French la Vie

Embracing Joy

Star Light

 

A constant about life

everything

changes and is changing

stars burn brightly

 

 

 

Guest Post by Rebecca Carvin aka RebeccaNYC

This November my blog will be 16 years old. To celebrate that I have asked you my readers to submit a Guest Post for my blog as a way of celebrating our connectedness as a community through social media. 

I hope you will send me your story or at least a glimpse into your life I feel I know so many of you through the comment section and emails, I hope this will introduce you to one another. Thank you in advance for being part of French la Vie / Tongue in Cheek.

 

_______

 

 

 

I am beyond honored to be Corey’s first ever guest blogger!  I’ve been following Corey Amaro for more years than I can remember, first with her blog (when it was called “Tongue in Cheek” which it still is called in my bookmarks…), then on Instagram and now on Facebook.  Over the years we have become friends, which is so strange because we have never met each other. You start chatting from miles away and before you know it, you’re friends.   

 

 

 

 

Corey asked me to talk about my career, which is really an unusual one.  I’m one of 80 full-time choristers at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City.  As a chorister, I sing in the chorus of every assigned opera in English, French, Italian, Russian, Czech, German, Sanskrit, and American Profanity. I stand for hours on raked stages while wearing outrageously uncomfortable costumes and (sometimes) two-foot tall wigs. The Met Opera performs about 24 operas a year, with nighttime performances Monday through Saturday and matinees on Saturday and many Sundays.  We perform at night and rehearse during the day.  A typical day starts at 10 am and ends just before midnight.  I perform at the highest level of my industry with pride.  It’s been a wild 24 years.

 

 

 

How did this all start, and how in the world does someone end up singing full-time in one of the largest Opera Houses in the world?  My parents tell me that I was singing and matching pitch before I could even talk.   My father was a Baptist Minister in Princeton NJ, where there was so much wonderful choral music, thanks to Westminster Choir College which is located near the campus of Princeton University.  So, I grew up hearing that, and as soon as I could stand up and behave myself properly, I was singing in the children’s choir of my father’s church.  It was my favorite activity, and I sang all the time.  My very first solo performance was in that church when at the age of about 10,  I sang Handel’s “Where E’re You Walk” and Purcell's “Passing By” for the Mother-daughter banquet.  With a doting audience and rave reviews, it was an auspicious start...and I was hooked.

 

When my family moved to Ohio, I started High School and began singing in the choir. Ohio has a great tradition of High School Choral competitions, and I started participating in them and also High School Solo competitions early on.   I was no big winner, but this experience was a huge advantage in learning how to control my nerves in future auditions.  By the time I had to do auditions professionally, I had been doing it for years.

 

From there I went to Ohio University in Athens OH intending to study Music Therapy.  Before the end of my first semester, my teachers convinced me that I should really be studying voice and preparing for a career in Music.  So that’s what I did.  I studied, won competitions, sang several roles with the Opera Theater and had a blast.  Being a big fish in a small pond is a great way to build confidence in a performer.

 

When I graduated from college, I moved to Philadelphia and lived with my sister and brother-in-law and their new baby for several months and found my way to Temple University, where I met my teacher, Dr Christine Anderson.  Chris is the person who really taught me the technique I depend on today.   To pay for Grad school, I got a job at a local hospital as an Admissions Clerk, which I discovered I loved.  I would go to school during the day, and I would work the evening shift at the hospital. It was great fun, but after a while, I was broke and exhausted and I left school.  Every good success story has some forks in the road, right?  This one is mine.

 

 

After I left school, I worked my way through positions of greater responsibility in the field of Health Care until I ended up at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania in the Department of OB/GYN.  I was hired to manage a Federal Grant intended to reduce infant mortality in West Philadelphia.  It was important, invigorating work, and I loved it.  Of course, during this time, I was still singing.  I had found a home with the Choir of the Church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, and I was very happy.  But after 10 years of Mom and Dad asking when I was going to get back to pursuing my singing career,  I contacted my teacher and began again.  I took lessons with Chris, I worked with Vocal Coaches, I took language and movement classes and I continued working part-time so I could pay for all of it.  I studied privately for a few years and then started auditioning. Believe it or not, one of the first auditions I did was for the Chorus of the Metropolitan Opera. There were 400 people at that audition but I knew something was right, and it was.  When they hired me, I left my job and home in Philadelphia and moved to New York City.  I have been a full-time employee at the Met ever since.

 

 

 

 

What’s it like being a full-time chorister?  IT’S HARD WORK.  It’s also incredibly exciting.  You work hand in hand with a very large group of people.  You spend all your time together making this incredible art in very close quarters.  Singer’s personalities tend to be very big, so there is a lot of negotiating that mine-field. Tempers inevitably flare, but so does deep love and appreciation for each other.  The costumes are hot, heavy, and cumbersome.  But also incredibly detailed and beautiful.  If you had told me when I was 10 years old that I would have over 20 ball gowns custom built for me to wear on stage while I was singing...I would never have believed you. It’s a real dream come true, even with all the sweat and tears, and aching back knees and feet.

 

 

A typical day starts with a morning rehearsal on stage, blocking a scene with the actors and sometimes the soloists.  This can be tedious, but also a lot of fun.  We portray gypsies, noblemen and women, peasants (so many peasants) nuns, priests, imaginary characters,  you name it, we have done it.   When the first stage rehearsal is over for the day, we will either have a musical rehearsal with our boss, Chorus Master Donald Palumbo or have another staging rehearsal.  We rehearse several operas at the same time, so it is not unusual at all to switch gears between languages, styles, and eras in one day.  How do we keep it all straight?  I have no idea.  We just do.  We’re all highly trained professional singers, and keeping all the balls in the air at once is just something that comes naturally at this point.  Oh, did I mention that last season we actually had to learn to juggle for the production of Philip Glass’s Ahknaten?  Yep, singing some of the most challenging music we have learned, in a language none of us know (anybody ever study Ancient Egyptian?) we had to juggle.  We had so much fun.  I am happy to report that we kept almost all the balls in the air.

 

 

When rehearsal for the day is done, we’ll have a break of several hours where we can manage the things that need to be done in our private lives.  For some people that’s an exercise class, running errands, or taking a much-needed nap.  For others, it’s rushing home to be with the kids for a few hours.  Then it’s back to work to prepare for that night’s performance.  Every day is different. Not every opera has a chorus and not every opera that has a chorus requires all of us.  So, we can have long stretches of 7 shows a week with daily rehearsals, long stretches of no work at all, or a million different combinations of that schedule.  Time off is precious, and we get very little of it during the season.  Our time off is during May, June, and July when the opera house is taken over by the American Ballet Theater.  We normally go back to work in August, beginning with daily musical rehearsals, learning the music for that season.

 

 

 

Normally at this time, I would be in the first week of the new season.  But of course, last March, the Metropolitan Opera closed.  We were paid for the remainder of the month, and our health coverage is in place for the duration of the pandemic, but that was all.  We were devastated, but hopeful that by the time the summer was over, we would be back to work as usual.  That was not to be.  On Tuesday we learned that the entire 2020-2021 season has been canceled.  I am one of the fortunate ones.  I have been at the Met long enough to be eligible to retire with a pension, but many of my younger colleagues are not as secure, and these are scary times for them.  I have not yet decided if I will retire or not, but I might not have a choice.  It’s a sad way to end a long and wonderful career, but if that’s how it works out, I will have no regrets.  It’s been an experience of a lifetime.

 

 

So, what’s next?  I have had a long love affair with France.  I've been studying French since the 6th grade and singing in French since High School, so I have a deep love of the language.  But I did not visit France until 2002 when I went to St Victor-la-Coste to work on a project restoring a medieval castle.  I loved it so much I went two summers in a row.  When I met my husband Stephen, I asked if he wanted to go with me and rent a house near Uzès for a month.  We have been returning to the Uzès area almost every summer since.   Our plan has always been to live there for at least a year when I retire, so when France finally opens up to US citizens, I can think of no better time to go and to start a whole new chapter of this incredible adventure.  And maybe it’s time I finally met Corey, and give her a really long overdue hug.

 

I asked Rebecca ...

Which was your favorite opera to sing?

 

My favorite opera to sing changes from season to season.  I have to say that my favorites have been the modern ones.  "Satyagraha" by Philip Glass and "The Death of Klinghoffer" by John Adams touched something in me so deeply, that I found myself in tears during performances.  The modern operas I have done have always challenged me musically and I have loved that experience.  I love the work of a very young composer Nico Muhly, and the experience of singing the words "SHUT THE F-CK UP" over and over again during the opera "Two Boys" is something I will always remember.   Last season we performed "Ahknatan" by Philip Glass and it was so hard to learn, and I got to learn to juggle while wearing an enormous beetle on my head.  It does not get better than that.

 

 

What was your favorite opera to dress for?

 

 

 

 

 

Well, the aforementioned beetle on my head is hard to beat.  But my favorite costume to wear has definitely changed over the years.  At first, it was the huge elaborate ball gowns with the tight corset and elaborate wig that I loved.  Now, I am all about comfort and the benefits of a wimple cannot be overstated.

 

 

Who are some of your favorite leads?

 

Again, this changes year to year, and there are always new incredible artists to discover.  Some of my favorites are unsung heroes of the opera world, like Mezzo-Sopranos Wendy White and Maria Zifcheck and tenors Mark Schowalter and Tony Stevenson.  Always on point, incredible singing actors and colleagues,  but rarely the stars, (although they should be!) they, like the chorus, are the glue that keeps the opera together.

 

What is your favorite opera to listen to?

 

You might be surprised to know that I don't really listen to opera.  It is in my head and in my life so much, that I really need a break from it.  When I listen to music, it is a small chamber ensemble choral music.  Voces 8, The Tallis Scholars, Seraphic Fire, and the Nordic Chamber Choir are some favorites.  I also love ancient liturgical chant, and if you find me on the subway with headphones on, I am probably listening to the Monks of The Abbey of Sant'Antimo in Montalcino, Italy singing the chanted liturgy of the hours.  

 

Please follow Rebecca on Instagram under 

https://www.instagram.com/mybackstageopera/?hl=en

 

Autumn Table Top

Let Your Story Be Told

 

Let your story be told

in words that sing the notes that brought you here, with melodies that weave your days into song. Let us hear it, all the notes hi and lows, and the note that carried you through.

Please, I want to hear about you:

Do you cook, do you play a sport, are you suffering, do you care for your parents, are you married, do you have a dream, a poem, a hobby, are you longing for something, how are you today and yesterday, what is the weather like, do you plant a garden, have a secret, a fear, are you good at telling jokes, what drives you crazy, if you could ____ would you?

 

 

If you would like to share something on my blog, please send me an email with your text, photos are welcomed, so are links. It can be as simple or as elaborated as you would like. But not political. A recipe, a poem, artwork, a story, as long as it tells me a bit about you.

Thank you for joining me!

xxx

 

 

 

Going to Try Something New

Going to try something new on my Blog, I do not know why I hadn’t  thought of it before. After 15 years of blogging I think I should have thought of it. 

My idea is to feature readers of my blog. Intentionally I will ask some of you who have been reading my blog since time began for French la Vie. What I hope is that each person will write whatever they want a poem, a story, about themselves, their hopes or ideas on whatever as a way for us to know each one better.

Comments have lead many of you to each other especially through Instagram or Facebook. This will give us a bigger picture as to who we are on this blog, a closer look to the many beautiful, soulful, talented, lovely people that you are. 

Hopefully, you will share a few photos too!

If you would like to be part of this... please say yes why not! ... send me an email with whatever you would like to post about yourself.

 

i cannot I

Daily Walk Saint Pons in Gemenos

 

 

 

Shout Out to Victoria Magazine

Kindness shared

Pumpkin Harvest

Cinderellas I have watched you grow on the vine, snuggled in the dirt, full and ripe

Stacked on the blue truck away you go

 

 

 

 

Pumpkin Harvest

Cinderellas I have watched you grow on the vine, snuggled in the dirt, full and ripe

Stacked on the blue truck away you go

 

 

 

 

A Legend RGB

Petal by Petal

 

Petal by petal

your fragrance a soothing strength

unfolding with consistency 

though your depth surpasses such a mundane word

eternal beauty,

poetic boldness,

even in your elegance

your protective thorns set the boundaries

though hinder not your graceful strength.

... and let us be the petal, the fragrance, the rose that rises above the thorns.

 

 

 

 

You Are Not Alone

    As I pushed Gabriel in his stroller I read,

“You are not alone”

on a building’s wall. Not three yards away was a man gathering his belongings; Several empty plastic bottles, a massive soiled plastic sheet that appeared to be his home, and a rag for a blanket. His clothes barely hung on him.

Barefoot.
Unruly hair and beard.
He was alone.

I followed him as he walked passed the sign on the wall to the park where he filled his water bottles, then stowed his measly vital belongings under a bush then headed to the dumpster where he opened bags not being choosy he ate whatever scraps he found plus put some in a separate bag for later I assumed.

My thoughts paced with poverty, wealth, mental illness, tangled with guilt, sadness, frustration.

He is alone unnecessarily on a planet of billions, in the City of Lights, near a woman and child while surviving by eating out of a dumpster.
I gave him what I had some money which seemed meaningless in the gravity of his need.

He was still alone as I pushed Gabriel’s stroller to the play area.

 

 

Be the Love You Seek

Daily Dose of Nature’s Beauty

What I Found Online

Listening Beyond Words

 

Babies when they hear a sound they usually stop what they are doing and listen at the same time they look around for recognition that they have recognized a familiar or new sound.

When Gabriel hears a sound he knows or a new sound he stops- he looks- he listens- he looks around to see who has noticed what he has heard. Registering sounds go on for days and days and days as he finds those sounds within him - finding his voice one sound after another.

Gabriel recognizes sounds such as a motorcycle, a car, his footsteps, the church bell, and he points towards the sound that he hears such as a plane he looks to us to define it, those sounds, we confirm with, “Yes, that’s a motorcycle zroom zroom.” Or, “Yes, Gabriel that’s a bird.” He is pleased with affirmed acknowledgment. That is one way he learns.

Though there are plenty of sounds, an orchestrate of daily sounds such as the waves upon the beach, distant voices, the hum of the refrigerator, the wind, a clocking ticking, the hiss of a kettle, falling leaves, the rustling of clothes when you move, a squeaky door, mist, rain... and sounds that come and go without much fanfare or awareness, sounds that a baby might not be able to define or point to it because they are subtle, distant, or fleeting when a baby hears such a sound he stops and tries to registers it alone, or at times if a person nearby is aware they can define it.

Day by day the sound becomes words, eventually, the baby starts to pronounce those sounds their story takes shape. A child communicates from the day they are born and eventually, they understand that sounds have meaning. Fortunate is a child who has people around to help define those sounds and who affirms their awareness of their world.

For several years now whenever I hear a church bell ring I stop what I am doing and say, "I am in the right place at the right time." As a way to be present to the moment and thankful to whatever it is I am doing. When Gabriel was with us he heard the church bells we would say, "Bells ding dong ding dong."

The evening that they were returning to Paris, Gabriel urgently took hold of my hand leading me to the door to go into our garden. I opened the door and heard the church bells as I was saying to myself, "I am in the right place at the right time." Gabriel pointed upward saying, "Dong." Ah, the continuation of his voice, the beginning of his thoughts shared, memories, collected, the ability to express with his sounds our universal vocabulary/voice. But at that moment I felt a spiritual connection ... a reminder to listen, to learn, to fine-tune that which I often take for granted- to listen to what someone is saying, not just by sound or our shared vocabulary but the essences of what they are communicating, the feeling the depth or their thoughts or their heart. Thank you Gabriel for the renewed gift of listening.

 

Bread, Wine,Cheese... and Confit Tomatoes

Cherry tomates clinging to the vine

Gently swirl them with a generous splash of olive oil,

toss oregano and salt confetti

bake for 30 minutes or so on medium heat until theit coats wrinkle.

 

What I Saw Today on my Walk

 

A moisten path

leaves glistening with raindrops,

nature breathing after a long spell without rain.

Snails. 

 

 

 

 

This cabanon (cabin) that really wants me to come inside.

I know it does.

My name is on the door.

I have never seen anyone around it except trees and vines inching their way cover it up.

 

 

 

Beauty's Rose without a Beast.

 

 

 

 

 

Saint Baume in the distance.

 

Carrying On is What We Do with Courage and Grace

Be safe

be kind

Scream if need be, get it out, but do so without hurting anyone.

These are unusual times challenging us to see things we might not have seen, to listen to ideas that are new or uncomfortable, to hold on to what we believe yet be open to the possibility that it is okay to change, to question, to keep caring even if it is too much and we feel there isn’t anything we can do to make a difference. 

California

The photos of the orange sky, smoke dense enough that you could look at the sun directly as we do the moon, photos that I doubled-checked by asking if they were taking last night or this morning?! A silence fills the air, birds are not singing, wild animals are coming into the neighborhoods in search of food, water, shade, refuge... Ash blowing as if snowing... the photos today came in from family and friends living in California... eerie, frightening, terribly awful, unforgiving, devastating, sad... 

My family is okay, but they have been living under an unbelievable blanket of smoke. The last several years California has seen tremendous fires sweep through raising havoc but this year it is unprecedented the air quality at its worse threatening their health, the devastation, loss of lives, homes, the intense bravery and sheer grit of the people fighting to control the beast.

California!

Below is a post I wrote in 2014

 

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

 

 

 

Northern California during late autumn,

golden valley, harvested fields, the labor of love, geese in flight.

Country roads leading near and far.

 

 

 

Clouds adding texture between the valley and the foothills.

A single tree stands on stage circled by the Sierras and the Mendocino mountains

 

 

 

A barn in the middle of a harvested rice field.

I grew up in this valley,

under these clouds,

surrounded by rice fields and orchards,

in wide-open spaces,

with long grey paved roads,

With Shasta, Lassen, the mountain range as a protective embrace,

and barns in the middle of seemingly nowhere, but at the center of my life.

 

 

The foothills north of San Francisco are rolling gold,

The fence posts holding the visible beauty breathing space as freedom,

this is the first sign that my childhood home is nearing.

My heart expands,

I feel the rolling gold, rolling gold, rolling gold...

 

 

 

 

 

Pouring into the Sacramento valley.

 

 

 

Oh, distant geese that fly overhead where are you going?

Rolling gold along the long grey paved road.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of the valley, Mount Shasta rises.

What do I see, the valley, the mountain, the peaks, or the valley?

In honesty, it depends on the day.

The varied landscape of emotion and view.

 

 

 

 

A journey far and wide.

With its twist turns is never a straight shot.

Blurred are the borders, vast is the horizon,

Home.

 

----

 

Oh, California ...

 

 

Baby in Paris

 

After six months in the south due to Covid 19 Chelsea and Martin returned to their apartment in Paris. Martin was working from home but now is back at work, and Chelsea will go back to work later this month. 

Gabriel is in Paris and loves loves loves to be outside. There is a park near their home so they go there as often as they can. Gabriel is in awe of the "bigger" children.

Gabriel also enjoys strolling along the streets waving to everyone they pass by. I think he is an extrovert he doesn't hesitate to be around people or try to engage them. 

Chelsea sent me a video of Gabriel waving as they strolled back home, and I captured some photos from it for my blog.

While watching the video I could hear Petula Clark singing “Downtown” if only...

“When you're alone, and life is making you lonely
You can always go 
Downtown
When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know
Downtown
Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?

The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares
So go downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, no finer place for sure
Downtown everything's waiting for you

Downtown

Don't hang around and let your problems surround you
There are movie shows 
Downtown
Maybe you know some little places to go to
Where they never close
Downtown
Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossa nova
You'll be dancing with him too before the night is over…”

 

Tell me Some Acts if Kindness?

Breathing in

 

Breathing in peace

breathing out distractions

breathing in grace

breathing out worry

breathing in gentleness

breathing out bitterness

breathing in faith

breathing out superficiality

breathing in love

breathing out anger

breathing in silence

until I am breathing out silence as well

 

Positive Learning

Happy Birthday Yann

 

 

Your birthday

you woke up early to take a bus to the motorcycle repair shop

were, at last, the reparations of one of your oldest motorcycles was completed 

while there you saw a vintage 125 motorcycle

love at first sight 

I shook my head 

disappointment filled yours

”you have six”

”three don't count they are mopeds"

"six"

"I know I have antiques and you have things with wheels though really that is apples and oranges 

I swear the repair shop put that 125 right next to your motorcycle on purpose"

"apples and oranges you asked"

it is your birthday may all your other wishes come true 

thank you for at least hearing me though maybe a few days from now there might be 7

 

 

 

 

 

Changing Seasons

Changing seasons

In the air 
Caressing my consciousness

ever so slightly

Barely aware

that tomorrow

that distant future

today

Leads the way

 

Flower Child

In the garden of delight

Bread of Life

 

Bread of life the source of our well being

community

communion

together

Bread: many hands, golden wheat, sweat, the beating of heart and sun.

Breaking bread,

shared labor,

shared joy,

shared.

 

 

 

Life's source food for the soul, feeding the need of our hearts, bodies, and minds.

Example from the Heart

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Find Peace Where You Can

A ten minute walk from my home

that I ritually take to start my day

Peaceful 

a place where I find 

solace, a place to pour out my thoughts.

 

Worn Loved Remains True

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Darkness to Light

     

 

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

Martin Luther King, Jr. 

 

Summer Holidays are Coming to a End...

 

I am going to miss this little person!

One of my Favorite Stories of Annie

 

While threading the needle to sew Sacha's worn jeans I asked Annie if she had any tender memories of living during World War II? If there was any light in that dark passage. Anything that reminded her of beauty when life around them was so unfair and off balance.

 

Annie keeping her eye on the thread and needle said, "Of course there were tender moments, we had each other. Our family moved from Marseilles (which was heavily bombed) to our country house. We were lucky to have a garden, my mother planted lentils. We had plenty to eat. We exchanged food from our garden for other things we needed.

 

Annie went on to say that during that time she was barely twenty and pregnant with her first child. "One of my activities was to walk down to the village and exchange some of our produce for whatever my family might have needed.

 

On the other side of the village, there was a man who grew watermelons. Whenever he saw me in the village he would race back to his garden to give me one. Can you imagine how wonderful it was to have a watermelon? It was such a rare treat. They were not very big, but they were sweet, and you know I have a thing for fruit. Mon Dieu, I prefer fruit over bonbons. 

 

Whenever he would give me a watermelon he would say, "This is for your baby. Your baby needs to taste sweetness." I was surrounded by such generosity. I think being pregnant brought out the best in people around me. Seeing my big belly gave them hope, made them reflect on the wonders of life... or something like that... instead of the hardships of war."

I would lug that watermelon, the supplies I had exchanged from our produce, and my big belly to the river (The river is on the outskirt of the village, Annie's home was on the other side and up a steep hill.). Then I would sit by the plantain tree, you know the one at the end of your street, and I would crack that watermelon open, grab the heart and eat it. Funny, after all these years, I can recall the watermelon juice running down my face. It didn't bother me in the least. It was a luxury that wasted, sweet juice running down my face between my breast to my belly.

Note: This is one of my favorite stories of Annie's. When Annie tells this story I feel transported to another time where her memory is living, and her body is young and ripe. It shows me Annie... how she is full, ripe, sweet and with many seeds of hope.

Which Hand This One or That One?

Over and over he plays

Sometimes he gets it other times he guesses again.

He plays, he tries, and he is happy learning on his Mother’s knee.

This Delight

Holding on to this delight while he propels me forward to seeing the world through his eyes.

 

Invincible... Albert Camus

 

Thank you for the many messages on my blog, email, and FB. I appreciate your opinions, your encouraging me to do what I feel and yet understanding my stance without having to spell it out. I am thinking and rethinking about the possibility of keeping my blog politically free, yet encouraging myself to listen without judgment, to understand the "why" in our differences. That is what I want to have a conversation about is the why are we so different in our opinions.

 

 

Listening to Listen

“You listen not for the purpose of judging, criticizing or analyzing. You listen only to help the other person to express himself and find some relief from his suffering.”

 

Politics I Said It

Over the years that I have been blogging, I have purposefully made an effort not to engage in politics on my blog and for that matter anywhere on my social media accounts. With the outbreak of COVID-19, my being in the States, the Presidential election taking shape, and how masks were becoming a political statement -I made a choice to post a flower a day on my Facebook account since many wise and detrimental ideas and thoughts were being shared I wanted to offer a pitstop of the sort, a place where one's eyes and mind could take pause. 

And yet...

it is hard not to speak up

it is a challenge to remain quiet.

I care and yet I am silent when it comes to politics and my blog.

And yet it is not like me to be silent as I do respond to my friend's FB posts on politics and one on one. 

 

But how do you feel about my silence here?

 

With that I will leave you with this:

VOTE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank You

 

Thank you for your messages regarding my blog. There were a few hiccups that we figured out, so it is back. Whew. Hopefully the comment section will start to work allowing you to add links and comment to one another. I appreciated your response, your caring ... 

 

Bonjour Cassis it has been awhile ....

Back in the Saddle more to come

Missing Blog

I have no idea why some of you are not receiving my blog and are unable to see it. I am trying to figure it out and hopefully it will work soon.

Please let me know if you are receiving my blog or not.

Corey

Slow Internet Due to Storm in the Distance

Trying to post today is hopeless. After several long posts and a multitude of photos disappearing faster than I could save. I am writing to say this is my post. My patience is leaning towards frustration which I refuse to enter into as this is our mini holiday. 
Love you and I know you understand.

Until tomorrow xxx

After a Feast on Blackberries

After a very warm summer day topped off with a feast on blackberries without exaggerating: He ate fistfuls; we put him in the tub.

 

Giving Peace a Chance

Peaceful Distraction

A torn leaf

holds the remains of last night’s thunderstorm 

an insect approaches for a sip

walking by I am drawn to the vibrant color 

Mesmerized - my thoughts drift - leading my steps

in a different direction.

Literally.

A few kilometers later I sense the scenery is not the same

I have gone off course.

I keep walking thinking romantically all roads lead to Rome, confident that I will find my way home.

 A few kilometers later Rome is nowhere in sight...

not worried I grabbed my phone to see where I am on the map only to find out there’s no phone service. With no choice I just keep walking until the phone service comes back. Finding a main road I call Yann but it’s too early and he still asleep. I call Martin he answers he comes to rescue me. Baby Gabriel is in the car seat in the back. When he sees me he pulls off the road but in doing so he goes over a bump and pushes the back tire up into space and the front tire spins without traction.

We are in a pickle.

Baby Gabriel confidently giggles as I take him out of his car seat and stand away from the car.

 

Not long after three random tourists pull over to help us: A couple from Holland, a man from Belgium with a ton of needed muscles, and another man from Belgium with weight on his body that will anchor the back tire to the ground. They calculated with sign language and some words in English while I entertained Baby Gabriel.

 

 

While holding Baby Gabriel I took off my Fluorescent jacket that my children gave me for Christmas and put it on the ground so that I could put Chub-a-Lub on it. Then at that moment I gather that Martin had jumped out of bed to come help me, he took Baby Gabriel with him so Chelsea could sleep a little longer ... Gabriel’s diaper was full, his onesie was on backwards and unsnapped though did Baby Gabriel care? And Martin wasted no time to come to my rescue. 

Afterwards I thank the day for such an adventure that ended well.