« We do not get what we expect,
we stumble on cracks and are faced with imperfections.
Bonds are tested and tightened.
and our landscape shifts
In sunshine and shade.
There is light.
There is.
Look for it.
Look for it shining over your shoulder.
on the past
It was light where you were once-
It is light where you are now-
It will be light where you will go again. »
A beautiful passage from Call the Midwife.
When you visit Provence, we will taste our way through the countryside.
We will do breakfast at a cafe,
lunch at a bistro,
tea at a salon du the,
an aperitif at a bar,
dinner at a typical French restaurant, and if you have room...
We will have dessert too.
I will translate the menu if you do not read French. Though I must tell you I will translate meat dishes as cow, pig, duck, horse... Cote du Boeuf: is a side of cow, okay?
But when it comes to the desserts, you will lick my face with happiness, even if I do not share. I will translate each dessert down to the speck of sugar detail.
You will have lavender creme brûlée , and I will have Tarte Tatin with vanilla bean ice cream.
When you come to France, please wear elastic band pants.
Be prepared to walk, talk, and eat.
"Eat! No, do not say that... do not say eat to describe dining. Say, Dine." French Husband corrects me and adds, "And the brocante?"
"And we will go to the brocante after we pig out," I add with my lovely twang.
Because I love the brocante, I love to do the food thing more, can you believe that?
I don't know if I do.
We will go to the grocery store, the bakery, and the market...
And at the brocante, we will buy dishes, linen napkins, silverware, and glasses.
This was the view from the brocante today.
It was over a 100 degrees.
Afterwards, we went to dinner and sat in the shade, the weather started to cool off. Before long it started to hail.
So strange to feel the heat of the day give way to hail.
Though ice and buckets of rain were welcomed.
The drought is severe within France - this hailstorm drenched me but barely the earth.
Our home is going to look like a church if I keep this up.
text by my friend Linda Marcov
“ Sometimes things are just made to happen. Our friends Corey Amaro and Yann Rolland-Benis were attending an antique fair in a village about an hour and a half away from us. Not wanting to miss out on an opportunity to visit with them we agreed to meet at the fair. Corey is an exquisite designer and has a huge following of clients that she shops for. So it was understood she would be working first, playing later.
The parking areas were filled to the brim, and the fair is large, I said to Ludmil oh dear, how will we ever find them? We haven’t seen them for over11 years . 10 minutes into our arrival who should tap me on the shoulder, Corey and Yann? We hugged, chatted briefly and encouraged Corey to continue with her work we’d text one another and meet up later . It was a really hot hot day and sooooo many people! We decided to eat early, like 11:30. Guess who made the same decision at the same place . Mind you there are 1,000s of people at this fair . Again a quick chat and Corey was on her way , and we were as well . Fast forward about 30 minutes, and I say to Ludmil, “ I don’t think I can stay out in this heat , I’m going to text Yann and tell him I’m sorry I’m overcome with the heat and need to head home . Corey wasn’t expected to finish for several hours. Just as I’m ready to call him, he calls me , and tells me the heat has got them headed home to their friend's house and would we like to come by! Yes, yes, yes. So we could get in the pool, cool off, and have the most delightful visit. It was as though we had seen them last week. Time closes when you have that kind of friend connection, we retold old stories and new ones, they now have grandchildren, we have great-grandchildren…. It was hard to head back home; we talked on the way out the door, more in the driveway, again as the car was pulling out; that’s how it is with those kinds of friends.
Corey will be hitting the pavement at the fair tomorrow, but for one time and one time only, I’m really happy it was so hot, and we all had to take a break at the same time.
Photos of the outside of their friend's home, it’s a grand home, with exquisite French antiques, infinity pool, and a view that stretches out to the acres and acres of vineyards.”
Golden light on the first evening at our friends Rodger and Arnelle's slice of heaven.
Whenever I am here, I am filled with gratitude for their generous hearts and this beautiful countryside.
A pure gift.
Tomorrow there is a big fat juicy brocante nearby, and yet the temptation to forego it and stay here.
Thankfully, we will be here all week; otherwise, I would be in a struggle to debate my desires.
Fortunately, both are in my hands! How lucky, how thankful, what a holiday!
Work and pleasure gliding by each other without strain.
Golden light shines the way xx
How do you say I love you in sign language?
I taught Gabriel how to hold his three fingers up.
Chelsea sent me this picture as they were on vacation,
I noticed that Gabriel had his three fingers held up.
Of course, a sweet baby smile speaks of love too.
What story are we living in?
What story are we sharing?
What story are we listening to?
Are we the storyteller?
Or the one who listens?
Or maybe some of us drink it in and process it later?
A child's handwritten postcard tells her story to her friend Claudie.
What story will we write today?
Will it be a big fish?
Will it end happily?
Or maybe it will be a poem or a song?
Exclamation! Period. Coma, Never-ending...
Let your voice, the inner one, be heard.
Yann, his sister Arnelle and his mother.
"Mommy, why does Kristi call Max Honey? Why doesn't she call him Peanut-Butter?" Sacha asked when he was three.
Some of the terms of endearment in French I don't mind: Mon petit Coeur de sucre (my little sugar heart,) mon Tresor (my treasure,) or ma belle (my beautiful.) But being called ma puce (my little flea) or ma bichette (my little goat) or ma petite crotte (My Little Poop! A very affectionate term, don't you think?) Or mon chou (my cabbage) doesn't ring my bell.
Peanut butter doesn't sound that bad when you think of it. Well, as long as it isn't chunky.
When French Husband was seven, he would hold the chimney broomstick as a microphone and sing "Que Je T'aime" by Johnny Hallyday" (A French Elvis.) He told me, "I loved that song, and I sang it all day. Johnny was screaming his love for a girl...and God, it ripped my heart open every time!"
I would have loved to have met my French Husband when he was seven.
"Ah ma moitie of a peanut butter et miel tartine! (My half of a peanut butter and honey sandwich, in Franglais.) Sing me Que Je T'aime!"
My French Husband calls me: Lupy. I call him "Cherie FM".
My Dad would say, "You can call me anything as long as you don't call me late for dinner."
What are your terms of endearment?
Driving across France.
From one coast to another.
From cool weather back to the heat.
Fields and fields of sunflowers, wheat, and
cows chewing their cud.
Glorious rain somewhere along the way.
What filled your day?
Washable pens
on a three hour train ride
Inspired tattoo artist
creates his art.
There is a path well worn and true.
Leading along the Normandy coastline
with a history as deep as the sea.
Today it is peaceful.
We are here visiting Yann's family.
The never-ending beach goes on for miles.
The low tide extends so far out that one has to see it to believe it.
They are constantly moving and satisfying beauty. However, the tide flows.
Vastly different in numerous ways compared to the south of France.
One advantage is that it isn't hot, welcoming after the heatwave we have had back home.
There is a path that leads to many others.
Yann's family has lived in Bretagne for generations. Yann's grandparents had a summer house in Normandy where he spent the summer months. His niece moved to Normandy years ago. Then his sister retired to Normandy. And lastly, and recently, his mother. It is strange not to be in Bretagne; it feels like Normandy is just a holiday, and they will all return to Bretagne. But that is not the case.
is anything ever finished?
A peek into a brocante shop proved that the prices are better than the brocantes in Provence,
Even if nobody wants an armoire!
Great Grandmother is 92 years old,
and Great Grandchild is 9 months.
on the train
two little ones in tow
when traveling with children one needs a uhaul!
diapers, snacks, books, toys, bibs, sippy cups, car seats, a stroller… legos falling between the cracks, water bottles rolling under the seats…
a man dare told Gabriel to SHHHH! And Gabriel wasn’t even being loud, though he did sing , “Jingle Bells” a few times. I starred the man down, he mustn’t have grandchildren,
It is worth it even if I felt like Chelsea and I were a human trampoline for Olivia for the last five hours.
a mobil aged baby cannot and should not understand sit still and we are thinking to go to see my mom about the time Olivia will be walking. love is the reason and crazy will be our theme sing.
Doing what he loves.
Self made.
Far from home, plus freelance
means determination.
Not easy.
Especially, during the lulls where questions pop up like weeds.
Following passion is rewarding - mixed in with its share of doubt and worry.
He is doing it, and I am proud of him.
xxxx
IT’S TRUE
"Ay, the pain it costs me
to love you as I love you!
For love of you, the air, it hurts,
and my heart,
and my hat, they hurt me.
Who would buy it from me,
this ribbon I am holding,
and this sadness of cotton,
white, for making handkerchiefs with?
Ay, the pain it costs me
to love you as I love you!"
—Federico García Lorca
---
While watching “Call the Midwife” episode 2 of Season 6, Lorca's poem was quoted.
Call the Midwife is beautifully written If you haven't seen it add it to your list.
Thankful for the layers of colors
As her waving arms bring me in
holding me close
as I surrender to her
healing power
not yet
but one day
The last several I have been back in California I noted that I hadn’t seen butterflies my mother she said that she had noticed that too. As a child chasing them was a given so we’re caterpillars.
I saw one the last time I was home.
One.
– John Burroughs
It’s hot
very hot…
All the shutters are shut to keep the heat out.
We only go out if necessary. Food is necessary. Walking is unbearable, and most French people walk to the market. Without air conditioning and walking, it’s one hot summer.
Carrying a pretty basket to and from the market doesn’t make the heat disappear. I went to throw my basket away and jumped into the sea. I don’t even care if the tomatoes get smashed; I actually do.
Most of the fountains are dry, as severe drought has caused that. It’s depressing to see the reality that the climate has changed.
Where are we going!? And are we going to change?
Is it possible?
The cicadas are working overtime. A constant reminder that it’s hot and their music is not music to my ears this summer. Poor little creatures.
Five minutes on foot is the Mediterranean.
a life savor.
9:30 at night.
Enchanting and Charming and HOT!
Most people in France do not have air conditioning. There was never a need. Most apartment buildings cannot have air-conditioned because how/where would the evacuation units and vents be? And in the small villages, the evacuation units would create more heat in the narrow streets.
Fans are in demand.
Now I understand the reason for the meaning of siesta.
Go out in the morning, come home, go out in the evening.
If you’re lucky to work at home, that is.
I feel sorry for those who have to take the bus or the metro or walk in the middle of the day; it would be hellish. At least cars have air conditioning and so do office buildings…
Earth has changed. I wish I could feel hopeful… Yes, there is love, family, friends, and goodness.
and the climate has changed
And life is changing with it.
An Inconvenient Truth.
Where will we be next summer?
News Flash
In case you have been wondering where I have brocante items for sale.
Please go over to my Facebook and follow my page.
If you see something you like send me a message and I will send you the details.
xxx
(Quote by Brad on Instagram)
When I ask him to smile
He overdoes it.
or as he says,
»It is his American smile. »
We went on the boat to the next hamlet between Cassis and Marseille.
Morgiou.
Next time we will leave early so we will have time to stop for a bite to eat. The last time we had dinner there was for our third anniversary - talk about a million years ago, yet it appears unchanged.
I wish it were the same for me, but then the history formed in my cells and reflected in my wrinkles wouldn’t be with me.
and then again
When I realized the grocery shop would soon close
Gabriel decided to crawl?
6:30 rise and shining
Breakfast, then out to the beach.
Sand and salt
Balance along the wall to the park.
5000 steps later
Nonstop play
a cold shower turned into a water fun fest
A big creamy lunch with gnocchi
and fresh summer fruit
Two stories…
The longest deserved nap.
a Frenchman in Seattle
Obviously French
a stripped shirt
a beret
needs a baguette, a bottle of wine, cheese.
and mustard.
Bastille Day,
Here is a toast, or more a wish, a hope, a prayer, a reflection_
May peace come without violence,
Without manipulation,
or taking what belongs to others.
May we live our lifting each other up with understanding and acceptance.
National holidays often come with a painful past.
To celebrate one's homeland, may it be to see the errors, seek forgiveness, and
celebrate community and peace obtained for all people.
I am passionate about old things and enjoy sharing my experience and connections with others. When you come along on a French la Vie, you will meet like-minded people who create with and collect antiques. We will be inspired by visiting private homes, shops, and studios in the Provençal countryside. Meeting the French in their intimate, off-the-beaten path to shop and dive deeper into the French lifestyle of charm.
This truly is a one-of-a-kind journey.
REVIEW
"While I did find some treasures to bring home, my primary attraction to this trip wasn’t the shopping but the French Life aspect of the trip. I loved staying at Corey and Yann’s house and enjoyed the friendly meals shared in the beautiful settings. Visiting collectors and artists in their homes was a highlight for me. As a tourist, it is a rare treat to get to experience the home life of native residents. Each home was unique and reflected the interests and discerning eye of the owner. The days were packed yet leisurely with unhurried visits and relaxed meals. I would say that this trip is a feast for all the senses – the sea of treasures at the brocantes, the picturesque narrow streets, the delicious food, and the sounds of the mistral wind and church bells. I can conjure these up in my mind and relive the pleasures of this trip."
Dina Lindquist, Oregon
FLV May 2022
French la Vie Brocante
Dates for 2023
Brocante adventures in Provence.
Four guests - maximum:
April 18-25th - Two places remain
May 3-10th - Two places remain
May 24th-31st - Sold Out (with one reserved)
June 27th-July 4th... Sold Out
September 5th- 12th - Sold-Out
September 26th - October 3rd - Two places remain
October 12th- October 19th Sold Out
Thank you so much! I am happy many of you want to join me in Provence!
xxx
These pages still speak my language.
Thank you, Denise, for the delicious dessert and recipe from:
Laura Calder’s Dinner Chez Moi Cookbook
In August our friends Denise and Vlad are coming back to visit! It has been a long time since Covid restrictions prevented all of us from traveling for a couple of years! Tourism has exploded in France. The saying holds, "Everyone and their dog" is here.
Denise is an excellent cook, and I can hardly wait to sit at her table again and again and again.
What is one of your favorite summer recipes? Please share it with me and a photo, if possible, so I might post it to my blog and share it with everyone.
Another lucky find! Several floral croquis designs for silk fabrics.
This is a sampling of one of the panels. Works of art. Clever, creative,
and set aside in a massive folder for me to find a hundred plus years later.
What will I leave behind? Will anyone find it? I would hope we would leave paths of love.
"Have you ever heard
of a flower that never needs
Water, soil, or sunshine?
A flower that stays in full bloom
Through summer and winter
Through good times and bad"
"A flower that rarely gets smaller,
growing endlessly.
A few lost petals,
A little droop,
but, without a doubt,
it will always regrow
into something more beautiful."
"I have one of those.
I call it Love."
Published: October 2008
Thank you
xxx
"Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things Keep ourselves loyal to truth and the sacred professions of friendship. It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it:
I have liked to be with you, see you, and speak with you always. -
Author: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
This morning after nearly three weeks in bed or very close to it I felt a shift of energy and a spark that maybe this was finally the end of this lung infection. Yesterday, was the last day of two weeks of Treatment and antibiotics.
I was cautious. Actually, lectured myself to take it slowly, “Okay, I could do three things, so list them...”
Yann, who went to a long awaited wedding this weekend of very dear friends of ours son, which had been postponed twice because of Covid. Called from downstairs, “Guess what?”
Yan tested positive for Covid. As did others from the wedding.
I sat on my bed.
Fingers crossed.
“Stay on the other side of the house. Wear at mask. Hope you do not feel to wretched.” I called back.
Well, this is a twist to the plot.
Stay tuned.
My five little nieces back in 2008 in their dress-up clothes, looking at one another, dreaming of romance in castles, and pretending they were grown-up... I told them I would tie a brick to the top of their heads to keep them pint size. They think I am kidding. Little do they know that if the brick idea worked, I would probably do it.
(How could this be 15 years ago, almost to the day!? The youngest is Kate. She will graduate next year from high school.)
The fallen hair ribbon as she runs.
Photos: My nieces this summer.
May our freedom lead us to love freely.
no matter the differences
Color, faith, gender, nationality, or status.
Guiding us toward gratitude, understanding, and acceptance
In one another.
The lingering Provençal light
glistening waves lapping softly on pebble beaches
Muted colors against the limestone coast.
The cicadas, the martinet (swift), and the owl singing alongside one another without questioning the time of day
»…is it early morning or the end of day, who cares? »
The harvested lavender, the hum of the bees regret, the summer evening with the blankets falling off the bed.
The language of flowers, do you hear their message?
Strong in gentleness, faithful in their offering of beauty,
giving without asking why or how.
Flowers speak a language without words, yet the message sips into the roots of our being.
A flower speaks by showing us how to nurture the soul.
This Zinnia seems to celebrate its uniqueness by wearing a crown,
striking gold at that.
It doesn't seem to mind that it is one of a kind;
It doesn't seem out of place amongst the other flowers in the garden.
Instead, it seems to echo the universal truth by claiming:
Be boldly yourself.
Not your average wallflower
A single, beautiful, red-head.
He loves me; he loves me not.
She loves me; she loves me not.
One mustn't pluck the petals in such a way.
The soul needs to be nurtured.
Down to the root and
Up along the stem of consciousness.
Petal by petal, hand in hand, heart to heart.
You are loved, you are loved, you are loved...
A summer evening gently unfolds, and the last rays of light leave the sky the moon rises, and stars bloom like flowers up above.
Life constantly changes yet remains the same.
Down below, in the silence, in the stillness, in the darkness the garden grows unafraid.
Photos: Zinnias growing in my Mother's garden against my Father's barn - 2009
To protect your head wear a helmet:
Grab a pair of red boxer shorts
pull them down nearly covering your eyes.
Next, take a pair of socks, preferably a matching color to your “helmet”slip them on as gloves.
Not seen in the above photo, though an important part of the rider’s attire,
is to take off the protective chair leg felt pads and add them to your knees and elbows.
Then take your earphones slipping them on so that the head part becomes a shield for your eyes.
You are ready to ride.
Shoes not required inside.
That is how we roll.
…still here, more or less in the same place. I had no idea that a lung infection could take this long. Little by little, I am feeling better but not 100% myself. Have any of you experienced this before? From your messages, many of you have had asthma or know someone with asthma. I had a blood test and an x-ray. My blood results are promising; my x-ray shows an infection in my left lung. The doctor says it just takes time to rest. I don’t think I’ve ever slept this much.
My mother is doing remarkably well. A few days ago, she returned home; she stayed with my brother Mat and sister-in-law Shelley. My brothers and their wives did a beautiful job caring for my mom, her home, her garden, and her well-being. She is so loved. My brothers had her bathroom and entrance redone to suit her needs. I asked her what she thought, and she said they did an excellent job, I had no doubt. Thank you so much for all your messages regarding my mom and for asking how she is. Indeed, Your attention added to her health.
Going through a box of photos, I came across this one from the early 80s — my dad, my brothers, and a childhood friend. I sent it in a text to my brothers, and this is what they had to say about the photo:
“I remember that day riding motorcycles with those goofballs! On the way up, dad passed all of the other pickups. I remember looking over at the speedometer. It was at 100! Dean was driving an old yellow Chevy and was the hardest to pass. Marty taped a beer to his handlebar, and it sprayed all over when he opened it! Cussing was so cool to hear.
That was the day dad was photographed jumping that was later put on a t-shirt. 1983 or 4…” Brother Zane (50)
“It’s funny. I just told George (my brother’s son ) the story of that picture last week, hoping to see it again someday. It was a lot of fun; I rode with Dean up there in that yellow c10….” Brother Mark (58)
“Yeah, Rob Stinger took that photo, and I think there may be a version with him in it as well. Classic Marty…always the smart dresser. He also wore willows high school purple football pants that day with dad's lace-up motorcycle boots. He made such an impression on Stinger. He also tells the story of the beer tapped to the crossbar. We cherished that day as it was the first and the last time that group ever rode as one. “ Brother Mat (60)
Indeed, my dad and my brother Marty would have something to say. Unfortunately, they are not here, but man, their memories live on.
I thank "Family love" for that.