Autumn days. Gathering the abundant harvest at the end of summer. Canning the last of the fruit, making pomegranate jam. Watching the first leaves dance down to the ground, grabbing from the upper shelf a sweater to wear, using the rake, stacking the cord of wood in the shed, smelling the fall aroma in the air.
The latest video of baby Gabriel showed him doing something new.
Devouring his father's nose.
No hungry wasn't an issue.
Maybe it was a sign of affection?
Though he hasn't mastered gentleness he was chewing mostly.
Nevertheless, I find him adorable !
Dreams are said to be the language of God, symbolic messages.
Dreaming is said to be a way our minds or inner being processes the day's events, thoughts and feelings.
Dreams are a way of putting the puzzle of daily life in order. A way of capturing the unconscious. A path to understanding the nuances that escape us.
Do you remember your dreams?
Most of us do not remember our dreaming hours. Yet while we sleep our dreams speak regardless of our memory of them.
The dreams that do come to the waking mind are vivid, begging it seems to be understood.
I like to think of dreams as songs: Often a song is playing in the background, as it plays I might feel it without being aware of its words or message. Later without knowing why, I catch myself singing the verse over and over.
There is a message if I take the time to listen. Once I listen I often stop singing the verse, as if the song has been heard and the message no longer needs to repeat itself.
"The forgotten language of dreams, myths, and fairytales."
Shakespeare writes in Macbeth... Dreams are the chief nourishers in life's feast.
Books I have enjoyed:
The Use of Enchantment and Fairytales.
Memories, dreams and reflections.
The first page in a century-old book.
A bronze drawer pull, 1700s.
French antique textiles.
A worn silver thimble.
Delicate scissors for fine lace or needlework.
Boxes with jewelry elements.
Silver cup
Card Holder
Angel Wings
Bedsheets
Medals
French antique love letters are hard to come by. Love letters aren't just between two lovers, the one above was written to someone's grandfather.
The love letters that I found are on embossed paper (14 x 10 inches). Most have paper flowers and birds on them, often tied with a pastel ribbon. The words written are poetic, well chosen, tenderly scripted.
The love letters were not from the same person, though from the same family. Letters to a husband, a mother, a grandfather, a daughter, a husband to be...
A love story
A family's story.
Spoken.
Held.
Treasured.
Marguerite.
A child.
A love letter.
No age is too young, nor too old...
Love.
A love letter to start the year.
1898.
The differences between France and America are subtle. Take Mums and pumpkins for example.
Mums are an Autumn flower that arrives in force in October. They spill out from the floral shops onto the streets creating a parade of magnificent color. Just as pumpkins shout out Autumn in America, mums are the flower that says Autumn in France. Pumpkins are food in France, were in the States pumpkins are more for decoration.
A neighbor brought us three beautiful pumpkins I put them on the table for display, do you want to guess how many French friends asked me, "What are you doing with the pumpkins?"
When invited to a dinner party it is a thoughtful gesture to bring something to the hostess. Candy, wine, or flowers is the typical avenue. (FLASHBACK 1988 - Why not bring a Mum plant I thought and bought one that seemed to be a perfect ball of gold. When I came home French Husband told me it was a plant that symbolized All Soul's Day. "It is the flower we take to the graveside of those we love who have gone before us."
Oh! scratch that flower off the list. Paperwhites, can I bring them instead? Do they have anything marked on them as unusual or special?
Mums are not a flower to give to "the living" in France.
Any flower will do, I like them all don't you? I wonder if I brought a pumpkin as a hostess gift if the French would find that insulting? Most likely just odd.
Pumpkin on Penne Pasta
Cut the pumpkin into cubes and steam until nearly cooked, firm but tender.
Slice and saute (in olive oil) three or four cloves of garlic, add pine nuts and saute until lightly golden brown.
Blend (do not puree) the sauteed garlic, pine nuts with Parmesan cheese and fresh cilantro.
In the same pan that you sauteed the garlic, saute until tender the steam pumpkin (add olive oil if needed.)
Turn the burner off, then add the garlic pine nut mixture to the pumpkin. Stir until well mixed.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Serve on al dente penne pasta.
A sweet postcard:
A little boy wearing a long white apron with a straw hat tilted on his head,
holding a bouquet of roses and mums that he has hidden behind his back
as he leans at the doorway to see if the person he cares for is near.
Sweet.
Brocante, I know and you know that I have the brocante bug bad. It is an illness I live with daily. Love it. Every aspect of it. It doesn't matter the side effects it brings: Big, small, tattered, worn, under cover, early mornings... it is worth it.
It doesn't matter what the brocante brings, it fascinates my imagination, makes me giddy, jump out of the car before it even stops giddy!
Or in other words it makes me nutty.
Thankfully I live in France, where my brocante bug can have a daily fix if need be.
1900s Trivet Tray
French Antique pot de creme.
Chocolate not included.
French Brocante Religious Statues.
My monastic days inspire what I am drawn too.
1800s French Tinted Map Engravings
1800s romantic engravings for yesteryear.
Hand woven linen towels from the 1800s.
Glass relic holder with angel design top.
Large wooden base, iron stamp to use to print on fabric, to create a monogram.
Antique pocket watch case with chain.
Not gold, not precious... practical.
1800s French antique hand made fine lace.
Made by loving hands, never used.
Created for the pleasure of creating, not for a purpose.
Pink covered box with folded pieces of paper that have chaton crystals (chaton crystals are used in jewelry making.) stored in them.
French antique baby pink silk covered jewel box.
French letters from 1833
French 1850s prayer card.
That is one long-held prayer.
Passed down over and over in one prayer book after another.
1800s fine damask towel.
Holy water bedside font.
1800s linen flour sacks. Tight weave helps prevent the flour from escaping.
French antique clay marbles,
handmade.
1900s.
Before cat eyes.
Oh Brocante Bug I love the infection or affection you have given me!
Guy and Bibi the owners of Pavillon de Galon have created an enchanting garden in Cucuron a small village close to Aix en Provence. I was fortunate to go there today while helping with the Red Shed Vintage Tour. Isn't it a sign of happiness when you leave a place and your mind still overflows with images and wonder? The scent alone was one of the most magical moments that I will remember for years to come. Every sense was caressed: Sight, Touch, Smell, Hearing, Tasting and the sixth sense of spiritual wonder beyond words as it should be.
I posted plenty of photos and videos in my stories on Instagram.
Guy's guided tour of their labor of love their garden was a poetic masterpiece, he painted and planted words that literally bloomed before us. Enchanting!
The sun called out to enjoy the day.
Perfect as today I am helping Red Shed Vintage Tours lead 10 women around Provence.
Today started in Aix.
Any meal in France, don't be intimidated by the linen tablecloths
and napkins... that is just how it is in France.
Eating is dining even at McDonald's.
Rarely, do you see anyone walking around eating or carrying a cup, and when you do it most likely is a tourist, or Corey Amaro eating a pain au chocolat at the brocante.
In France, you do not need a clock to tell the time. Just see what the French are eating or not eating. Then you will know the time.
I would say never, but that would be too extreme, so I'll say:
Rarely do the French eat in between meals... Quelle scandale!!
Breakfast before 9 and breakfast is not hash browns and scrambled eggs.
So don't bother looking for a breakfast menu unless you are in a hotel.
Zero snacks
No eating in between meals... until lunch.
Lunch 12:30 until 2:00pm,
Coffee at 2ish,
Goutee (a snack) tea, Hot chocolate, a pastry something little and sweet from 4ish until 6pm,
Aperitif 6ish until 8pm
Dinner is served after 8pm.
When I first lived in France, the best time to go shopping, to avoid the lines, was between noon and 3pm.
Blurry iPhone photo!
Those flowers were fake, I couldn't believe it. I asked the waiter, "Who is the florist?"
He replied, "They are fake."
"Wow! Fooled me! Okay, who is the florist?" I asked again.
He looked at me like I was oddily...."FaaaaaaaaaaaaaaKe."
I took a photo anyway.
We had a reservation a must when the group is so large.
We had a seat by the window. Lovely.
In France, the formule is a pre-selected menu by the chef.
Better priced. It is also called, "The Menu" or "Fixe Prix"
If you are in France and go out for a meal look for it, often it is at the back of the menu.
Tips are included in every restaurant.
By the open market.
Open Market in Aix every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.
Must have:
Creme Brulee!
You know how in the States when you eat an Oreo cookie (as kids) you split it apart and scrap the white frosting out with your teeth? Well in France before you take a bite into a Creme Brulee you tap it with your spoon and listen for the crack.
Sorry I didn't save you a bite.
I will be with Valarie and her group for the week.
Have you ever had homemade gnocchi?
Have you ever had homemade gnocchi made by an Italian?
If not put it on your bucket list.
Sacha has loved pasta since he was old enough to eat. He would cry for pasta and literally wanted it breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My mother in law was shocked that we would even think to make him pasta for breakfast. There was a children's book called Strega Nona, and one of the repetitive lines in the book, "Pasta, pasta, pasta pot make me some pasta nice and hot for it is time for us to sup, pasta, pasta, pasta pot." I read that book so often that I still can remember the lines.
Last night Sacha's Italian Girfriend from Verona made her Nona's gnocchi recipe. they were light as air. Amazing. Sacha made a Roquefort and walnut sauce.
I was happy to set the table!
Sacha's Italian Girlfriend's Nona's Recipe
One big dark-skinned potato peeled one potato per person
Boil the potatoes in salted water until tender
Mash the potatoes until they are smooth, creamy, luscious wonder
Then put the creamy luscious wonder on a floured cloth and knead
and knead,
with more sifted flour and salt,
and knead, and knead and knead until the dough bounces back.
Nothing more than potatoes, flour, and salt
and a ton of kneading.
Take a handful of dough and roll it into a long snake on the floured cloth
Cover the snake roll with a cloth and roll another until all the dough is rolled into snakes.
Then cut the dough with a knife into bite-size pieces.
With a fork roll forward and back to make soft ridges in the dough.
Cover the bite-size gnocchi "pillows" with a floured cloth.
Yes, you will have plenty of clothes to wash afterward.
Then gently put some of the gnocchi in boiling salted water when they float to the top take them out with a slotted spoon and add more gnocchi to boil in the pan.
Add sauce and devour.
Died and gone to heaven is worth saying.
Making pasta-loving pasta
They found each other happily.
The saying, "Home is where the heart is", is certainly true especially when nearly everyone is under one roof. Sacha came home to see his Italian Girlfriend, Chelsea came home with Gabriel, and Martin was here last weekend.
Yann is wearing a gift from his birthday (which was last month) a shower cap which is called a "Charlotte" in French. He says it is the best Charlotte ever. I wouldn't know as I prefer a bathtub over a shower.
Sacha came home with a small printer that prints out photos from a cell phone making them look like Polaroids. Click here for more information.
Baby Gabriel and Chelsea went back to Paris after a nearly week-long visit, my arms gained muscle carrying that Chunky Monkey around.
A small miracle he slept 2.5 hours going home on the train which was his longest sleep since birth.
Next month Chelsea, Baby Gabriel and I are going to Willows for a visit. Home is where the heart is and my heart has two homes.
Where is your heart at home?
I know to whom these belong.
Gabriel three and a half months.
A dumpling. I am surprised he hasn’t been gobbled up.
No need to add sugar.
The morning started with Gabriel and I sneaking out with the strollers for croissants, pain au chocolates, apple turnovers, and a baguette. Not even the scent of freshly baked goods could wake up Gabriel so I walked around the village: Baby bundled up in a stroller, whiffs of buttery croissants, a blue Provencal sky, bumpy cobble stones that I never noticed before, falling leaves and one happy Vavie (my Grandmother name that was the same name as my Azorean Grandmothers and my Mom's grandmother name, and now mine too.)
Oh and Chelsea, Martin, Sacha, and his Italian girlfriend too.
Summer is a royal feast for the senses. The color of the season surprises me over and over again, it never grows old, nor ordinary or expected. The season's gift is appreciated. Oh, that Provencal blue sky against the golden wheat. Gasp. It is the first time, isn't it? Do I smell baked bread?
I know I do.
The earth soaks in Provence: thyme, lavender, rosemary, fennel and certainly the Mistral stirs it then with ease, passes through the air, tangles with the rain soaks within the rocky clay soil to the roots soaring to the vines... and the wine flows with the scent of it all.
Abundantly.
Abundant life.
Pleasure under my feet and above my head.
French countryside wealth.
I will miss this summer it was one of the best.
When each bite is delicious, when you do not have to search for the flavor, then a little is enough.
I once read somewhere, that when you take a bite of something without much flavor our appetite keeps searching, possibly eating more to find the depth of flavor. But when we taste something truly divine then we sit back and savor the moment.
Wear the crown.
The one that rests upon your heart.
The one that has been with you since you were born.
Hold it, feel it, admire it, treasure it.
Some might say it is a crown,
but we know better than that.
It is a halo, a sacred gift, life-giving love.
Months have gone by where I have been asking myself why do I have a writer's block? Not that I am a writer per se, but someone who has a little blog that floats aimlessly. Not that floating is bad, or aimlessly isn't a direction. In these last several months I have been toying with myself, possibly not really listening, avoiding, maybe even standing still. Sure I have plenty going on, and happy is in the equation, cause I am, nevertheless, a writer's block, a wall with cracks is before me.
Time is needed to write, writing involves reflection, reflection brings up pieces of the heart, mind, and soul, and dirt, chaos and a chunk of "what is this"? Time helps sort it out, floating aimlessly is an art of letting go and eventually letting it be.
Maybe it is not a writer's block but more of a stirring pot... where things come up and go back down. Maybe, I am asking myself,
"Where do I want to go, be, do... instead of floating contently. "
A month ago I listed the 2020 French la Vie Journeys and am grateful how fast most of them have filled up. There are a few spots left so I am listing them here in case you are interested or know of a friend who might be.
On the French la Vie Journeys we will focus on the brocante though there is so much more that we will experience.
The French la Vie starts in April until October. I have two more groups this season and then a pause until April 2020.
During that pause, I will restart my Brocante Online. I had to put the Brocante Online on the side as I could not manage to lead the groups, helping my friends with their home in Cassis, buying for my clients who have shops and cuddling a baby. I thought I had more energy, stamina, and time than I actually did. Somewhere in that vast plan, I forgot that I needed to have a life and sleep.
A friend mentioned early on, "That is a packed year ahead ..." I should have listened.
My parents often said to me, "You cannot keep burning the candle at both ends."
They were right.
Loving what I do is the reason.
I simply cannot get enough of the brocante,
of living in France, of experiencing the lifestyle it offers, of embracing the beauty that is literally everywhere.
Living full throttle but wanting to push the pedal, even more, is a paradox for an introvert. I know how to be an extravert but love to be alone and gather my energy in those times. That is another thing I forgot to do was give myself time to breathe and be alone.
Maybe that is why today I took a two-hour nap at ten this morning.
The dates for the French la Vie 2020
Gabriel three months old.
Photos via Chelsea
Twenty five years ago I met Kristin at a brocante, she had a stand there and I bought a stack of bowls from her. We have been friends ever since. Both of us have remained crazy for the brocante. Though Kristin is magical as my friend Allison said, "Kristin lives as a real-life Beatrix Potter character. Certainly, as night falls she transforms into a mouse, and her home a storybook."
Kristin loved this thought of Allison's.
To understand you have to meet Kristin and enter her home. Every French la Vie group has visited her and everyone wants to return. Here are a few photos that barely capture her universe.
The French la Vie group went to the home of an antique dealer friend of mine who opened up her trunk to show us some of her favorite antique pieces. Above is a calligraphy piece where the intricate details of the script were beyond anything I have even seen in calligraphy.
Each piece she showed us was more beautiful than the next.
(an example of a men's garter)
A folder for a map.
a piece of hand-painted wallpaper
Embroidery silk crest.
The trunk held much more but I became enthralled with what I was looking at and intent listening to what she was saying
that I stopped taking photos...
Photos below via ...to see more click here.
The beautiful basilica Saint-Maximin. Over 700 years old. The monumental royal basilica was raised by the Charles 2nd d'Anjou in the honor of Mary Magdalene. It is one of very few French historical organs which miraculously survived the French revolution. We had the organ played during Chelsea's and Martin's wedding. The skull and bones of Mary Magdalene are in the crypt there is a glass dome said to contain the relic of her skull. The oldest church in France is the basilica of Saint-Pierre-aux-Nonnains in Metz. In Paris, the oldest church is the Church of Saint-Germain-des-Prés is built in the 6th century. In Provence the oldest church is in Aix is the Cathédrale Saint-Sauveur d'Aix-en-Provence. The cathedral is built on the site of the 1st-century Roman forum of Aix.
Provence is waiting for you, and so am I.
xxx
A small town not far away from where I live had a brocante today. When we first arrived we were unfortunately greeted with vendors selling used clothing and toys which isn't bad if that is what you are looking for, but in our case, it was far from what we had expected. Nevertheless, part of brocanting is the hunt so off we trodded hoping to find our pot of gold. One thing is certain if you go to small-town French brocantes you will see plenty that you do not want, but when you do find something you want the reward will be the price.
We left with armfuls and very pleased with our morning hunt.
Allison, Sarah, Deanna, and Sue hamming in up with not century-old pottery pots of
Olives, pickles, mustard, and honey.
I hope you will join me one day.
xxx
The beginning of the French la Vie Journey with Allison Wood Sue Comporato, Sarah Lammey Webb and Deanna Bailey. What a sign of friendship made when a group returns for a second time! We ended the evening at a local wine bar where Deanna, a wine expert led the wine through red white and rose. I hope you will join me one day for an unforgettable journey through Provence. Thank you, Deanna, for the photo please note all the glasses are empty does that mean I drank it all by myself?
Spent the afternoon with my friend Mo, one of the most creative generous souls I know.
The French la Vie Group wanted to see Mo again as they visited her the first time they came to Provence with me.
Imagine the connection to someone, their craft, the invitation to know Provence off the beaten track and to want to do it again.
One love feast after another, a constant circle of love.
When you come to see me, let's go see Mo who lives a few miles away.
To see more of her amazing black clay pottery glazed in white follow this link:
http://revesdargile.canalblog.com/
A blue-ribbon with hand-painted flowers. One of many in a trunk at the brocante.
What is it about lace, ribbons, bows... girl fluff? Why do these trunks, and there are many, make me stop and look? Given that I can't stand to cut into old textiles, I usually go home and add the girl fluff to a basket.
Oh, those darn big leather-covered wooden trunks with heavy locks and old labels, just tempt and tease, they seem to haunt:
"O...P...E...N - M..E!"
And I do.
Maybe the main attraction is because I can put a ribbon anywhere. It isn't heavy and it does not take up any room.
French Husband shakes his head, "Then why do you like books? And chairs? And urns? And statues...
I put my hand over his mouth.
Today baby Gabriel laughed and laughed out loud for the first time.
Today is the eve of Yann's 57th birthday.
Today our friend was laid to rest.
This Thursday Chelsea and family head back to Paris after staying with us for two months, withdrawals I expect on my part.
This weekend starts the French la Vie Journey with Sarah, Sue, and Deanna. My good friend Allison is coming from the States to drive.
Chelsea, Gabriel, and I will be going back to Willows in November
Since July 2016 I haven't had a migraine, grateful every day.
Miracles do happen.
Prayers are answered.
Love does find a way.
And we are all in this together.
Life continues to continue.
Things to do when visiting France:
Buy a stack of postcards, and ask the baker, the waiter, the bus driver, the cafe owner, the lady with a poodle... to write a note for you to mail to your friends back home. In French of course.
Go to the open market, buy a baguette, some olives, a bottle of wine, some fruit and cheese. Have an impromptu picnic.
When visiting Paris, take bus #69 from the Eiffel Tower until Pere Lachaise, and back. Every time the bus stops take a photo.
Go skinny dipping in the Mediterranean.
Collect the ordinary, the little treasures that often are disregarded.
Learn to say three words in French: MERCI-thank you, BONJOUR-hello, and OUI-yes.
Strike up a conversation...by asking for directions, even if you know your way around.
Take a paint set and paper, hike to the top of St Victorie and paint a homage to Cezanne.
Write a love letter and slip it under the mattress in a bedroom at Chateau de Chenonceau or your hotel room.
Record church bells.
Sign up for a cooking class. Or go to a grocery store and ask someone how they make a Tarte de tomate.
Take a deck of cards and play card tricks at a cafe.
Find me at the brocante.
In bed with a bowl of cereal. Her room was my dream room: Enchanted filled full of antiques. Then when she turned twelve she had a different idea, and it became her dream room equally sweet but without the antiques.
In this photograph, I see Gabriel with long hair when he will be four years old.
If you come to Provence take time to be, time to let Provence get under your skin and into your heart. Provence is a place to wander aimlessly, 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 between it and the blue sea, from the olive trees, vineyards, tiled roofs, confit pots, cigales, rosé, rows of lavender and stone walls.
Let me lead the way, come I will give you a key to open the source of sweetness that is Provence.
Opening hideaway places, and visiting private homes and artist's studios.
Discovering the history behind antiques, culture and the Provencal lifestyle.
With time to wander in places worthy to paint and write poetry about.
Sip Champagne in the middle of the afternoon while the cicadas sing you to dance.
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.
Meals with my friends, meals at restaurants and at my home, provided with as a feast of friendship.
To be inspired.
throughout every moment 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 wonder goodness.
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.
May Poppies,
June Lavender,
September Grapes,
October, pumpkins
Everyday beauty 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.
And if you are in Provence just come by and say hi!
