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Thanksgiving with Cinderella
My Mother use to call me Cinderella, not because I wore glass slippers, nor for my flare for transforming mice…
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A Thanksgiving Story from the Past: The French Postman
Yesterday the postman came to our door with a perfectly square box from the U.S.A. As I signed for it, the postman asked if it was someone's birthday? I told…
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A Touch of Grace
The bounty at the weekly French markets, a living art gallery, a dose of inspiration and more than that, the work of human hands combined with the grace…
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Wonderland
Wonderland. In a cardboard box, high up on a shelf, marked antique silk flowers, that had been carefully guarded by the shopkeeper, who no matter how many times Ruth begged…
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Gathering Strength
Life demands us to be strong. To embrace it as it comes, or wrestle with it until we can sit side by side with it. Life does not…
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Pumpkin Pasta
Pumpkin on Penne Pasta Cut the pumpkin into cubes, then steam until nearly cooked, firm but slightly tender. Chop finely and saute (in…
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Autumn Cornucopia
This afternoon was chilly, an Autumn breeze followed me indoors. A hunk of Roquefort waited on a chunk of baguette, A…
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My Wedding Ring
I never wanted a diamond ring when French Husband and I married.or maybe it was because we did not have money to spend on a wedding ring. …
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Pink Tulips on a Chilly Friday
Chelsea came home this evening. Before going to bed she said, “Mom seriously we need to focus on the wedding, and not the little details, we need to…
Categories
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- Willows, Memories from Back Home