After three years of looking for the right armoire or chest of drawers for our place in Cassis one that was not too high, nor too wide, or too deep, I found one. Nevertheless, even though it was perfect it was going to be a challenge getting it into our place.
Hence the window to the rescue!
In it went, with the help of Rene, Loic, Ian, Mika and Yann.
I was so excited I forgot to take a photo of how it looked once in!
Photo soon to come xx
Even back then she had a baby (doll) in tow.
Soon this little one will have a little one of her own.
It seems unreal and real all in one.
Passions.
When I was young, it was riding my bike.
When I was a young woman it was praying in the monastery.
Later it was dancing. Boy did I dance. I met Yann.
My first year in France Yann and my home had a minimalistic look due to lack of funds to decorate.
As a mother, it was my children.
And throughout it, the brocante stirred me. The first old thing I ever bought I was 12. I bought it with my babysitting money. A hand mirror, a brown jar and a blue beaded purse from the 1920s.
How to recognize the brocante bug:
The person infected with the brocante bug usually is not in bed sleeping on a Saturday or Sunday morning.
Their homes have a certain look about them.
A person who has the brocante bug usually stops the car if they see an old table leg, or a patch of fabric, or worse a peeling-paint-ruin-of-a-thing sticking out of a dumpster.
Usually, someone suffering with the brocante bug knows the only cure is to keep on going to antique markets, of second-hand stores, or looking online.
A person with the brocante bug prefers something old to something new. Unless it is food.
The brocante person, often forgets how they look as they only have eyes for that old stuff.
The brocante bug is said not to be contagious... but a person who has the brocante bug badly knows that is not a fact to count on. For example, when you have the brocante bug badly you know that if you take a friend to the brocante they most likely will develop symptoms instantly, grabbing germs (pieces) that you would have gladly suffered with, had they not be around.
A person with the brocante bug carries a big old purse if you dare call it that.
Instead of lipstick, or perfume in their purse they have loose change, a tape measure, and a flashlight.
Do you have symptoms of the brocante bug, or know of symptoms to be aware of?
A love letter from a child to her parents in 1848.
In the mid-1800s love letters were written to loved ones, especially between family members on New Year's Day. Children would write to their parents and grandparents, husbands and wives to each other, parents to their children. Usually, a beautiful lace-like paper was used with small chromos attached to it, then they were rolled as the paper was around 12 or more inches long and tied with a pastel ribbon. This one is a rare beauty extra loved shared as it was hand drawn.
These love letters are very hard to find. I have been lucky to find a few, this one I sold a few years ago.
Louis Rossignol (1694) was a master calligraphist.
"Not all calligraphy is the same. In fact, this form of artistic handwriting can actually fall into a number of different styles. Essentially, there are three main of calligraphy: Western, Arabic, and Oriental. Within each style there, maybe several lettering sub-styles or hands.
Louis Rossignol was instructed in the art of writing by Olivier-François Sauvage, the most reputable teacher of the time (who didn’t publish any copybook), but was prematurely expelled from his school for having copied his master’s works so successfully that Sauvage didn’t even see the difference… Rossignol is one of the masters who invented and perfected the “Coulée” script (a cursive hybrid of the Ronde and Batarde). He didn’t publish any copybook while he was alive, this book was composed using Rossignol’s works, unfortunately, the engraver was not as subtle with his tool as Rossignol was with his pen."
“Coulée” script
"The casting is a type of French handwriting, appeared in the seventeenth century.
It represents a compromise between two previous writings, the financial one which is a fluid and inclined
form of the round, and the bastard, which is also an inclined writing. The casting is a quick and easy writing,
which satisfied the secretaries at the time of Colbert.
The casting is traced with a feathered beaked feather, which is held "longer between the fingers" in comparison with other writings.
The height (body) of the base lowercase letter is seven feathers, for a width of five nozzles. All the heads (ascending parts) are looped,
which allows them to bind together, and make a body and a beak of high, while the tails (descending parts) make a body and a half
or more if it is possible. The writing angle is 20 degrees, and the inclination of the letter is 25 degrees to the vertical.
Like the round, and unlike the bastard, the casting includes initial, middle and final letters. The casting has five categories:
Big casting. The leading is four bodies, or six when the writing is decorated with passes. Average casting. It is very fast running,
and the words remain interrelated. Interlining remains four bodies. Little casting. More difficult to master, it requires attention and sobriety.
Five-body line spacing. Financial flow, used in offices. Interlined with three bodies, heads and tails measuring only one body,
the words are linked together. Casting minute. It can be a "minute posed", reserved for beautiful works, or "minute shipped", faster,
although all are quick writings. The six-line leading makes it possible to lengthen the heads and tails."
Finding this large cotton wad booklet after years of collecting antique letters/paper, documents, and writings felt like I found a diamond in a haystack.
Not much is written about Louis Rossignol that I could find on the internet about his life.
So instead I will show some of the examples from the booklet that I found.
I found this with many other pages, in fact, it was a chapter of sorts describing different types of work in the 1700s. The booklet as it wasn't bound was not complete. The pages measured 50 cm approximately.
Last year while leading a French la Vie with Molly and Kim we found a sander
(A sander, or Pounce Pot Sprinkler, an implement used to hold a fine powder, most often made from cuttlefish bone, to sprinkle on wet ink or rough paper to make it smooth for writing. Used before blotting paper) As Kim was a calligraphist it was a delightful find. Unfortunately, it was dearly expensive and as I had never seen one before I was unsure of its value. Needless to say, we both dearly regret not buying it.
"Pounce is a fine powder, most often made from powdered cuttlefish bone, that was used both to dry ink and to sprinkle on a rough writing surface to make it smooth enough for writing. The pounce or sand is gently sprinkled all over the writing on the paper." Also, "Gum Arabic was used in printing, As calligraphers, used as a binder, to control viscosity, to add a bit of luminosity, reduce feathering and bleeding, and to prevent cracking of ink."
Kim is coming back for another adventure this May. I think a Sander is on top of her list.
How was ink made back then?
"Iron gall ink was made up from galls (usually oak-galls), copperas [copper sulfate] or green vitriol [ferrous sulfate], and gum arabic, in varying proportions; carbon inks were developed using soot."
How to Make a Feathered Pen
A writing desk why not.
When my father passed away Anna a blog reader/friend of mine made me a beautifully scripted booklet from her own pen.
Handwriting is such beautiful art, especially now as it seems to be slipping away.
Anna and Kim are both master calligraphists.
This morning the brocante market did disappoint, it rarely does, but today it exceeded my hefty expectations it was off the charts good. If money grew on trees and a chateau or two were at my disposable they would be full this evening. The colors, textures, variety, period pieces, the wealth of history surrounded the brocante market today. Our car was full.
Maybe today was so good because a shining star looked down wished it so. A man that taught me a great deal about the antique business passed away yesterday. A mentor of a sort without even knowing it. The first time I met Mike was at the design center in San Francisco back in 1994 where he had a French antique business, my cousin took me along as she was looking to furnish her home. When I walked into his massive antique showroom the first thing I noticed was how inexpensive the antiques were, so I told him. I wanted to know how he could sell French antiques at such a low price considering how expensive they were back in France? He loved it.
Mike introduced me to his son who was also in business with him. They showed me around the showroom leading me to an extraordinary armoire Mike asked me if I had ever seen one like it before. I said I had seen similar armoires, then he asked me if I could find one like it, I boldly said I could. His son was not buying my claim saying that the armoire came from a chateau. Mike calmed his son's apparent annoyance with me then asked me how I could be so sure of myself? I stated that I lived in France, that even though they were antique experts and traveled all over France several weeks out of the year looking for antiques, I lived there.
Mike smiled, "Okay then, the next time we are in France we will look you up, do you want to lead us?" Naively I said I would love to.
Mike came to France, I rented a van and drove to every address he knew and then some. Never in my life had I seen so many antiques, learned so much about antiques, buying, negotiating, exporting... it was as if I had been given a drug that I could not get enough of, the brocante bug bit me into a frenzy that has never left me. I went to the international antique markets with him, he bought so fast that I had to literally run to keep up, all along the way he was coaching me simply for the pleasure of sharing his immense knowledge. He gave me tips about negotiating, about how to export, about buying, what to look for, how to tell if it was an authentic piece, it was a crazy fun wildly informative which stirred my passion for antiques to a new level. I wanted to be a buyer. I kept pinching myself that this genius had given me such an amazing opportunity to learn. Simply because I was naive and claimed I wasn't.
I worked with Mike a few more times, meanwhile, he introduced me to his wife Sydney who was a decorator extraordinary she was a springboard for my passion. I have never forgotten that period of time and the joy it brought me.
Thank you, Mike, I will never forget your lessons about the antique business, nor you love for your family.
Godspeed.
(Much love to Sydney and Mike's family, especially Reuben his son.)
Twilight in Cassis.
What a sight to make one oh and ah.
And every time I see Cassis I sigh, "Beautiful!"
Cassis anytime never disappoints, especially at twilight.
What place do you never tire of seeing?
Chelsea sent me this selfie from inside an elevator after work.
Nearly five months, she has passed the halfway mark.
Hello Little Grandson.
Before I tell you whether Chelsea and Martin are going to have a boy or a girl I must say that I loved the comments from all of you kindred spirits! I love being part of this community of natural goodness. I will respond tomorrow about hair color, aging, becoming a grandmother, turning 61... wow that sounds like the other side of the hill. What an extraordinary view it is.
Is it a boy or a girl?
A Jack or a Jill?
Sugar and Spice
that is nice, a little of both.
Baby love!
A baby is coming in June
The first child to Martin and Chelsea,
The first Grandchild to both his parents and us.
Three Uncles to be (Martin's two brothers and Sacha).
My Mother will be a Great Grandmother.
Pink or Blue?
It is a Boy!
Underneath this dyed blond hair is a head full of salt and pepper hair leaning more towards salt than pepper. For about a year I have been toying with the idea of letting my hair go natural instead of dying it every three and a half weeks. I have read about people who have transitioned from dyed hair back to their natural color. Not an easy process. Either strip the colored hair and dye it white, add a million lighter highlights, cut it super short or let it go which in my case will mean a skunk line the size of a freeway.
Or wear some flowers in my hair, with a touch of ivy here and there.
Or wear a hat for the next two or three years.
Or let nature be my ruling guide.
If I knew I would like it I might do it.
I thought about trying a white wig to see.
But my head is so big (The Amaro Bucket is what we call it) that wigs usually don't reach my forehead.
Or pray for a miracle which would be a wasteful prayer. Of course, God knows I ask some peculiar things.
Why not have a personal relationship with God. In my case, that means massive conversations that are mostly one-sided.
I could shave my head and wear a hat. But I have done that once before and it was not one of my greater ideas.
Do not shave your head it takes FOREVER to grow out.
I know how she feels.
You see my skunk line is growing. Every three weeks I think should I start now and let it go natural?
Throughout breakfast, lunch and dinner I have wondered out loud, "Should I color my (skunk line) roots or go antiquing?"
It is not a question of, "Does she or doesn't she?" No, it really is more of the question, "To be or not to be."
I am not ready otherwise I would do it right?
If only it were as easy as a snap of the fingers.
Are you transitioning?
How to show your mom's blog friends that you are nearly five months along?
After work, in the elevator, lift up your sweater, take a selfie.
On the 7th Chelsea and Martin will find out the gender of the baby, well if the baby is in the right position to see that is.
Want to guess?
Chelsea has had four dreams that it was a boy and one dream that it was a girl.
Martin dreamed it was a boy.
I dreamed it was a boy.
Yann says it is a girl.
Most people think how her belly is position pointing out instead of in the hips that it means it is a boy.
50 percent chance it is one or the other.
100 Percent chance it is a baby.
Homemade vegetable pesto soup. Oh isn't soup the best on a cold day? Especially a freezing day like today. Of course in the summer I will sing the praises of chilled soup, but for now...
Shallots, leeks, carrot, celery, potato, green beans and vegetable broth with pesto added at the end, then blended.
Simple and delicious.
For plenty more soup recipes remember these:
Soup Recipes from my Blog Readers.
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 all the way to the blue sea, from the olive trees, vineyards, tiled roofs, confit pots, cigalles, rosé...
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.
Dates available French la Vie Journeys in Provence:April 16th to the 23rd, 2019, Two places remain.April 25th to May 2nd, 2019, One place remains.May 21 to May 28th, 2019, SOLD OUTJune 25th to July 2nd, 2019, Two places remain.September 6th to the 9th, 2019, SOLD OUTSeptember 12th to 19th, 2019, SOLD OUTOctober 15th to the 22nd, 2019 Two places remain
And if you are in Provence just come by and say hi!
Becoming friends with aging.
Yes. Accepting it for what it is.
Embracing history as a prize.
Not thinking ahead, nor behind. Well, that is a goal.
Holding the sag, the wrinkles, the extra weight, the thing called post-menopause as an achievement.
Letting beauty be where beauty is.
But when I saw two, not just one, but two white hairs growing long and proud in my eyebrow I stared them down held the tweezer up aiming for an attack, then reconsidered those two white hairs matched my fake blond hair better than the other dark black eyebrows that I have.
I put the tweezers down.
Aging. Becoming. I am.
Changing and accepting, sometimes one without the other.
It is okay that I am fake blond.
I never noticed the color of someone's eyebrows before mine started to turn to white.
Maybe I'll be Frosty for Christmas.
Maybe not.
I plucked them.
Standing outside the Cassis Home I waited for the kitchen cabinet maker to arrive he was running late, I rubbed my hands together wishing I had worn gloves. While I waited I saw a truck not too far away with a man sitting inside looking as if was waiting for someone, could he be the kitchen cabinet maker I wondered? Just then I received a phone call from the kitchen cabinet maker he said, "Where are you I am in Cassis and cannot find your home number?" As I was describing the street I noticed the man in the truck was on the phone too, I waved, he waved back, so I said, "I am here I see you, I will come over."
We exchanged politeness and I lead the way to the Cassis Home, he said, "Oh I thought it was number 9." I shook my head and said no it is here. As we started to go up the four flights of stairs he said gruffly, "I thought it wasn't this far up?" I laughed, "Oh wait there are two more flights inside." He gave me an odd look and I thought what a funny guy he is complaining didn't he read his text about the worksite?"
When we entered the Cassis Home he was caught off guard as if he had been hit over the head with a frying pan he exclaimed in a crazed loud voice, "What the f-cking Sh-t is going on! This looks like bomb went off, who did this! What happened to the electrical box! What the F-cking Sh-t am I to do with this whore house!" Trying not to be surprised because often workers swear and carrying on as if I am asking the world of them to bend over and kiss my feet or something, I said, "Oh this is nothing to concern you, the kitchen is upstairs, never mind the wires, we are in the demolishing stage in this part of the house. Come on." Shaking his head and swear under his breath we went upstairs. I laughed to myself thinking if I was on a TV show and this dude was swearing... yeah this would never fly in the USA.
When we arrived at where the kitchen is to be and he let out a mighty puff by blowing out his lips like the French do when they are exasperated. He went on, "What am I to do here, I didn't sign up for this mess?!" I laughed and said, "Don't worry, we will be ready when the cabinets are ready we just need you to check the measurements to be sure all is good." I thought he was going to come unglued right there and then, looking at me like I was crazy, I thought to myself, "Maybe what I think I said isn't what I said and he thinks I said something nutty like let's have sex right here and now?" I mean I have heard of such a thing happening. But before I could say another word he said, "I am here to connect some wires, that's it, nothing more and not this F-cking Sh-t!!!"
"Wait aren't you the kitchen cabinet maker?"
"No, I am an electrician, I am here to hook some wires."
"Not the kitchen?"
"No!"
"Oh oooo, no wonder you are so surprised by the F-cking Sh-t!"
And we laughed and laughed and laughed and then realized that his client and the cabinet maker were probably outside waiting for us.
Looking across the table Chelsea and Sacha sat talking to Yann. I thought,
"They are grown up, they are adults, they are no longer children."
For the first time, I saw my children as adults. It was an odd observation.
Just like that, they no longer looked like nor felt like children. I have heard it said that children are children and that a mother's role/love never changes. Yet at that moment I felt my role as mother shifting, I am the mother of adults and it is different, a different role but the same love.
My children are adults. How did that happen?
I am pleased that they are independent, strong, responsible, caring...
A new chapter begins, has begun, I just didn't realize what page I was on.
Chelsea talks about her pregnancy, upcoming baby and her career, and what she hopes for and wants, and whether that can work.
Sacha talks about his goals for his career, his life in Seattle, and a certain someone in Italy.
Love, life, and work. Those conversations are the beginning of what will be their tomorrows.
I love their thought process, their reflections, their longings, their becoming...
Babies, toddlers, children, teens, young adults...
The sounds that become words,
words jumbled together eventually creating a sentence
some with meaning, some explaining, some just blowing in the wind,
Most ask, "Why? Then How? Then Why Not? Further down the line, How are you?"
The stories one by one too many to remember, forming a book without even knowing it,
Until chapters 50, 60, 70...
Oh, those stages of motherhood and mothering,
as my friend Cheryl (she is a mother of four), calls it:
"My life's work".
Even now, after the empty nest,
after the payments of their educations,
after their wings take them far away
even now this chapter has something to say about motherhood.
How do I know it is true? Because I am my mother's daughter, her oldest child, and I appreciate her mothering, even at sixty.
The Matriarch.
Last Christmas my mother who has celebrated Christmas with her family every year except for the time she was with us in France when Chelsea was born. Told my brothers and sisters-in-love that instead of Christmas at her home where she does the preparing, cooking, serving and entertaining, they were going to have a Progressive Christmas. They would start at one brother/sister-in-love's house for hors-d'oeuvres, then go to the next home for salad, and so on and so forth until they arrived at her home for dessert. My mom said that way everyone could see everyone's Christmas decorations, and the progressive dinner was to be simple, nothing complicated it was about being together not about working or stressing hard over how to do it.
Everyone enjoyed the Progressive Christmas. They are planning to do it for Easter.
Just like that my mother turned a page and started a new chapter, which I read as:
How to Have Christmas as a Family When I am No Longer able to Do it.
That is mothering, teaching us her children by example.
Loving us from infancy to adulthood and if we are lucky enough old age.
While having dinner with our friends from the States I asked French Husband to put some music on
so he connected his favorite channel and Charlie Brown's theme song came on.
Giggling I said, "Oh that is a Snoopy's song!"
French Husband gave me a puzzling look as he read the name of the song on his cell phone, "No it says:
But instead of saying "fate" he pronounced it "Fat".
"Cast your Fat to the Wind".
And just like that, I knew I had the answer to the question many seem to ask:
"Why French Women Don't Get Fat?"
Take it from Charlie Brown's theme song pronounced by a Frenchman, "They cast their fat to the wind."
And here I always thought it had to do with cigarettes, black coffee and steak tartare.
Teasing aside, especially to French Husband's pronunciation of Fate to Fat,
Weight doesn't matter as much as happiness and casting your fate to the wind doesn't work.
Side note: Thanks for the correction Katie.
If you were to meet a young artist,
a portrait painter who lived in Verona, Italy, and if you were into filming...
*Elenacarta on instagram
Chelsea and Sacha during lunch.
Sacha bought a beret at Maison d'Emperuer to take back to Seattle, he said,
"I am French so I should show it."
Chelsea waiting for Martin to join us at lunch.
The Moroccan restaurant where we were to have lunch,
was kind enough to stay open to serve us
as the train Martin and Fabrice were on was delayed for over an hour due to a flood on the tracks.
And as if the lunch wasn't big enough, Sacha wanted a Raclette dinner.
We had a couple of tons of potatoes, stacks of various cheese mostly Raclette
Peppercorns, pickles, capers, garlic, red peppers, mushrooms, olives, broccoli, eventually salad and then to top off the pounds Sacha wanted the classic gateaux des Rois with frangipane, and Martin Chocolate Mousse.
I did not want to be but I am a stuffed piglet.
They said they wanted pancakes for breakfast but this morning everyone could barely move.
Sacha, his childhood friend and like a son Fabrice, his girlfriend Emily, Chelsea and Martin.
With Yann as the photo painter
trying to be a Rembrandt painting.
The moment the four of us gathered (Martin comes tomorrow and the baby in June) it was as if not a second had passed, everything seemed familiar, in place, natural and good. We talked way past breakfast and onto dinner. Later Yann and Sacha stayed by Chelsea's side to feel the baby move for the first time. Oh, the comfort of loving one another.
Preparing for the arrival of the three I love:
Cook favorite foods- Check.
Put fresh sheets on the bed- Check.
Turn up the heat- Check.
Flowers- Check.
Make sure everything is just so...
At that point, an idea came to mind, "Why not move
the armchair in the house-next-door to Sacha's old bedroom,
and put the armchair that is utterly impossible to sit
on in my bedroom as a decorative monster.
And so I did but not without whacking my back out.
Lovely.
The two armchairs are in place.
Favorite foods- Check.
Fresh sheets on the bed- Check.
Turned up the heat- Check.
Flowers- Check.
Make sure everything is just so... Went to the osteopath
which brought enough relief to not ruin the day.
Reunion anticipation!
I am in full baby mode now that Chelsea is four months pregnant.
My train was an hour wait. Instead of reading, or having lunch I found myself walking towards the baby boutique
to indulge in the inevitable
baby clothes.
Oh my it could be worse than my addiction to the brocante.
I for one never thought that could happen but here I am in full baby mode, little clothes are really sweet! February seventh Chelsea and Martin
will find out the gender. Certainly, that will open the closet to a fuller wardrobe.
My mom use to say when buying clothes for a baby, "Sets of three, one in the drawer, one in the laundry and one on the baby."
Three p-jammies
Three onesies
Three bottoms...
Yann's mother gave me the baby clothes she had made for when her babies were born, but ten-pound-Chelsea went straight into six-month-old clothing, she barely had anything as most her clothing was sized for three months old.
I promise I won't talk baby talk every day on my blog. Maybe once a week?
The morning sun could not penetrate the coldness that was left behind from the hours of darkness, this morning it was 26 Fahrenheit.
It has been colder.
In Paris, a blanket of white greeted Yann who had a meeting there.
Though he missed Chelsea as she flew to Poland for her work, I am sure it was colder than Paris.
Sacha is in Italy, his heart is warm so nothing else matters.
What is the weather like in your part of the world?
The Cassis Home is in a building from the 1900s in the center of Cassis, but the stone walls date further back, possibly the building was two dwellings that merged into one. Part of the interesting discoveries made when renovating an old place comes from underneath the layers of previous renovations. Point in question is when we started to renovate the stairwell.
The two upper staircases, the top staircase leads to a terrace with a panoramic view of Cassis and the second staircase leads to the kitchen/living room with a balcony facing the castle, were created possibly in the 1980s or thereof, but the third staircase that is not shown in the photos here, is much older and we will completely renovate it. Refurbishing the stairs meant having the tiles taken off the tread, then adding an iron return nosing (which is the tread to the inner and outer string above the riser) which will add a contemporary definition. Joel the ironsmith who created our stairwell in Cassis and his employee Guillaume are the masterminds behind the intense amount of work of rebuilding the steps.
Thread riser blocks and wedges are put into place to keep the thread in place.
My vocabulary is expanding with stair terminology, though the French translation of those words is slow going, I point often or charade. Fortunately, the team I have worked with so we get one another, trust one another and I know they know their job.
The handrail was a massive three pipe thing that was horrendous, Joel removed it (no need to go to the gym when you have to carry solid iron down four flights of stairs). Joel created something lighter with a movement for the handrail. The main goal was not to have the handrail be the focus or draw attention as the lights above (not pictured because there is too much work to be done before they are installed) will be the focal point.
When cutting into the stone wall to secure the handrail we discovered a century-old window with a stone encased frame. Unfortunately, we cannot keep the opening, as it would take far too long to have it approved, and most likely it would not be approved. That is one of the examples of the surprises one finds in renovating old places.
Here you can see three parts of the four sets of stairs in the Cassis home.
The bottom steps will be completed renovated.
As you can see it has a way to go before it is done.
The next step will be filling in the threads and risers. We are going to use polished cement and not use tiles nor wood. Do you think I should keep this color palette or go for a darker color on the risers and or threads? I am leaning on a neutral palette as that is what I believe Ching and Gary would like.
Late in the afternoon, I said goodbye to Chelsea to catch the TGV back to Provence. As the train traveled through the countryside with the scenery flashing by accentuated with the setting sun my memories of Chelsea as a baby came to mind. Sweet Chelsea. My first born. My ten-pound baby. My little girl now becoming a mother. Time is going by bringing different scenery and another stage to play upon.
Life is mysteriously wonderful, as someone said regarding being a parent, "Days go by slowly as years go by quickly."
I felt Chelsea's baby move, felt it move, that little life inside becoming.
It is beyond measure this feeling of love for someone who is yet to be but is someone whos cells were in me, and in my parents, and in their parents...
From the train window, I took this photo without realizing there was a dirt road. So much to look forward in the unknown.
Life may it be graceful as it leads us.
The Baby Bump.
Chelsea is four months along. Nearly at the halfway mark.
She never has felt sick, a bit sleepy, but other than that she feels good.
Next month they will know the gender.
The baby is due around June 15th.
Of course, I am going to have a guessing game later on.
Chelsea dreamed that she was having a boy, four dreams to be exact, and once the baby had a beard.
Chelsea felt the baby move and so did I. Oh the joy of life.
If I took every quilt I have ever seen from the French brocantes and laid them out
they would cover France from head to toe. Can you imagine how beautiful that would look
from up above? The women and maybe a few men who over the hundreds of years have created
a national treasure with their handiwork, stitches, their creative force, choice of color and pattern.
Needless to say, if I laid out the monogrammed laced sheets, pillowcases and why not throw in the dishtowels
the entire planet would be covered. You might think I am exaggerating but I am not if I had said universe that would be
stretching the truth but not by much.
On any given weekend you can find quilts at any brocante in France.
A ton of them.
The hardest part is which one to buy and which one to pass up.
The selection is vast if you are not looking for a king size quilt that is.
The most common color is red and blue.
One of my greatest pleasures at the brocantes is talking to the dealers about their wares it is like walking back in time to living history. Each item leads to another chapter of the story that weaves France together. Quilts, fabric, pattern, stitch, needle, pin, thimble, bed, sheet, who slept there, their home country, city, rich-poor... it is all there by the quality of the piece.
The older pieces are hand dyed or stamped.
Sometimes under a 1950s quilt, you can find an older quilt from the 1900s, and more often than not there is an older quilt underneath that.
When a quilt was worn, or thread barren, or even outdated, the quilter would cover the quilt with a newer piece of fabric or patch it.
I remember early on at the brocantes, maybe fifteen years ago or so, I saw my friend Odile carrying a thick 1960s quilt which wasn't her taste at all. I asked her if she had forgotten her glasses. She laughed then pointed to a tear in the fabric, underneath it I saw layers of fabric. Odile said, "You have to look beyond the cover, history is covered with time."
In quilting circles, one was measured by how many even stitches they could do per inch.
I have counted up to twenty-one. The tedious detailing makes a difference for endurance and beauty.
Remember that 8 to 10 very even stitches per inch is considered superior to 12 to 14 uneven stitches per inch.
These are two pieces that Odlie recently uncovered.
If you would like to read more follow the link below:
"...There are two kinds of antique quilts from Provence and neither is like American antique quilts, which are pieced together from scraps. The Provence quilts tend to be made of two large pieces of whole cloth, either cotton or silk, that are sewn together with some kind of filling element, like batting or cording, sandwiched between them.
''These quilts are intensely quilted and the quilting shows up because the background is often a neutral or solid color,'' said Laura Fisher. Ms. Fisher specializes in American quilts, "There was a strong needlework tradition in Provence,'' Ms. Fisher said. ''It's like a three-dimensional sculpture in thread. Quilting goes back to prehistory. In medieval times quilted cloth was used as insulation in winter garments as well as armor, to protect its wearer from arrows."
"In the 18th and 19th centuries, Provencal women hand-stitched their quilted bed covers with motifs inspired by the bounty of the region: sunflowers, pomegranates, lavender, artichokes, and olives in patterns that completely fill the ground of the quilt.
''The French started printing imported cotton in about 1640,'' Ms. Berensen said. ''By 1680's, the Marseilles women were producing 40,000 to 50,000 quilts a year for export to Germany, England, Italy, and Spain.''
She said that the Marseilles community was so proud of the women's workmanship that it gave the quilts as gifts to royalty and as tokens of appreciation. The French called these quilts ''confections'' or ''broderies de Marseille'' and refer to the stitching as ''embroidery from within.''
They should not be confused with pieces woven on machine-driven looms to obtain a textured character.
The more common bouti is a quilt made from gaily colored printed cottons that are stitched in tight rows or diamond patterns. In the early 17th century, the cottons were imported from India and nicknamed ''Indiennes.'' They were hand-printed with colorful flowers, mythic animals, exotic locales and scenes.
Louis XIV did not want the French to import luxury goods and drain the country's coffers, so he banned the importation of Indiennes. But he instructed his minister Jean-Baptiste Colbert to import the best artisans and dyers to establish textile businesses in France.
''They produced French tapestries, laces, cottons, wools, and upholstery,'' said Ms. Berenson, who is writing a book on Colbert. ''Cardinal Mazarin is known to have had dozens of French quilted bed covers.'' Via The New York Times, Fine Quilts of Provence 2000.
Naturally dyed 1700s fabric.
"Natural dyes are dyes or colorants derived from plants, invertebrates, or minerals. The majority of natural dyes are vegetable dyes from plant sources—roots, berries, bark, leaves, and wood—and other biological sources such as fungi and lichens."
For more information how to make and use natural dyes follow this link by clicking on it.
In the above piece you can see the layers of textiles underneath.
Hand stamped and dyed piece, one of the oldest pieces in this selection of photos.
(Photo French Flag found on Pinterest no link was available)
I did it!
Nearly, eighteen months ago I applied for my French citizenship.
Yesterday, in Nice, I had an interview with the immigration authorities. I was anxious that I might not answer something correctly and be told I wasn't accepted. To be safe I read everything I could online and went over hundreds of questions that they could ask me. Questions such as: "Why I wanted French citizenship? Name five French philosophers? What is laïcité? What happened in Verdun? Name the last five Prime Ministers? What are some of the latest laws that have taken place in France?" The questions that they could have asked have to do with an applicants personal life, French culture, history, and government, and of course, the questions are asked in French and need to be answered in French.
The hardest part was thinking I might have to sing the French national anthem the Marseillaise. I could barely sing the Star Spangled Banner, barely keep a tune, let alone in French. I memorized the first line, and the first line of the chorus and could hum it. WhooHoo! And I could explain what the song is about. But sing it by heart, unfortunately, no.
Back in October when Yann went to India I had an unexpected visit by two National Gendarmerie. They came by early in the morning my friend Mo's husband was there because he had brought me some eggs. Though the two National Gendarmes didn't see it that way. They thought because it was early in the morning that Mo's husband was Yann. When I explained that Mo's husband was just a friend and that Yann was in India on a motorcycle trip they did not believe me, leading them to question whether he was my lover. After forty-five minutes of being questioned to prove that I was who I said I was, that Yann was my husband, that we live together and were part of our community they knew I was telling the truth. I am sure you have heard stories where they ask you what color is your partner's toothbrush... well I prayed they didn't ask me that because I did not know. It was intense questioning and luckily honesty was simply all I had to offer. Even if it was confusing,
"What hobbies do you enjoy?"
"Brocanting, cooking..."
"Why are you not in India with your husband?"
"Because he is on a ride where being two would be too difficult due to the type rough terrain ride he is on."
"Do you have children?"
"Yes, two."
"What sports do you and your husband do together?"
"Not many! He is crazy and I like safe sports like walking."
"Crazy?"
"Well no not crazy but crazy."
"Where does your daughter live?"
"In Paris."
"Do you like to fly with your husband?"
"Oh you know he flies? No, I don't like to fly with him."
"Why no?"
"Because it scares me."
It was at this point I began to worry that they would think that Yann and I were not a couple.
____
It has been an interesting journey seeking dual citizenship. But at last, I can say I did it!
After more than half my life lived in France I can say when a French person asks me,
"Where are you from?" I can answer proudly,
"I am Franco-American with an enormous accent."
The next step is waiting to receive my citizenship which could be ten months or more.
Usually, after going around a brocante several tours I start to look at smalls. They never disappoint with their purpose, meaning and evident stories worn proudly for everyone to see. Honor medals are easy to find, usually given by an organization, the city or country. This one with a young girl playing music to a dear was from the 1950s. The round glass frame, is easy to find as well usually they have photos of loved ones, this one had one on both sides. Sometimes there are messages inside, or locks of hair, or a patch of fabric like a modern-day relic.
Boxes and boxes of pharmacy jars with potions still inside. Perfect for a movie set of Frankenstein.
Mourning lace. History has it that when someone you loved or cared for died you had to wear black for a year, but you did not have to be drab. So black lace and detailing such as above are another easy find. Mourning jewelry also is in black.
When she dances with Rhett when she was supposed to be mourning.
Feves or cake charms that are baked inside of the Gateau des Rois for the feast of Epiphany which is the twelfth day after Christmas. The newer feves are not so sweet looking, the cake is a tradition in France served the entire month and only in January.
Metal buttons depicting animals for hunting clothing usually jackets and sweaters.
Harder to find.
For that reason I bought them.
Do you need buttons?
Textiles such as printed cotton, linens and silks are harder and harder to find especially larger pieces. Last weekend a car pulled up with a trunk full. I did not buy any as I am never sure what people want and I do not "make" things as those who buy textiles do. Red is the dominant color, then blue when it comes to 1800s-1900s textiles.
Doll shoes, that French Husband mistook for baby shoes. Small feet indeed.
They were 50 Euros and came in the original box with several pairs of mismatched socks.
An extraordinary classroom chart of owls. This is just a small part of it. A man was on it trying to have a better price. I knew the dealer and knew he wasn't going to lower the price with a crowd standing around gawking at it. So I caught his eye and raised my eyebrow which transmitted, I want it if that man doesn't buy it. I learned that trick from Mike S. the first persons I had the honor to follow and learn about buying antiques. That was twenty five years ago. He was and is the best I still hear and follow his advice in my head while at any brocante.
Classic blue glass medals, harder to find are any other color. Mainly for the 1900s they are Miraculous Medals.
When I was going around looking at smalls the carload of textiles were spread out on the ground, stacks of quilts too.
I did not buy any. I prefer altar silks which are not at all easy to find, especially at a price I want to pay. That is one of the things about antiquing as often as I do, the antiques I favor have to be at a reasonable or below market price for me to want to buy it, otherwise, I would have no control buy everything. Part of the hunt is a good price or an exceptional piece. When such a rare piece or an antique that grabs my heartstrings that is a different story. But even that has to be something considering how much I see on any given week.
What did I buy? Books, paper, maps,
This large, heavy, what am I going to do with it wonder of a piece.
Terra cotta corniche.
Chelsea is four months pregnant. Not showing just thick around the waist. Chelsea feels great and has not been ill a single day, lucky Pup.
They hope to find out the sex of the baby next month. Shortly after she was pregnant, and when I say shortly after, I mean probably the day she was pregnant though they did not know that they were and certainly I did not know that, I had a dream that she had a boy. I called her and asked if she was pregnant and she laughed, "No, I don' t think so."
I dreamed she had a boy so I think it is a boy.
What do you think? It is a 50/50 chance one way or another.
At the brocante last weekend we saw this 1700s baby stroller or the Cadillac of strollers. which was nearly the size of a minibus. The baby buggy had wooden wheels. I wanted to roll it straight to my house, if for nothing else than for a photo shoot, can you imagine a plumb baby surrounded with pillows and lace. Sigh. French Husband said, "If we had a castle with a park surrounding it I could see it..." Quickly I added, "I will take the castle and park and baby buggy and baby!" Then he started to look at it and saw how beautiful and rare it was. So I had to remind him, "Where would we put it literally?"
When Chelsea was about three years old and Sacha was a six months old Butterball we were walking to the park, I was pushing Sacha is a stroller. Along the way Sacha started to whine, Chelsea from the moment Sacha was born literally thought and acted as if she were the mother said to me,
"Sacha wants to "allonger"."
You see when children grow up bilingual at first they repeat whatever words they hear, after a while, they say whatever words they know so they usually mix the words up using both in one sentence, in Chelsea's case English and French words. Then in a short time, they know that these words are French and these words are English and never mix the two instead they will say, "I want to say "..." in French or vice-versa if they do not have the word in their repertoire."
Hence, when Chelsea said, "Sacha wants to allonger." I did not have a clue what allonger meant and asked her to explain it to me and she did by a combination of charades and touching the leverage that made the stroller turn into a bed for Sacha to lay down. Allonger means to lay down. Happy Butterball, Happy Child and a new word in my vocabulary.
Note the little brass oval window in back to see the baby.
Honestly, I do not think I could have pushed it out of our front door let alone put it in our car.
At the brocante where objects have a way of finding me an early 18OOs collection of, One Thousand and One Nights,' seduced me by the royal blue book-jackets with gilded lettering. Gently opening them perfectly intact engravings, and words that evoke mystery.
"Prince of True Believers, what-so thou want-est, Hundred golden pieces, exceeding wonder, pomegranate grains, magnetic mountain, wend the way, young man burst, cast thy net, honey fritters, kissed the earth, ebony horse, shaved beard, Palace of Marvels, bade decorate, My Queen of the night..."
"Shahryār is shocked to learn that his brother's wife is unfaithful; discovering that his own wife's infidelity has been even more flagrant and he has her killed. In his bitterness and grief, he decides that all women are the same. Shahryār begins to marry a succession of virgins only to execute each one the next morning before she has a chance to dishonor him. Eventually, the vizier whose duty it is to provide them, cannot find any more virgins. The vizier's daughter offers herself as the next bride and her father reluctantly agrees. On the night of their marriage, Scheherazade begins to tell the king a tale but does not end it. The king, curious about how the story ends, is thus forced to postpone her execution in order to hear the conclusion. The next night, as soon as she finishes the tale, she begins another one, and the king, eager to hear the conclusion of that tale as well, postpones her execution once again. This goes on for one thousand and one nights, hence the name."
If I did not have such a great team to work with I would never agree to step in and project manage such an undertaken of Cassis Home. Plus if Ching and Gary were not good friends of mine and if they weren't one hundred percent behind every decision I make I would never be doing this. But since the "Team" is behind me and creativity is free rein this is one of the best projects, that am lucky and happy to be part of it.
What I mean is that this apartment was good enough, it was livable but Ching and Gary wanted something more, something unique, something that honored its bones. Simple, Avant-Garde, Modern with only a slight hint of whimsy. They wanted space, not the tight fit that it was, and they wanted all the beautiful light of Cassis to pour in. If the Team wasn't behind me I would be frustrated not to be able to bring to life what I visualize for this space.
We are going to have a cement-like finish, that Rene and I created to put on through the entire apartment. We are also going to add it to the stairs three levels of them. The bottom part of the stairs is original to the apartment which is over a hundred-year-old. They are not made like the upper two levels which were made in the 1980s and are solid cement. The bottom level stairs (not shown) will take more work I will explain that when we are working on them. For now, I had the team take out the decorative solid iron bars on the stairs. Of course, we had an engineer-architect come over and check out to see if it were possible. Once we got the green light I had them take them out and reinforce the corners with thicker iron tube plus we added an I-beam to the corner. I had the team leave the old I-beams exposed to give it a loft feel.
Facts:
Dust. Dirt. Debris. Stairs plenty of them.
Rene is a genius. Honest and incredibly hardworking.
Patience.
Discovery at every corner, that is the thrilling part working within old walls.
Friends who appreciate my creativity and let me spell it out, erase it, reroute, bam nail it.
Exchange with confidence.
These last few days I am seeing Cassis Home come alive, breathing, it is as if my thoughts are being made whole, playing out on life's stage.
We removed the decorative iron bars then replaced the two end ones with a thicker heavy iron bar that they drilled into the stone wall.
An I-beam and those two iron bars are the main support for the two floors overhead.
Every time I say I-beam I think of Yann, as we met at the I-beam in San Francisco nearly 32 years ago dancing to hits such as Higher Love,
Your Wildest Dreams, West End Girls, White Wedding, Kiss, Addicted to Love, Don't Leave Me This Way...
Those songs rock on to a different beat to the sound of hammering, chiseling, scrapping...
The pipes were pierced and fixed into the stone supportive wall.
Next, the tiles had to be chiseled off so that we can layer them with cement.
Rene chiseled off all the new tile, and sweep afterward. Our shoes are constantly dusty!
The steps will have a cement-like top with an iron band across the top.
This is the prototype railing It is like a ribbon
The small details of how we live our lives measure large.
Isn't it true that we can have a feeling about a person in how they shake your hand or look into your eye?
Wouldn't you agree that generosity of spirit can be seen in how someone smiles?
I want not to count the cost but being the cost, to give because it is the loving way.
Not measured and calculating.
It is in such details that speak of who we are.
Live life large by living fully the day to day moments that lead us onward.
Little details speak the answers.
Recently, I found several French postcards in souvenir booklet from the 1900s. What caught my eye was that the cards were in series, extra charming, depicting the language of love in unusual ways such as the language of love in stamps. Depending on how one would stamp an envelope for example if the stamp was upside down it meant, "Believe in me" if the stamp was sideways it meant I like you.
If a stamp was put on like an upside down diamond it meant, "I am dying for your love".
I remember a conversation I had with Annie, where I was telling her about a friend who thought she had found love, then realized that the man she claimed to love wasn't perfect, and she couldn't deal with it. Before I could respond to what I thought about it, Annie chimed in:
"What do people think...really... do they think we fall out of heaven, all perfect and clean, into the lap of the one who is going to love us? Doesn't she know we are born, and go through life tumbling, dancing, and often bumping our head on the wall. We get dirty, bruised, collecting the good with the bad? Eventually, we fall into someone's heart... and hopefully with our body and soul, but we are who we are... wanting to be loved. Honestly, love helps us find our way."
The language of love speaks differently to each of us, some see love as more than skin deep.
Annie went on to say, "In a relationship when do you understand and accept another person's faults, let alone your own, and when do you let go and move on?
Annie summed it up as it is a weighing game, a measuring of the pros and cons. The trick is knowing when is it worth it and when is it a losing game.
I believe loving someone shows us who we are, and what we are capable of doing. Figuratively speaking, at birth we lose our way, and we spend the rest of our lives trying to find the path we were once on, to get back to the center of love. The Sacred Heart.
The language of love in hair, no joke.
I wonder what dyed white hair to blond means?
The language of birds.
The language of playing cards.
and the language of kisses as if those need explaining.
The card below looks like the guy is biting her neck, "Chocolate!"
A glorious winter morning, crisp clear, sunny we did not need a coat while sitting at an outdoor cafe along the port with a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a croissant. A Wannabe Friend came along with soulful eyes that spoke gently without saying a word. I smirked, not in a mean way, but as to say, "Out of all the people in the cafe you came by me?". My friend that understands dogs whispered, "He wants a bite of your croissant, he is an old dog you needn't be afraid." The Wannabe Friend kept looking at me, even when his Master called him.
"How do I give him a bite without him biting me? Why doesn't he beg his Master?". I pondered but my friend simply said, "The dog knows his Master won't give him a bite." I smiled at the Wannabe Friend, I smiled, "Oh Dog you are asking the wrong person, I am scared of you.". But as I uttered those words I knew I wasn't scared I just did not know what to do. I felt I had redeemed my bad experience last week by being there without freaking out. So I ate my croissant slowly and only glanced at my Wannabe Friend when my mouth wasn't full, smiling sheepishly. After a while, I slowly reached for my camera to take a photo, (that was close to climbing Mount Everest I tell you, I had to let go of fear and just do it!) to show you how close he was, we both were sweetly composed.
Wet seaweed full of sand I gathered up, admiring the texture and subtle colors, remembering as a child how I could hardly stand to look at it, let alone touch it. With seaweed in hand, I walked back to my brother's campsite, Molly (my five-year-old niece) ran up to me. When she saw the seaweed she asked what I was going to do with it.
"I am going to make a seaweed crown do you want to wear it?" I was certain she would shake her head no, then run and hide. Instead she said,
"Like a little mermaid?"
How original, how imaginative! "Why yes like a little mermaid! Can I take a picture of you when you have it on?"
I pointed to a nearby fence and started to walk towards it. Though once Molly realized that I was planning to take her picture by the fence, she tugged at my hand and exclaimed, "Aunt Coco mermaids don't sit by wooden fences! They sit at the edge of the sea. They need water you know!"
Oh, I love this child! She sure knows how to grab my heart. I reminded her that the sea was a good walk away she nodded and we headed in its direction. Once there she found a pile of seaweed, sat on it then told me to sit down in front of her. Molly didn't smile instead gave me her impression of a mermaid washed ashore and what it was like to feel the sandy earth beneath her.
I asked her if she was sad. "No mermaids aren't sad, they love the sea and dancing in the waves sometimes they come to shore and make a seaweed crown but they have to return to the sea you know."
With that, she stood up and ran towards the sea. I can still hear her laughing when I close my eyes.
I bought a baby basket bed for the baby who is loved beyond measure.
Years ago I sold a napkin ring with bebe engraved on it which means "Baby" in English, yeah now I want to find one of those, plus a charm like the one I sold above as well. I guess you could say I have baby brocante on my mind which suits me well considering I have no more room in our home for anything... well except baby brocante stuff.
Baby sheets, baby blankets, baby clothes, a highchair, a stroller... oh my a stroller, a big fat juicy luscious over the top old stroller!
Goals to meet in 2019.