Category: My French Husband
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Old Fashion Ploy
A nineteen century feather duster once danced through the parlour in the hand of maiden wearing a white pinafore and thick black stockings. Then there is me, with an old sock in hand and jeans. Dusting is dusting, only…
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Insanely Cool Lunch with a Goober
An insanely cool lunch was had at one of my favorite restaurants. Where the sea laps the plates. Where one dares to drink red even though…
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Some get Breakfast in Bed & Some get Socks
This morning as soon as my barefeet hit the tile floor I knew that this was not an ordinary mid winter day in Provence. Outside ten inches of snow had fallen. My naturally cold feet were colder. Much colder.…
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Dancing in the Farm House Kitchen
In the middle of a field stands an old farm house with an attached barn. Nobody lives there, It use to belong to his grand parents, who had farmers manage it, we bought it many years ago. …
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In Search of Kouign Anman
A year ago I started to write the story of how I met my French Husband. After a week or so I was derailed by babysitting, brocante and baking up romance for another American and her soon to be French…
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Licking my Lips
We arrived in Rennes after a six hour train ride. It usually takes twelve hours by car. As soon as we walked into my Belle-Mere's (mother-in-law in French, which means: Beautiful Mother.) home lunch was ready, she is organized…