French la Vie

Becoming French

(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.

 

 

 

 

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An Encouraging Note From My Niece

Guess what I got?

 

What I Found at the Brocante

 

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.

Remember Scarlett O'Hara?

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.

"The Miraculous Medal, also known as the Medal of Our Lady of Graces, is a medal, the design of which was originated by Saint Catherine Labouré following her apparitions of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Rue du Bac, Paris."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

Baby Boy Buggy Dreams

 

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.

 

One Thousand and One Nights

 

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."

 

 

Cassis Home Renovation Project

 

 

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

 

 

Paying Attention to the Little Things that Speak Loudly

                           

 

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.

 

The Language of Love

 

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!"

 

 

 

 

Words I find Beautiful

 

Do not try to save the whole world or do anything grandiose.

 

Instead, create a clearing in the dense forest of your life and wait there patiently,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

until the song that is your life falls

 

into your own cupped hands and

 

you recognize and greet it.

 

 

Only then will you know how to give yourself to this world so worthy of rescue.

 

 

 

-Martha Postlewaite

 

Do not try to save the whole world or do anything grandiose.

 

Instead, create a clearing in the dense forest of your life and wait there patiently,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

until the song that is your life falls

 

into your own cupped hands and

 

you recognize and greet it.

 

 

Only then will you know how to give yourself to this world so worthy of rescue.

 

 

 

-Martha Postlewaite

You Never Know When a Moment Can Make up for Another Moment

 

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.

Molly the Mermaid Turns Sixteen

                     

 

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.

 

Happy Sixteenth Molly!

 

Baby Brocante is my Goal

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

First Steps to Renovating the Apartment in Cassis

 

 

At the beginning of renovating this apartment, we were faced with the same issues that we had when we renovated ours in Cassis.

The apartment is on a few levels,

There isn't a yard or garage to store or work on things,

The apartment needed to be gutted which makes the renovation more like creating a new home within existing walls.

Since the walls are made of stone, we would have to plaster most of them instead of using sheetrock, because we did not want to lose space.

The walls that had been plastered had to be removed as it wasn't done well which meant plastering on top of them would cause the walls to peel.

The stairs were very uneven, and since they were made over a hundred years ago we couldn't just cover them but rebuild them, which made using them a balancing act.

AND everything that needs to be done needs to go up or down the stairwell since we could not drop a shoot outside the front window.

 

 

 

Debris from demolishing the kitchen, carried downstairs to the truck in buckets.

Over 50 sacks weighing 50 pounds each were carried up.

Muscles.

Rene does it all.

 

 

 

The kitchen will look better one day. Gary and Ching want it to be modern. The facade will be charcoal. Did you know that black kitchens are in vogue? My mom had a black kitchen when I was a kid.

 

 

 

 

We hired Joel the ironsmith and Stair Master to help us. The stairs will be reconstructed, they will have a cement finish and where those boards are will be finished with an iron trim. That stone wall will remain uncovered. The board above their heads was where the storage room used to be.

 

 

 

 

 

Rene took one of the steps apart to show us how they were made in the day, underneath the stair tiles are layers of rock, board, dirt and whatever, solid yes, but to even them out will be a great deal of work as they have bowed lower as the years have gone by/

 

 

SO the work has begun, decisions have been made and we are on the hunt to find the elements to put it back to beauty again.

 

Cassis Renovation Project

 

My friends Ching and Gary bought a place in Cassis and asked me if I would help them design it into a place of their own. I have worked on a few renovations for Yann and I but never for someone else. As much as I love creating spaces, design and the challenges of renovating an old place I was afraid of mixing work with friendship. After talking with Gary, Ching, and Rene who would be doing the hard work and giving us the expertise they reassured me that our friendship came first and they trusted me. I jumped in and faced the pleasure of teaming with friends. Whenever there is a project with a group of people the first thing that must be in place is trust. 

These are the photos showing the bedroom and bathroom. We decided to knock everything out and to start from ground zero since Ching and Gary did not like the previous 1980s renovation, and wanted a space with more light and volume. No simple task in an old building from the turn of the century, but with walls that are earlier made of stone, plus the apartment is on the fourth floor without an elevator. 

As the apartment was furnished we had everything removed and given away.

Renovating an old place means you can expect surprises. That is what I like most about renovating, the challenges that come.

 

 

 

 

 

The room straight ahead in the photo on the left of the stairwell sat above the stairwell that went down to the entrance (yes not only are there four floors to arrive at the apartment there are three floors in the apartment. Who needs to hike a mountain or go to the gym?) I had that room which held the water heater and storage, removed so that the narrow cave-like entrance would have volume and light. There was a window in that storage room.

 

 

 

Opposite the closet was the bathroom, which was open into the bedroom, see the box springs leaning on the wall?

 

 

Bathroom tiles, shower, closets, ceiling, plus two walls removed. Some of the debris because there was PLENTY more than this photo reveals and plenty more to follow.

 

 

By the storage room and the stairwell, there was a tiny cramped dark landing. I had the bedroom wall removed to enlarge the entrance landing.

 

 

 

An empty room is always inviting, and makes the creative energy emerge in force...

 

Tomorrow I will show photos of the progress of the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Renovating a Place in Cassis

 

 

Just in case you are wondering what I have been up to ...

My friend Ching and Gary bought an apartment in Cassis they hired Golden Hands Rene to do the renovations and asked me if I would guide them with the numerous decisions they need to make.

The first part of renovating is removing that which is not needed or wanted. When renovating an old place you never know what you will find when you take off the old flooring, walls, and ceilings luckily for us the surprising have been positive.

Underneath the dropped 1980s ceiling we found a vaulted ceiling made with red brick and iron. Rene and I are considering options as in what we can do to keep authentic while cleaning it up.

Meanwhile, it is back to dust, ideas, measuring, and visualizing plus collaborating with friends on their dream home away from home.

I will add a bunch of photos tomorrow. 

What projects are you involved in?

Your Theme Words

Words to set our sails,

to help us find our way

to aim for in our day to day lives.

 

 

 

 

"Intentional

is my word for this year.

I want to live my life intentionally instead of

fumbling through it from one crisis to the next.

I want to live, love and be loved intentionally s

o that I can live my life to the fullest. " Ana

 

P O E T R Y 

Mom of Five's word

 

Chances

from Ed

 

"Reaching my goal weight, reaching out to family & friends more, Reaching out to my Neighbour to learn more French words & verbs or maybe German as I did 4yrs at school, albeit a long time ago! and.....maybe......reaching to the skies to Europe..."  Leonie

 

 

C r e a t i v i t y

Debbie's word

 

Hurry is Kathie's word

"Revel. I have much to revel in this year, so I shall. xoxo revel [rev-uhl] verb (used without object), rev·eled, rev·el·ing or (especially British) rev·elled, rev·el·ling. to take great pleasure or delight (usually followed by in): to make merry; indulge in boisterous festivities."  Jan

 

Our Family's Theme Words for the year:

 

Chelsea's is TRUST

 

 

ARRIVING is Yann's

 

 

Sacha's word is DARE

 

 

and mine is DISCOVERY.

 

and those words that are on constantly close to heart... Giving, Loving, Prayer, Faith.

 

The Word to Define the New Year Ahead

 

 

Happiest New Year!

A few years back Chelsea asked us to pick a word that would be our theme word for the new year. Last year I picked the word "celebrate" as it was going to be a year of many happy moments, Yann and I celebrated thirty years of marriage, I turned sixty, we went on a family cruise with Yann's family, my nieces came to visit, Chelsea and Martin married, my family came to France, Yann went on an adventure to India, friends came and stayed with us and a baby begun. The word celebrate seemed a given, an easy choice for an unforgettable year.

This year also has a happy note to it, the coming of a grandchild, it makes everything seem secondary and anticlimactic. Certainly, anticipation could be the word of the year, anticipation is at my hand and heart. though a year of waiting though hopeful and promising weighs heavy on the word waiting, do I really want an entire year marked with the sense of waiting?

This year my theme word is Discovery. Discovering new life, new roles, avenues yet untraveled as a family. I am excited for this year to unfold and to meet the little one. Discovery sounds right.

What is word do you want to define your New Year?

 

 

New Year's Eve

 

The first day of the new year, what will it hold? Where will it take us, lead us? Where will our hearts be next year?

As the day unfolds reflection finds me, asking me what, where, who, why, does it do the same to you?

 

New Year what will you ask of me? Where will my path take me?

And a grandbaby!

What are your hopes for this New Year?

 

 

 

The Honeymooners in Belize

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is Exactly the Life I want to Live

 

 

A friend has a tattoo on her forearm that reads: "This is exactly the poem I want to write."

Which translated to me as, "This is exactly the life I want to live."

Though I think it comes from a poem from Mary Oliver

"White Heron Rises Over Blackwater"

which stirred my thoughts.

Lucky to even think about how I want to live my life.

Lucky not to worry about basic needs, and live in peace.

If truth be told the only thing I would change (other than world peace, illness, hatred...) would be the miles between

my family/friends and my life in France.

 

----

 

White Heron Rises Over Blackwater

 

 

"I wonder what it is that I will accomplish today

If anything can be called that marvelous word.

It won’t be

My kind of work, which is only putting words on a page,

The pencil

Haltingly calling up

The light of the world,

Yet nothing appearing on paper half as bright

As the mockingbird’s verbal hilarity

In the still unleafed shrub in the churchyard-

Or the white heron rising over the swamp and the darkness,

His yellow eyes and broad wings wearing

The light of the world in the light of the world-

Ah yes, I see him."

 

He is exactly the poem I wanted to write.

Mary Oliver

 

 

Tha Boy Who Wore Pink Polish

 

 

 

I found a locket at the brocante with a photo of two children sitting next to each other. The little boy has a ruffled collared shirt and cuffs, his vest and shorts are in velvet. 

When Sacha was little I use to dress him like that, ruffles, velvet, in sweet antique baby things. Many people would say to me:

 "Sacha is a boy you know?"

    "Yes, I know."

       "If you keep dressing him like a girl he is going to become a girl."

"Oh, I don't believe that he will be who he will be."

 

I wonder if the little boy, in the photograph, mother had to put up with that?

 

 

 

 

Photo source Simple Writings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lately, I have been wondering am I who I am because of nature or nurture?

Would I be different if I was nurtured differently?

Would the world be different if faith wasn't celebrated, encouraging us to love and forgive?

Are we loving, forgiving trying to do good because of nature or nurture?

Surely, both form us, but if nurture wasn't generally loving would we be?

 

 

 

 

 

 

What if the little girl sitting in a very big chair did not smile

because she was disappointed that she could not wear pants

as her brothers did in their photo.

"Only boys wear pants." She was told.

 

 

 

 

 

Sacha was about three years old when one day a group of mothers asked me if my child was a boy or a girl. I told them Sacha was a boy.

Sacha had curly locks, wild curly locks. They said, "For a boy, he sure has long curly hair?"

I replied that I loved his curly hair and didn't want to cut it. But that "he" was a boy with long curly hair.

They were not convinced so they asked, "Yes, but the child is wearing a ruffled shirt and a necklace?"

I smiled over my frustration and repeated that "He" was a boy wearing a ruffled shirt and a necklace, and that I found it sweet.

Still, the mothers persisted that my child was a girl they pointed to his red button down Mary Jane shoes, "Those are girl shoes."

I looked at Sacha's feet and sure enough he had on Chelsea's shoes, I shrugged and said, "He likes to wear his sister's shoes. I don't think that means anything about whether he is a boy or a girl."

Then they laughed out loud, and smirked, "Look at her fingernails! That isn't a boy it is a girl!"

Looking at Sacha's little chubby hand I noticed Chelsea had painted her brother's fingernails pink.

I gave in to their obsession, "You are right he is a girl."

They shook their heads knowingly and muttered amongst themselves, "She didn't understand us, she thought her child was a boy."

 

 

The Fear of Dogs and Fear Itself

Just when I was making progress to be around dogs, I nearly was attacked by a Great Dane yesterday while taking out the garbage. 

Our neighbor, an elderly man, was out walking his dog (which is as big as a pony) he had a chain type of leash. I greeted him by saying, "Hi George, I am not going to cross the street to give you a kiss (We give a kiss on both cheeks when we greet someone we know in France) because I am afraid of dogs, especially yours because he is so big." I smiled and added, "How was your Christmas?" He nodded, "Did you have an incident when you were young?" I replied, "Yes, but nothing equal to the fear I feel when I am around dogs. But I am making progress." He offered as all dog owners do when I say I am afraid of dogs, "He is nice, he won't hurt you." I smiled and asked, "How old is he, he must eat a lot of food!" In my thoughts I was going over everything you, my readers, have told me about being around dogs, I put my hands by my side, I did not make eye contact, I moved slowly, I kept my voice even when I was speaking, and I keep saying to myself while smiling, "It is a nice dog, big, but nice and I am safe and it is on a chain, and..." just then the dog vaulted in a massive leap across the street towards me. I froze. My neighbor held the leash but the dog was too strong and he wasn't prepared for the sudden movement. He fell and hit his head on the curb though he did not let go of the leash, the dog pulled him a bit but with my friend's dead weight the dog could not move any further. 

The dog did not seem mad, he definitely wanted to greet me with a big hello that would have toppled me. Or at least that is what I keep telling myself instead of what I felt was happening, "That dog is having me for dinner." 

My friend was on the ground, he had a hard time getting up, his glasses were broken and he reprimanded his dog. I was frozen with fear, my heart was beating fast I wanted to help my friend, to lend a hand but I could not move from fear of the dog. I felt awful. I am a helpful person and I wanted to help my friend but I could not no matter what my body would not respond to my heart's desire to help.

I asked him if he was hurt and he said no. He got up, pulled his dog close and limped to the other side of the street. I told him I was sorry, and that I wish I could lend a hand but I was too afraid. He held his dog tightly, told me not to worry as I walked ahead of him to my home. As soon as I was inside I had to sit down. I didn't know what felt worse, my fear or that I could not help my friend when he fell. It was a shocking reality to know that I choose my own perceived safety over helping my friend. 

When Yann came home soon after I told him what happened, and asked him to go check on our neighbor to be sure he was okay. 

Our neighbor was fine. The dog was fine and I am okay. Though I am just a little bit more aware that a big dog vaulting does not mean it is mad, just overly friendly. Though there is no way I am ever going to pet that dog. Yesterday was scary, but I won't let this incident add to my fear. I am making progress just saying that. Whew! 

Now I have to accept my actions and that part is bothersome. 

Fear prevented me from helping my friend, I need to learn to feel comfortable around dogs for the sake of others. I thought my fear was just about me, it couldn't bring harm to anyone, it just prevented me from getting involved... but now I see it as all together differently. Fear is a block and blocks can get in the way of being with others especially those in need be it fear of dogs or fear of something else.

 

 

 

 

Around my Home

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Christmas Spirit

 

Merry Christmas!

I am so lucky to have the gift of your friendship!

I hope today is a happy day filled with knowing you are loved.

 

 

Christmas Questionnaire

 This Christmas as Sacha will be with our friends Judy and Bill in Portland, and Chelsea and Martin will be in Mexico celebrating their Honeymoon, as well as the marriage of Martin's brother. Yann and I will be celebrating Christmas with friends at their home. In January Sacha will be coming to France, so we will delay our Christmas celebration until then. 

I did not decorate this year. Oh la la.

Someone sent me this Christmas Questionnaire, if you would like to answer yours please do so in the comment section:

 

 

 

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?    Both, with ribbons that I keep year after year.

 

2. Real tree or artificial?  Artificial.

 

3. When do you put up the tree?  Usually after Chelsea's birthday after the 20th of December.

 

4. When do you take the tree down?  Twelve or so days after Christmas, a day or two after Epiphany.

 

 

5. Do you like eggnog? Love it and miss it as I cannot find it in France. I have made it , but actually, I do not miss the calories.

 

6. Favorite gift received as a child?  A Mickey Mouse watch.  As an Adult Chelsea's birth as she was born on the 20th.

 

7. Hardest person to buy for?  Someone I do not know.

 

8. Easiest person to buy for? Anyone in my family.

 

9. Do you have a nativity scene?  Yes, it is called a creche in French and the nativity is an entire village of « Little Saints » called Santons.

 

10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Neither. How bad is that!

 

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I know I should be grateful for every gift received. I know it is the thought that counts. But when the thought is « Paper Napkins ». I did not appreciate the thought, nor the gift.

 

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? It's a Wonderful Life

 

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas?  December 15th or so. I like the rush.

 

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?  Yes, isn’t Brocante recycling at its finest?

 

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?  Jean’s Christmas Pudding.

 

16. Lights on the tree?  Yes. White sparkling ones.

 

17. Favorite Christmas song? Oh Come oh Come Emmanuelle.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? More often than not we stay at home. But I wish we could go home to the States every year.

 

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer's? Rudolf, Dasher, Dancer, Comet, Vixen, Prancer... oh no!

 

20. Angel on the tree top or a star?  Usually an angel.

 

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Christmas eve … but when I was a child I use to open all my gifts before Christmas and re-wrapped them. I still do that sometimes… my family knows that about me. So they hide my gifts.

 

22. The most annoying thing about this time of the year? That there isn't peace on earth.

 

23. Favorite ornament ? I love opening the Christmas boxes and welcoming the little ole friends, retelling stories about the ornaments… my favorite one is a red and white polka dotted glass mushroom.

 

24. Do you make Christmas cookies ? No… but I do make a Christmas log cake.

 

25. What do you want for Christmas this year?  Good health, and peace… »Honey-Dos » 

Are you Ready for Christmas?

 

                   

 

 

                                      

 

 

 

                                      

 

 

 

                                        

 

 

                                      

 

 

 

                                      

 

 

 

 

                                      

 

 

                                      

 

Are you ready for Christmas?

The Story of Family

 

 

The history of my family started back before any of us were born, back before history was recorded, before ink and pen, somewhere amongst a woman's arms and a man's kiss, somewhere in the middle of a heart and soul.

My father's and my mother's parents came from the Azores, the islands off of Portugal.

 

 

 

 

The history of my family took place sailing across the ocean, traveling and working across the fields, buying farmland, and prayer. I never thought about it before, but the long row of fences that surround the fields remind me of rosaries dangled between my grandparents and parents hands. Pray they did.

Faith rooted them.

 

 

 

 

Wooden shoes.

A photo of my grandparent's barn framed from wood from their barn.

A bird's nest.

The morning hour.

Farm animals in a row.

Details of the entrance to my childhood home.

 

 

 

 

 

Family history:

One after another.

My oldest niece Patti.

Names use to tell us where we were from.

Patti is not a Portuguese name. Chelsea is not a French name.

Alfonso was the first name in the large book containing our family history dating back to the 1500s.

Had I known that would I have named our son Sacha Alfonso?

Probably not.

I do not think Martin nor Chelsea will either.

 

 

 

Fifteen years ago we went to the Azorian island that my family was from. 

The above photo of Sacha standing in front of the massive stone wall/fences that surrounded the fields.

My grandparents walked along those walls.

They did not know that their great-grandson would one day lean upon them as their grand-daughter took his photo.

 

 

 

Photos from several years ago:

 

Uncle Phil  (My Father's sister's husband) and his daughter my cousin Julie (Sacha's Godmother who read at Chelsea's wedding) and Aunt Ann (my dad's youngest sister) and her oldest daughter my cousin Judy.

 

 

 

Some of my nieces and nephew Gina, Patti, Kate, Marie, Molly, Maci and blessed is he among women: George.

 

 

 

 

 My brother's Mat wife Shelley and their daughter Marie.

 

Three of my four brothers.

 

 

 

My mother (the little blonde girl in the white dress) and her brothers, sisters, and her mother shucking corn.

 

My father, brothers, and my oldest niece and nephews (Chelsea and Sacha are part of this group).

 

 

 

My mom with the younger nieces and nephews

 

 

 

My baptism.

Father McGoldrick, my cousins-godparents, Craig and Mary, and my father standing on his tiptoes to catch the moment. My mother took the photo.

 

 

 

Family, you are where I am. 

Our history is within us, being watered by our thoughts, prayers, actions, our choices, our faith in one another,

Our lives and it will continue.

 

 

What Would You Add to the List if You Were Pregnant?

Photo: Chelsea 18 months old.

 

 

In the beginning, when I was pregnant with Chelsea, French Husband was jealous. He wanted to be the one pregnant. He wanted to be the one growing a baby inside. To appease his wishful thinking I let him tell me five things he would do if he were pregnant and that I would do those things for him.

1)  He wouldn't watch TV, nor watch any violent movies, nor be around any loud noises, he would turn off the radio, and never listen to rock music (I had to remind him to keep it simple and not go into detail, otherwise I might begin to feel like Pumpkin Peter's wife. Though most the things he listed weren't a problem except the rock music as I listened to "Touch me" by the Doors nearly every day.)

2)  He would give up sugar, caffeine, anything too spicy, and never would he eat junk food, nor eat anything too hot or too cold,  he was on a roll, he went on and on, about food. Did he forget that we were vegetarians which meant healthy eating habits? I always wonder how it was that I gained 55 pounds living on air?

3)  He would listen to opera music, not just as background music, but sit and listen to it, at least an hour a day. Oh, and not just any opera music only Puccini and Verdi.

4)  He would take long silent walks in the forest breathing deeply the fresh air, being mindful of the earth under his feet and hug trees. I went to Bois des Vincennes as often as I could.

5)  He would have the baby in Pithiviers (the clinic where Leboyer, Odent and Lamaze ideas and knowledge were used.

I followed French Husband's list of things to do while pregnant. Chelsea was born in Pithiviers,

ten pounds, smiling and very calm. 

Chelsea do you know Daddy has an ENDLESS-LIST for you to follow now that you are pregnant?

Today is More Than Chelsea's 29th Birthday

Today is more than celebrating Chelsea's 29th birthday.

A month ago...

 

 

I found out the secret while Yann was in India, but I was sworn to secrecy which is not a strong point of mine. 

Holding on to such a massive golden tidbit was a challenge, I wanted to shout from the highest mountain top and dance wildly under the light of the moon. Instead, I literally held my tongue between my teeth and counted the days (16 of them) before the big reveal. When Yann returned home Chelsea and Martin had planned to visit the following Saturday. A few days before they arrived Yann started talking about going on Saturday to go take a lesson with a thing that looks like a death trap, a lawnmower attached to his back with kite wings on both sides of his arms. The idea of that bugs me completely, truly makes me want to shove him in a closet and lock it. PLUS the fact that he wanted to go on the day Chelsea was coming home, he did not know that she had a big secret to reveal, the whole idea sent me into a crazy orbit. How could I tell him not to go without revealing that which I was meant to keep a secret?

 

 

 

 

Finally, after the third or fourth time he mentioned wanted to take this flying lesson I simply laid the biggest guilt trip on him, "Hey I am not going to the brocante this weekend so you cannot go flying, plus you have been gone for two weeks!" I felt terrible telling him that way, but I ran out of:

"Honey please don't go, I have missed you so."

 

 

He stayed home and understood.

Other than our wedding day, having children, and Chelsea's and Martin's marriage becoming Grandparents has to be one of the happiest times in our lives. We are in love with that person to be.

This baby will be the first grandchild for Martin's family as well, and the first great-grandchild for my mother.

Chelsea and Martin told me I could announce their pregnancy on my blog on her birthday.

 

Meet baby to be.

Do you see the profile?

---------------------------------------------------

Due date is the early part of June 2019.

Happy Birthday Beautiful Chelsea xxxx

 

 

 

 

 

On the Eve of Some Big News

On the eve of anything wonderful,

it is hard to count the waiting hours.

Tomorrow

I can finally reveal my long-held secret.

I am terrible at secrets, actually pitiful,

it is a miracle that I have kept it this long.

so I cannot blow it now.

TOMORROW come fast!

I am closing the comments because of no guessing, or spoilers, or whatever.

 

How to Achieve Harmony

 

 

The other day I found a book if you could call it that, with its pages barely hanging on, I asked the dealer how much? French Husband looked at the book, looked at me, looked at the dealer and shrugged.

He doesn't get the attraction to things on their last leg.

He doesn't understand that kind of reckless beauty.

His knees don't buckle at the sight of old junky stuff with a price tag.

 

 

 

 

BUT he does get me. He shrugged, saying, "I am certain it is going to look better the moment you take it home."

French Husband lets me do what I want with our home. He likes how I do what I do. Sure sometimes he pitches a fit about some little thing, like why he can't put a hammock in the living room, or why the piles of whatever he doesn't want to be put away cannot take residence on the stairs, or why I had to move his several stacks of magazines by his bedside ten inches to the right so I could vacuum underneath them.

Like I have said a million times to that guy of mine: We both have our passions, we both have different hobbies that make us who we are. He likes to jump off mountains, go down caves, ride with the wind and fly in the sky... and I like to create a home with falling apart old things from the brocante.

He gets his toys.

I get the house.

I get to hear about his adventures without getting dirty or bruised.

He gets to come home, sit on a rickety chair, eat off a chipped plate and sleep on linen bedsheets.

Harmony comes with give and take..... and a few odds and ends.

 

How do you create harmony at home?

Photos of Paradise from my Friend Patricia Who Lost Her Home

 

Patricia had a home in Paradise as well as an art studio. I met Patricia years ago when she was traveling in the south of France, she had read my blog and contacted me. I felt like a neighbor had come to visit considering Paradise near my hometown in California.

Patricia lost everything in the fire.

Recently, a photographer offered families from Paradise her services, since most of them no longer had photos of their families.

 

The photos and text below are from Patricia:

 

 

 

The long road home.

Patricia went to Paradise, as the roads and neighborhood were recently accessible to residents.

 

 

 

This fire exploded our community...

 

 

 

 

It flattened us, and twisted us,

 

 

 

...it spilled our guts,

 

 

 

Transformed us.

 

 

Ripped us from the inside out.

 

 

 

 

It sent us wandering in a fog of uselessness...

 

 

 

...and fractured every bit of what made us whole and unique.

 

 

 

 

 

...and melted us in the most peculiar ways.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blinded us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This monster emptied us of everything...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And yet, oddly enough the hearth remains...

 

 

 

 

 

 

And now as we are living like refugees,

starting to put our lives back together we all share the same grief but also the same hope

that we will be blooming in new ways,

growing in the light of the outpouring of love and generosity that continues to be shown us.

It is a new day and a new life and I am supported with hugs everywhere I go!

 

 

To make donations to the community of Paradise here is a good place, my nephew Andy works here:

 

GOLDEN VALLEY BANK

 

Golden Valley Bank is working with

 

Camp Fire Relief 
General Funds 

Please send questions to Natasha at nbeehner@goldenvalley.bank. 

Golden Valley Bank General Fund

Boys and Girls Club of the North Valley

Public Safety Workers

Butte County Sheriff Dept. Employees

Agricultural Efforts

Shelter Storage

The Last to Leave

 

and in associating with the following businesses who will donate part of their sales to Golden Valley Bank Camp Fire Victims:

 

Camp Fire Relief 
Business Partner Funds

Please send questions to Natasha at nbeehner@goldenvalley.bank.

Sierra Nevada Brewery

Fifth Sun

Lulus

Klean Kanteen

California Olive Ranch

NorthStar

Chico Electric

Associated Pension Consultants

Nor-Cal Vans

Firestorm Fire

Russell, Gallaway Associates, Inc.

Gas Transmission Systems (GTS)

GRID Alternatives North Valley

AdventureSmith Explorations

Immediate Care

Tender Loving Coffee

Alternative Energy Systems

MJB Welding Supply

Meester & Co.

 BCM Construction

Videomaker

Pathology Sciences Medical Group

Interim Healthcare

MC2

Chico Honda Motorsports

Lundberg Family Farms

Feather Falls Casino

Ray Morgan Company

Cascade Orthopedic Supply

Ferguson & Brewer Investment Co.

Morrison and Company 

 

 

 

 

 

Where will my donation go?

100% of your donation will stay local. We will be making decisions as needs arise over the next year or more.

How do I set up a fund?

We are no longer setting up Camp Fire Relief funds for individuals or organizations due to an overwhelming amount of requests.

Will any of my donation go towards administrative fees for your Foundation?

None of your donation will go towards administrative fees. There is a small fee to use PayPal services, if you choose to donate that way instead of a check.

Is my donation tax deductible?

Yes.  You will receive a receipt within 5-7 business days.

If you have questions, please email nbeehner@goldenvalley.bank. 

Please find donation options through multiple organizations below. Electronic transfers are accepted through PayPal.

Another option is to drop off or mail a check to either addresses below.

Please make checks payable to "GVBCF-Camp Fire". If you would like your donation to go toward a specific fund, please put the Fund's name in the memo on the check.

190 Cohasset Road, Chico, CA 95926

250 Hemsted Dr., Ste. 100 Redding, CA 96002

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Problem with Fluff Stuff

 

A blue ribbon with hand painted flowers one of many in a trunk at the brocante.

What is it about lace, ribbons, bows... feminine 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 feminine fluff to a basket.

Oh, those darn heavy wooden trunks with big iron locks and old labels, tempting, and teasing haunting me with,

"O...P...E...N  M..E! Look what I have hidden inside for you."  

And I do.

Sucked right in everytime.

 

 

 

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.

 

 

Snaps from Aix en Provence

 

 

 

 

 

Do You Hear a Voice in the Trunk?

 

 

The Scene:

Two women walking around a very shabby and not so chic brocante in France.

Characters:

Susan: An American woman who speaks some French, loves the brocante, knows what she likes and is happy to be brocanting in France. Enjoying the scenery-- but focused. 

Corey: American woman who lives in France. Addicted to the brocante. Within a second realizes that Susan is her carbon copy when it comes to buying antiques. "Oh no," is her first thought. Her kinder thought comes fifteen seconds later.

Take One:

Susan and Corey scoop up items, compare their hunt and prices like two hunters in the woods.

Whadya get?

Wow, that's cool?

How much?

Lucky, that's great!

Whadya get?

I want it! Was there anymore?

How much?

I like that, do you?

Whadya think, is it worth it?

 

Take Two:

The two split up: One goes to the left, the other goes to the right.

Corey comes upon a "bingo" of a stand and starts scooping up the wonderment in record speed. The dealer sees that Corey loves books and offers her two that are in her car. (One of the most important GOLDEN RULES OF BROCANTING: ALWAYS ASK THE DEALER IF THEY HAVE ANYMORE OR SIMILAR ITEMS.) Corey cannot believe her luck and looks around for Susan.

 

 

 

 

The books are dated 1774. Corey nearly faints.

Susan in the distance sees the scooper scooping and racing over to get her fill... Corey does not give her the elbow because she is on cloud nine over the books, and Susan has asked Corey to take her around to the brocantes. Corey remembers to be zen, to be kind and bites her tongue.

"Whadya find?" Corey asks... though cannot wait to show Susan the books... thinking she has the upper hand of the deal of the day.

Susan shows Corey her box of wonders, an entire box of 18th century Creil white dishes, old beautiful dishes. Corey's mouth hits the dirty ground, her manners follow suit. With her monastic years far behind her Corey says in a teasing way, "Shut up! How much?" When Susan announces it cost her the price of a pizza. Corey nearly faints for the second time. They both laugh and then return to the hunt.

 

 

 

 

 

Take Three:

Corey and Susan gather up the bits and pieces that they have bought. Corey kneels down to help Susan pick up some of her latest purchases. When she kneels down she sees the underside of a vase she has overlooked for the last thousand hours. She cannot believe her eyes. The vase has been front and center in their faces for the last thousand hours and neither of them saw it because they had only seen it from up above... and as it didn't seem like much from up above, they had not cared to take a closer look.

Another Golden Rule about Brocanting: Walk around the fair more than once, more than twice... you cannot possible seeing everything in one take let alone in three takes, AND look up, down, under and around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Take Four:

Corey buys the vase for five euro. She thinks the brocante gods must be on her side since she brought a friend along to a favorite secret brocante spot. She proclaims her gratitude by vowing never to threaten to shove someone in the armoire or trunk again. 

Just as Corey is about to kiss the vase and say Amen. Susan squeals: "Oh Corey! Look what I found! You walked right by it! Look at this mirror I bought!"

The original mercury molted mirror is fanastic, the frame is good, but the mirror... 

 

 

Last Scene:

What do you think happened to Susan?

Did Corey keep her vow?

Did the Mirror ride in the front seat?

Do you hear a voice in the trunk?

 

Footnote:

I really am nice. So come tag along with me with the French la Vie 

I promise to put only antiques in the trunk.

 

Loving Something New Everyday

 

Love something new every day,

that sure beats, "Do something that scares you every day.

I suppose for some, loving is scary. 

At the brocante last weekend I saw a box full of 1700 documents. It would extra easy if the saying went, "Love the brocante or something old every day," and yet at the same time that would be scary if everyone did, because the letter box wouldn't have been there when I came by.

Loving something new every day is opening my eyes to what is before me and finding goodness.

 

 

 

 

 

A 1700 soup tureen from Moustiers, with iron wire staple repairs.

What a sacred act it is to restore that which we love when it falls apart.

To hold its pieces, tenderly turning them over, judging them only in the hopes of putting it back together without the slightest trace.

Loving something old again and again keeps it new.

 

 

 

 

 

The sweetest lock cover:

Two angels holding a bouquet of flowers over that which the lock and key longed to protect.

 

 

 

 

 

Loving until the end.

Until the very end and then some.

 

French vs. American Finding the Way

 

Someone once told me that the difference between a French and an American could be summed up like this:

"If you put a French person and an American person in the middle of a dense jungle and asked them to find their way out, the French person would bend down grab some soil look at it for clues, look up to see which way the wind blew the trees and which way the sun was moving across the sky... in other words the French person would study the situation right then and there before making a move. On the other hand, the American would climb up the nearest tree, look around and holler, "HEY! Anyone out there?"

In general, because thankfully we cannot put a label on a whole country let alone a single person, the French are more methodical in their approach, trusting that they can find their way by themselves, whereas the Americans look at teamwork, and will go out on a limb to find a new way.

Why?

 

 

 

If you ask three hundred thousand French people, "Did you have fun in (as in did you like, enjoy, consider school some of the best years ever...) school?" Two hundred and ninety-eight of them would answer solemnly, "No." Then they would look at you oddly, and ask, "Why?"

French students go to school to learn how to study. Fun is rarely in the equation. The first day of school they are taught to come into the classroom, sit at their desk quietly. They are not allowed to talk unless they are asked a question. If the teacher asks the students for a response, or "Who knows the answer?" The French child is supposed to raise their hand no higher than their shoulder, with their pointer finger in the air. Unlike an American student they cannot wave their arm frantically, and with excitement saying, "I know, I know, ask me!!!!"

The French are taught from a very early age to sit still, listen, obey, and if in doubt re-think, and if you don't know the answer listen, and if you think you are right you probably are wrong.

Therefore when they do know the answer they know they are right. Their opinion is well thought out, they can back it up with an army of examples. They will listen to your arguments, your ideas, but in the end, they believe they are never wrong.

 

 

 

 

An American student is taught they are the master of their universe, that they can accomplish whatever they want to do, as long as they believe it, work hard towards it and/ or have the money to get it.

The American and the French come from a very different upbringing, a different approach to education and a way to be. In France, you rarely hear: "If there is a will there is a way!" Watching my children go through the French schools, and my listening to many of them talk about schools I have come to believe that I would have suffered greatly in their mold. Simply because I was raised to climb a tree, and believe in myself even if I didn't have a single example to back it up.

This is not to say that one approach is better or worse than the other. Both have advantages, both are worthy, and both ways of educating can shape a different way of thinking.

In the end, the American who climbed the tree, and the French person who studies the surroundings find their way... and both ways bring for an interesting conversation at the end of the day.

 

Someone once told me that the difference between a French and an American could be summed up like this:

"If you put a French person and an American person in the middle of a dense jungle and asked them to find their way out, the French person would bend down grab some soil look at it for clues, look up to see which way the wind blew the trees and which way the sun was moving across the sky... in other words the French person would study the situation right then and there before making a move. On the other hand, the American would climb up the nearest tree, look around and holler, "HEY! Anyone out there?"

In general, because thankfully we cannot put a label on a whole country let alone a single person, the French are more methodical in their approach, trusting that they can find their way by themselves, whereas the Americans look at teamwork, and will go out on a limb to find a new way.

Why?

 

 

 

If you ask three hundred thousand French people, "Did you have fun in (as in did you like, enjoy, consider school some of the best years ever...) school?" Two hundred and ninety-eight of them would answer solemnly, "No." Then they would look at you oddly, and ask, "Why?"

French students go to school to learn how to study. Fun is rarely in the equation. The first day of school they are taught to come into the classroom, sit at their desk quietly. They are not allowed to talk unless they are asked a question. If the teacher asks the students for a response, or "Who knows the answer?" The French child is supposed to raise their hand no higher than their shoulder, with their pointer finger in the air. Unlike an American student they cannot wave their arm frantically, and with excitement saying, "I know, I know, ask me!!!!"

The French are taught from a very early age to sit still, listen, obey, and if in doubt re-think, and if you don't know the answer listen, and if you think you are right you probably are wrong.

Therefore when they do know the answer they know they are right. Their opinion is well thought out, they can back it up with an army of examples. They will listen to your arguments, your ideas, but in the end, they believe they are never wrong.

 

 

 

 

An American student is taught they are the master of their universe, that they can accomplish whatever they want to do, as long as they believe it, work hard towards it and/ or have the money to get it.

The American and the French come from a very different upbringing, a different approach to education and a way to be. In France, you rarely hear: "If there is a will there is a way!" Watching my children go through the French schools, and my listening to many of them talk about schools I have come to believe that I would have suffered greatly in their mold. Simply because I was raised to climb a tree, and believe in myself even if I didn't have a single example to back it up.

This is not to say that one approach is better or worse than the other. Both have advantages, both are worthy, and both ways of educating can shape a different way of thinking.

In the end, the American who climbed the tree, and the French person who studies the surroundings find their way... and both ways bring for an interesting conversation at the end of the day.

I Was Born to Do This

 

 

 

One of the many characters in the French nativity santon,

hand painted over a hundred years ago.

Carries two baskets from the market filled with cabbage.

Some brought incenses,

some brought gold,

some came by with their lambs and drums;

The French santons, the many characters of the village come to the Provencal nativity, 'it takes a village" comes to mind when I see them set up.

I collect the old shabby looking ones, but the characters never change, I love this one who brings cabbages, like why not? The Provencal nativity scene

symbolically says to me, "Give what you have, come as you are, we can create a loving world if we bring our gift and share."

The santons make me feel like everything has a place and a purpose.

My brother Marty told me a story of a Man who was in Paradise the day of the fire, his volunteered service was to look in on the elderly, that day his boss called him and asked if he was going to Paradise, and the Man replied that he was just entering the town as they spoke. His boss said, "Come Home! It is too dangerous they are closing the roads." So the Man started to turn his car around to head home. But then he thought of a Shut-In that he usually visited and he knew he would not be able to escape if the fire should come to his house. So instead of turning around, he went to the Shut-Ins house. When he arrived the fire was close and the Man was scared thinking they were both going to die! He ran into the house and the Shut-In was sitting in his chair with a sleeping bag. The Man asked the Shut-In what he was doing with a sleeping bag, and the Shut-In replied, "I figured once the fire came in I would just zip myself up in the sleeping bag so I wouldn't see it." The Man picked him up and carried him to his car. On the terrifying ride home, the Man thought to himself how stupid he was because there was no way out of the burning furnace ahead of them, he thought I could have been safe and now it looks like I am going to die. On the way down the horrific firey road, he picked up other people whose cars had burned or who had run out of gas, when at last they made it out he thought, "This is why I was born. I was made to do this. Simple me, I am a hero." 

I hope I would have the courage to do the same.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Your Child Grows Up

 

Sacha wrote me the other day asking, "Mom do you remember the last time you held my hand when I was a child?"

As we lived in an old house in the country not so far away from the village, close to a river and a forest behind us, we often walked to and fro the village and went wandering by the river that looked more like a stream. Up the hill from our house Annie lived, and in the surrounding fields wild tulips, asparagus, and rows of grape vines grew. Sacha's childhood friend Fabrice lived down the road. We held hands whenever we went, Chelsea on one side and Sacha on the other.

Sacha wrote, that he remembers my hands were soft and warm. I probably stopped holding their hands when they were in the fifth grade.

Childhood.

When I was in Seattle, Sacha held my hand, strong and giving, pure gift.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sacha's asking me about the last time I held his hand reminded me of other little memories that have slipped away from my day to day life. Sweet memories seem to pour in as I recalled his and Chelsea's childhood. Such as the time Sacha lost his first tooth I remember the morning when I went to his bedroom to wake him up for school but instead found him sitting on the edge of his bed holding his tooth, "Mommy, this morning, when it was still dark outside the church bells started to ring: DONG 1, DONG 2, DONG 3 and DING my tooth fell out at the fourth ring of the church bell!" In all seriousness that only a child can muster, he added, "I wonder who is going to leave me money under my pillow, the American tooth-fairy or the *French little mouse?"

Customs in France are not always the same as in the USA.

 

"...The most commonly accepted belief by academics is the fairy's development from the tooth mouse, depicted in an 18th century French language fairy tale. In "La Bonne Petite Souris," a mouse changes into a fairy to help a good Queen defeat an evil King by hiding under his pillow to torment him and knocking out all his teeth..." Via Wiki

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stories collected, memories gathered thoughts that keep me going on dark days. The patterns in the sky, the unfolding of hearts, life in the monastery and how I learned to pray while cooking. Stories of finding and keeping and losing and weeping, the struggle of having lived when death thought to call. Moments of living the words of a dream: Life continues to continue even when unseen. Memories of childhood and Portuguese donuts and saying the rosary with my cousins. Running in dry rice fields, cracking walnuts, riding motorcycles and walking down the lane. Marty, Mathew, Mark and Zane. The best deal I ever found in the shadiest puce was the rarest gem. What words tumble from your heart and soul? What words tell your story? What book would you write?

 

Not Blogging about Politics

 

Writing a blog starts with a theme, and usually, that theme has to do with a person's interest or passion, such as food, family, crafts, politics, social awareness, style, or a knowledge regarding a certain area of expertise. Blogging is vast and takes on many subjects, some bloggers blog with a goal in mind whether for their business, pleasure or a way to keep in touch with family and friends. Blogging is journalling, it can be personal, it can be deep, lighthearted, carefree, connected, challenging... blogging is usually one person's voice as she or he feels comfortable in sharing online. 

 

 

 

 

When I started a blog over thirteen years ago it was to share about my life in France with my French Husband, and two children, about brocanting, spiritual reflections, recipes, photography... a hodgepodge of whatever was on my mind. As the years went on I just kept doing more or less the same thing without focusing on a goal other than to be myself. Blogging opened up a world of friendships that I hold dear, plus I created an antique business, started freelancing for magazines, and ventured into sharing Provence with small groups... Blogging has given me many avenues to express myself and I am grateful every day for it. 

 

 

 

 

Lately, I have received emails regarding questions about politics, and as much as I like talking about politics in person, I do not feel comfortable doing so on my blog. Occasionally, I have hinted about politics about where I stand, but it is not a direction that I want to familiarize my blog with. If I start putting politics into my blog it might not end, it might change the feeling of my blog and readers, it might open Pandora's Box and lead in a direction that I am not willing to go with this blog as it is. With that said, I would encourage anyone who is curious about what is going on in the world to read a variety of news reports, to listen and share with others who want to do so online or in person. 

 

 

 

I am open to ideas, your thoughts and feedback, blogging is not a one-way street. Why do you read my blog? Is there something you would like me to dive into deeper or talk less about? Though if it is to talk about politics I honestly do not want to share about that here. 

Thank you for being part of my world, and with your comments and emails thank you for letting me into your world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Italian Neighbor

 

Italy is less than two hours from our doorstep. My neighbor. Seductive enchanting Italy. I love that. Zip across the border, Italian enchantment rushes up, grabs me, Bacio qui! Limoncello in the afternoon, then back to oh la la France in the evening. 

 

 

 

San Remo is a lovely seaside town. Every Tuesday and Saturday morning there is a market. Yeah, yeah I know markets galore in France, so why drive two and a half hours for a market?

 

 

 

 

Italy that is why!

Italian Christmas pastries,

Lunch,

A change of scenery,

The smell of Pizza, garlic, and oregano,

The Italians,

Licking windows, as the French say for window shopping.

Happy stroll.

 

 

 

 

L'Erbolario, one of my favorite shops. Natural products, wonderful fragrances, soaps and the best herb tea, red fruit tisane. Christmas gifts.

 

 

 

 

 

J'adore this black coat. Hidden buttons, the back side of the stand up collar was in leather.

Sleek, chic, yum.

Do I need a coat?

No.

Christmas shopping was the goal, and that coat almost got me off track.

Taking a photo of it helped me feel like I was putting it in my closet.

 

 

 

 

 

San Remo market is every Tuesday and Saturday morning, 8 am until 1pm.

In the town center next to the tower.

Cashmere scarves, cashmere sweater, beautiful leather belts, and gloves...

and the quality is superior then the prices let on.

My favorite is the food! Massive chunks of Parmesan cheese, Balsamic, Fresh ravioli, hazelnuts, people line up for a fifteen-minute wait.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

San Remo: Old meets new.

Note those new street lamps next to the old facade?

I wished those street lamps would disappear.

If I was on the city planning I would be barking against those sort of lamps.

I like new things, I do... but not this style of new.

 

 

 

 

 

For example new things like gadgets.

French Husband loves gadgets, or I should say sorting through gadgets.

I do not like this sort of shopping.

But, I must say he finds the best things! Techy can of cool stuff that I do not even know what it is until he explains it, then I want it too.

San Remo market has its share of gadgets. 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, Italy.

You just know how to romance life,

Conversation outside, bundled up in love with hot chocolate and hand holding, Christmas decor, and pasta without guilt

Italians just ooze sensuality. 

Plus it is a Christmas shopping tradition of ours.

 

A Favorite Daily Routine

 

 

 

 

Setting the table has been something I enjoy doing since I was a little girl.

The fork on the left, the knife to the right with its cutting part of the blade towards the plate.

As I place the silverware alongside the plate, I imagine those who will sit around the table and dine.

Hoping their stories will easily unfold like napkins, that their laughter will be tossed about like a green salad. I smile anticipating stories that will be swallowed whole and digested later. (A dinner is a mixture of hot and cold, tender morsels, bites to chew, and just a hint of sweet and spicy.)

 

 

The meal is 

a sure thing in France.

The daily event.

The time is taken.

Dining in France is like breathing. 

A given.

Rarely taken alone, unless you are alone.

More often than not sitting at a table, one does not grab a bite to eat on the go.

"I have become French," I say to myself as I set the table, "Or maybe I was always French? Nah, I was too picky of an eater to have been French."

 

 

 

 

 

 

After dinner routine:

Clear the table.

Put the dishes in the soapy water.

Washed away the day as the flavor of it seeps in.

Stack the dishes in the drainer, drained the sink, wiped off the counters, hang the towel.

Take one more bite, then put away any leftovers.

 

The joy of the everyday routine.

Which one is yours?

Settling In

 

Provence welcomed us with a blue sky, where the sun warmed our backs.

We unpacked, went through our mail, I made soup while Yann went to the boulangerie he brought home two freshly out of the oven baguettes. The butter melted, dripping on to the table.

Years of going back and forth have made it easier for me to know how to deal with the blues of saying goodbye, for me, it is keeping busy not the kind of busy that closes its eyes and turns its head, but the type of busy that lets one settle in gently with familiarity and gives room for the heart to be. Going back home to my family in Willows is like pulling back a curtain to a stage, a scene, a life I know so well and am immensely connected then after a time there whether I have been there for a few days or several weeks it is the same reality, I must say goodbye I must let the curtain fall and come back to this side. After all these years it is not easier, except I know what to expect, how to cope. How to let it be part of me. 

Today is the feast day of Saint Nicolas it is the traditional day to plant wheat, unfortunately, our wheat planting will happen this weekend.

 

 

French la Vie

 

French la Vie Guided journeys in Provence, and Bretagne. French la Vie will lead you to discover France through different lenses sharing the heart and soul of Provence and/or Brittany. The French la Vie Journeys are handcrafted to each group that comes. If you like antiques we will visit markets and have personal entrance to little shops in private homes. If you want to find places to soak in daily life for inspiration we will wander through villages, peeking around corners and discovering history by seeing. If you want to visit artisans studios: painters, potters, cooks, winemakers, the cornucopia of food, and or simply learn about the French lifestyle by being immersed into the beauty of France, then this is for you. Sharing stories, gathering memories, planting dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 OUT

June 25th to July 2nd, 2019, Three places remain.

September 6th to the 9th, 2019, SOLD OUT

September 12th to 19th, 2019, SOLD OUT

 

Maximum group size 4 to 6

 

 

The Cost:

 

Provence and Brittany:

 

3500 Euros per person for the French la Vie's one week journey

which includes transportation, lodging, meals, beverages plus guidance with purchases and sending them home.

 

Air transportation to and from France, personal expenses, and travel insurance are not included.

 

For more information email @ coreyamaro@aol.com 

 

 

Back Home

 

 

Letting the golden leaves crown the day.

A different landscape awaits me far from the one that I am leaving behind. A bit colder, architecturally more pronounced yet golden leaves still crown.

 

 

 

Goodbye Willows.

____

 

We arrived in Paris I am fighting sleep. 

Our flight brought us home safely and that is all that matters... usually. But this time there were many delays, cancellations, and we went ten days without our suitcases. It was a bit unnerving. Chelsea noted that I was in the same clothes in the photos I sent her, at least I had my coat.

Now onward to Christmas.

 

 

Homecoming: Rolling Between Both

 

Home the deep well, unending ever rich the source of who I am and the springboard to my tomorrows. Home that comes with me wherever I go and roots me when the wind tries to cause unbalance. It is my everything, it is the threads that connect and bind me, the threads of memories, faith, family, friends, threads that my parents have woven together with their very lives for the sake of their children, a deep, unending ever rich...

My life.

Ever grateful for the path that my family, community, faith have created, fortunate for the gift freely given, and that I hold with all that I am.

 

 

 

 

 

We had a short visit a few days with my family in Willows and a few days with our son Sacha in Seattle.

It is always too fast.

We are lucky.

I am grateful.

It ends so quickly and I leave hoping it will be there when I return.

Home.

And this trip was infused with Paradise, reminding me that nothing is forever except what we hold within.

Relationships.

Community.

Faith.

Paradise reminds me to keep what is important in front: to learn to grow in love.

To put love in front and keep it as my focus.

Not to get weighed down by anything that comes to distract me from loving.

That is the goal one that I need to work out to achieve.

 

 

 

 

 

Emptiness or pregnant space?

That field, that sky, that land I call home.

My inner child runs to meet the child that was happy go lucky playing in the fields behind my home.

Where is your golden field?

What do you cultivate from it?

I want to plant seeds of thanksgiving.

 

 

Thankful for the road ahead, for the road behind and most of all for the road where I am right now, rolling between both.

 

Some of Us

Christmas Spirit