, she was picking up the stoppers as if they were precious jewels and placing them into the wine bottle holder.

 

At the end of the afternoon, with kisses given to both sides of our cheeks, Madame Lombard had Jeanette gather up the stoppers in a "sac plastic," for Chelsea to take home.

 

Brocante Items on Instagram

 

 

 

 

 

 

Little sweet things collected over time and now going across the sea to new homes. I have been posting brocante finds on Instagram. If you are interested in seeing more please follow me under my name. 

 

Smelling the Roses

 

 

Smelling the roses wasn’t a hit.

They do not have a scent that is why!

wink,

 

Enjoying Every Moment

 

Sipping and savoring these sacred summer day moments  

without gulping down the deliciousness.

Just like That...One Month Old Today

 

 

of course, I knew that a baby would change everything. I thought I knew what everything meant.

I knew my heart would expand that memories of my childhood and my daughter's childhood would all come back to me.

That I would see life full circle a thanksgiving rich with memories of my grandparents, my parents, my brothers,

aunts, uncles, cousins, son, daughter, and husband.

                                  I knew that I would want to hold Gabriel endless hours from the first rays to the last flicker of light,

and that I would be able to be better than I am because the path would be easier to follow with innocent love leading me.

                                                                      But somehow somewhere a door opened a passage unfolded

                                      As if my feet become wings light filled every single cell in my body -- in my heart -- oh God my soul.

A baby that tiny little wonderment, that magical mystical baby...

Life has expanded beyond my imagination what was past, and the present and those tomorrows that I will never ever know

blended into something I never expected nor knew.

Let's just call it the Big Bang, a firework of indescribable love.

My Mother Says I am a Hoarder

 

 

 

 Hoarder:

"Compulsive hoarding, also known as hoarding disorder, is a behavioral pattern characterized by excessive acquisition of and an inability or unwillingness to discard large quantities of objects that cover the living areas of the home and cause significant distress or impairment."

 

Okay, I like stuff. No one ever called me a minimalist. Though my closet isn't full. My garden shed has more books than tools in it that is odd I admit. Decorating, creating "mis en scenes" I adore. But does that mean I am a hoarder? I don't buy plates anymore cause I have enough plates for a sit-down wedding for maybe 1000 guests mix and match that is. I am exaggerating. Does that make me a hoarder? I sell stuff. I give away plenty too. I am not possessive of most of the things I have. An empty space says to me, "Fill me."

Blank spaces or just pregnant spaces in the waiting.

 

 

 

 

Last year when my mom came to my daughter's wedding, she came into our home looked around, and with a deadpan face said, "Yep you are a haorder. You and your Godmother are alike."

My Godmother isn't a hoarder though she does have way more stuff than I do. Grant it she has been collecting longer than I have and has a much bigger house. Gulp. My mom likes stuff but she doesn't collect little bits and pieces. My mom goes big. I go all over.

I am not a hoarder I do not have trails nor pathways in my house.

 

 

 

Admittingly, broken things do not bother me. My son Sacha use to say, "We have chairs you cannot sit on, mirrors you cannot see yourself in, Lights that are well worthless for brightening a space. But hey it looks good."

Practical isn't a fan of beauty.

Pretty is, practical does.

 

 

 

So I have a few antique linen towels.

I use them. Well, not these because they aren't easy to get to.

But that doesn't mean I am the H word, mom!

I know she was teasing sort of.

 

 

 

Collections speak, kind of like a large family, it fascinates.

Right?

My mom pointed to my domes, "Hoarder," she proclaimed. But I think she wanted some so that is why she said that. I have six domes left I sold plenty. Though you know if I had a bigger house well I would have kept them.

Having collections doesn't make a person a hoarder or does it?

 

 

Cutting boards, old ironstone, straw baskets, and trays. 

I guess the only way to stop is to stop going to the brocantes.

Gabriel my newborn grandson has helped with that. As long as he is here there is no other place I would rather be.

If I am a hoarder I am a happy one.

A Day of Newness

 

 

Early in the morning soon after Baby Gabriel breastfed I took him for a walk in his stroller to give Chelsea a needed few hours of rest.

As soon as I stepped outside my senses turned towards imagining life through the senses of Gabriel.

We walked along the babbling river with the century-old Plantain branches creating a canopy overhead. The filtered light danced around Gabriel's plump face as the breeze waved through the leaves and brought a scent of oleander, pine, and fig. Taking each moment in as if it were the first time letting my senses burst with newness as I experienced the smell, sight, sound... as I imagined Gabriel was doing. Whispering the names to him of what our senses were encountering...

Water cool on this summer day hear it running to the sea.

Figs recently gathered but the scent remains.

The gravel underfoot makes a crackling sound.

The warmth of the sun rays.

Dogs barking, morning birds singing, a symphony of cigales. I ran your fingers over leaves, bark, water from the fountain on the square, rosemary and a remaining rose. Butterflies gracefully flew around. Magical mystical Sacred day if only every day I would be aware of its gift.

The world was a prayer of life, even the air was tasted in gulps and gentleness.

 

 

 

 

Love is ...

 

One of you wrote in regard to having children:

"You love your child, you fall in love with grandchildren"

Oh how true.

I am head over in heels falling in love deeper and deeper I go.

Gabriel three weeks.

 

Dancing on the Table

We were dancing to Bob Marley because Martin sings his songs to the baby. As Martin had to work in Paris these last two days we played Bob Marley for the baby, but it wasn't quite the same. Chelsea took Gabriel upstairs to breastfeed and Sacha and I stayed downstairs and danced. Yes, I am standing on the coffee table because Chelsea and Sacha are much taller than me and I wanted to feel taller. 

Happy feels so good. Having everyone home (Martin returns tomorrow.) is the best gift ever. I think I will be dancing for some time to come. 

 

xxx

 

 

 

Sacha Meets Gabriel

What Do I Look For at the Brocante

 

 

When asked what I look for at the brocante I answer I look for anything that speaks to me, I look for things for our home, to sell, to give, to understand, to admire...

Medals.

But the thing is once I start looking at one thing it leads to another and then another and then it takes me on a quest to find one older or more unusual, which leads to stories... it just doesn't stop. The deeper I go into the brocante the more curious I become and the more I discover.

It is a wonderland of a rabbit hole to fall into.

 

 

Like a key that opens up a drawer to a chest where linens have rested and in between the linens are pressed flowers and postcards, stamps, letters received or never sent, and candy boxes with buttons, and cards, then there are books, and unfinished sewing projects with the thread and needle still attached, and a needle case, or a notebook with sketches, and a box of pastels.

 

 

 

An unsigned painting with tears in just the right places that at first glance it looks like insects.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and broken element like pieces of a puzzle, "Where did this come from and where does it belong?" 

 

 

 

 

 

The brocante feeds my soul: Teaches me about history, art, faith, creativity and the beauty of everyday life and living.

What do I look for at the brocante?

EVERYTHING.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drinking in Life

 

Holding you in my arms the clock ticks 

Nights days blend into a motionless dance

sung by church bells, the nightingale, the owl, the lark

a stream of sunlight moves slowly across the floor.

Sacredness interlaces us in

a bond of undeniable rhythm. 

As my newborn drinks in life.

 

 

Real Blooms

Real Blooms

after years

without much

perhaps a stitch or pin to a hat or collar

perfuming imagination

no need for water or pruning, nor sunshine

real blooms 

the unfolding beauty of age.

 

And They Danced...

 

 

July 6th, 2018

One Year Anniversary.

How they danced and are dancing still.

A year later the two have made one.

 

 

This was one of my favorite moments, Chelsea and Martin entered the reception and instantly started dancing which lead to everyone dancing before dinner. Martin twirled Chelsea around in a circle of sparklers.

Magical.

 

What a glorious love story may it never end.

 

 

Between Heaven and Earth

 

 

 

There is a place between heaven and earth,

between the mind and the heart, 

between ourselves and each other, a sacred place where the imagination grows,

where the spirit expands,

where life fully lives.

The door is continuously open for any of us to enter,

the risk is only in falling deeply in love and not returning the same as we were.

Vulnerable to love to the course it leads.