Posted at 11:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)
Another one.
I wish we could say it will be the last, though unfortunately, sadly, disturbingly, it won't be.
As I read articles written about the shooting, words popped up and haunted me:
... Brown eyes ...
... she pulled the fire alarm ...
... nine-years-old ...
... 30 cents a bullet ...
When people ask me if it is safe to visit Paris during the strikes and protests, I want to say,
"Far safer than schools in America."
If I were a child in the States, I would be terrified.
I remember, as a child, during the earthquake drills at school,
where we practiced ducking under our desks for cover.
The little girl who pulled the fire alarm knew what to do in an emergency.
...
Children, I am sorry that you live with this unbelievable reality.
Posted at 11:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)
Posted at 11:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)
Blue skies, budding trees, flowers blooming, birds singing, welcome spring! The revival of nature is a gentle reminder that I, too, can shed my old skin and rejuvenate myself.
The cycle of life, nature’s song, and the signs it gives us to believe in.
The constant call to embrace the sacred dawn.
A leaf falls, nourishing the soil, and a seed blossoming into new life is a sacred occurrence that symbolizes the unending cycle of love and vitality. This perpetual process of renewal is a reminder of the sanctity of life and the interconnectedness of all living beings.
I see that we are the falling leaf and the blooming seed it reminds me of the possibility of growth and transformation, and the cycle of life continues unabated. Through this constant renewal, the beauty and resilience of the natural world, we are challenged to hold its invisible hand and live in unison.
I am a tiny set of cells; I came
pushing through the dirt, nourished by rain
bathed in sunlight.
From the first breath of morning light
to the final one, let go, and life's journey unfolds.
To dance in its rhythm without regret or fear.
Posted at 06:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)
Take a bowl, mash a banana in, Oats uncooked, let the mixture begin, Add an egg, a spoon of yogurt, heaping, And cinnamon, salt, to make it worth keeping.
For a pop of flavor, don't be shy, Ginger, orange peel, coconut to try, And just a touch of nutmeg zest, To make it pop-a-lious, be our guest.
Heat a pan, let butter melt and swirl, Pour in the mix and let it unfurl, Five minutes on one side, let it cook, Then scramble it up, no need to look.
Serve with fresh fruit, a perfect fit, Strawberries, blueberries, enjoy every bit, Or savor it plain, it's all up to us,
Scrambled oats, a breakfast must.
Recipe:
One mashed banana
3/4 a cup oats
1 tablespoon of yogurt
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
1 teaspoon butter for the pan, and a pinch of salt.
Mashed banana, egg, and yogurt in a bowl until smooth,
Spread it out evenly in a buttered skillet, over low heat let it cook for five minutes,
Flip it over let it be for a minute then scramble like an egg.
Posted at 10:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)
Yesterday's link to the post did not connect you to the personal video.
“ I hope there are days when your coffee tastes like magic,
your playlist makes you dance,
strangers make you smile,
and the night sky touches your soul.
I hope there are days when you fall in love with being alive.”
Click on the text will take you to a clip I made on my instagram that shows my family.
Posted at 08:55 AM in The Baby to Be | Permalink | Comments (5)
Click on the text below to see more photos x
“ I hope there are days when your coffee tastes like magic,
your playlist makes you dance,
strangers make you smile,
and the night sky touches your soul.
I hope there are days when you fall in love with being alive.”
Posted at 11:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
(Photo: A Roman ring seen at the French brocante last weekend.)
The French brocante offers more than disregarded dusty old things from someone's attic, and it offers more than hopeful boxes of disheveled, could-be treasures. The French brocante is not just a place to find unbeatable prices or the chance to find a Picasso. It is a living museum with touch-able history, where you can be the digger in an archaeological site, and best of all, it can be taken home.
French Husband and I met a dealer who specialized in Roman artifacts. The dealer has been collecting for years, and he started selling not so long ago. His stand was full of rare, interesting pieces. He freely shared his knowledge and stories. I felt like a sponge, soaking up every word. I think I must have asked two thousand questions, mostly: "What is this?"
(Photo: A Roman coin found at the brocante last year.)
I must admit I usually spend most of my time looking for things that speak in muted color romance, old things that have more than their fair share of age, and brocante items that have little monetary value but rather tell a story, depict a feeling. I guess you could say I am a sucker for worn beauty
Old coins, especially Roman artifacts, the dealer at the brocante told me, are often found in fields, where Roman roads traversed he mentioned that when a field has recently been toiled bits and pieces from the past are brought to the surface.
Driving home, I thought about the poppy fields soon to be with new insight. Battles fought, lives lost, bits and pieces of unknown stories, and memories, buried within, unearthed over time giving us a key to the past... and red poppies bloom.
Posted at 09:20 PM in Brocante | Permalink | Comments (4)
The poet Arne Garborg championed the use of Landsmål (now known as Nynorsk, or New Norwegian), as a literary language; he translated the Odyssey into it. He founded the weekly Fedraheimen in 1877, in which he urged reforms in many spheres including political, social, religious, agrarian, and linguistic. He was married to Hulda Garborg.
He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature six times.
Posted at 10:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)
Dearest Corey…..I have been following you forever, cherish everything you write and have kept many excerpts to share with loved ones. Here’s a photo of my husband and I at the John Lennon Wall in Prague a few years ago. We have had the absolute pleasure of being in France four times and are planning a trip there this July….staying in Bonnieux and visiting the sunflower & lavender fields which we have always missed in late September. A bucket list thing! Both of us are huge fans of brocantes and markets….so we’re off again. Someday I sincerely hope to meet you & your beautiful family. Merci’beaucoup for your beautiful mind & entertaining us all of these years.❤️❤️👏👏👏
Hi Corey, I’ve been reading your blog since the beginning, I think. I love the warm welcome you have given us into your family and also your adventures with the brocantes. I miss Annie so much and really enjoy it when you reminisce about your beautiful times with her.My husband Walt and I are retired (I am a music director, he was in the Navy) and we live in Seattle, where I grew up. We love to travel, especially in France, and we love Paris and Nice the best. Here we are in Nice last October. See how happy we look?(Happy indeed! C)Good morning, Corey! I was introduced to your blog years ago by a dear friend and we went on to visit Provence and stay in Apt, hosted by one of your friends. We made it our base as we explored so many of the villages and their markets. A highlight was the daily delivery of croissants and baguette, still warm, by our hostess! But this photo was taken in Vienna, where I reconnected with a cousin who lives there, when my husband and I took a river cruise. From Gretchen Seibert, Buffalo, NY
Posted at 09:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)
Posted at 07:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)
Hi Corey
I can't seem to log on to anything else so hope you can do something with this!!
I have been following you from Australia forever it seems, before your Dad died.
Your posts used to arrive about 3pm and I eagerly would log in to see what was happening in your life.
I have been married to Graeme for 58yrs & known him since we were children although the spark didn't ignite until I was 17!
We have a daughter, son & 3 grandchildren. We have been fortunate to have visited France twice & am a confessed Francophile.
We have been to so many towns in our big wide country in our caravan but the dream to revisit France is always there.
Bless you & your beautiful family.
This photo was taken when my cousins' celebrated our beautiful cousin on what would have been her 70th Birthday. We then proceeded to drink to all our loved ones who had died, thanking them for being in our lives.
Love Leonie 🇦🇺
I've so few photos, like others have said I was too busy clicking the camera and do not have a phone that will upload a photo - This photo is from just before the Pandemic when I visited family back east - in the center is my kid Sister, age 72, I'm wearing the Oaxana dress and was 87. My Daughter on the other end in the sleeved shirt is 66 - funny in itself is that none of us think we are old and getting together always includes sharing a good laugh.
Since this photo I turned 90 and moved the end of last year from my home of 56 years in Austin, Texas to a house that I'm making into my home located near my son and daughter-in-law in Magnolia, Texas. Nothing to keep me in Austin, my friends had all passed and over the years family moved on. I will miss the wildlife that Magnolia does not equal, like every year there was at least one fawn born in my backyard and a few times a mother fox settled in the back corner to have and raise her kits. These later years a family of owls swooped in. The owls did not chase away the other song birds nor the many possum, squirrels or coons that came by. Folks new to Austin are surprised by how much wildlife remained on their home territory.
Cory, I've so enjoyed your posts. You are a wonderful gifted photographer and I love following the happenings with your family. Especially enjoy the times you share with us when you are with Gabriel. Those postings make me smile and remind me of my Grandboys when they were that age - they are in their 30s now except for one who is 28 - They are scattered, two Grands still in Lubbock, one in Denver, another in Seattle and the youngest who graduates from UPenn Law this Spring plans on staying in Philly, Daughter and Son-in-law in North Carolina along with my Sister and Cousins.
Having aged, everything is taking me longer and so I'm still in the middle of paper piles and boxes. When the house finally is remodeled and painted I've a lovely half acre that can use a few more blossoming trees and bushes along with my favorites, Herbs, Iris, Lavender and Lantana. I've baskets and boxes of needlework waiting for me - only retired in 2018 and my work (Real Estate Broker for 40 years) left little time to keep up with all the things I love to do, like making jams and jellies, soups and stews, knit (mostly socks), needlework (used to teach needlework before Real Estate and was fortunate enough to attend classes in both France and Britain) and my first passion, read, read, read - donated 100s of books before the move but still boxed 100s so that the movers teased they were moving a Bookstore - I've always had several books going at the same time since I learned to read before I started school and Mom dropped me off at the Library while she shopped the local market.
I've fond memories of my Grandmother when she was my age and I have to step back to take in the long history we represent - stories heard first hand from her added to my own with Mom squeezed between us. Both my Grandmothers were born the same day in 1879 however I was closest to my Mother's Mother and I really need to jot down some of her stories along with my Mother's and Mine - And so, next on the agenda, I've a desk set up and as soon as this house is a bit more functional with my things in place photos must be labeled and stories must be told. Your sharing the little events in your life Cory has helped me realize it is just those little happenings that tell the story rather than the big events, although you did a superb job bringing us into your daughter's wedding - My head is buzzing with how to put this history together but then I've so many things buzzing each day between choosing paint colors and deciding where to store what... life at times is harsh and painful but then, like now for me, life is fun and games.
Thanks for sharing your gift of family story telling - Barbara St. Aubrey
Greetings from New Hampshire. My name is Sue, and I’m here with my daughter’s family on her youngest’s prom night. I’m retired and love to spend time with my family and travel. Thanks so much, Corey, for transporting me to France each morning.Here I am with my husband, Ron as we dine in our neighborhood. I’m Bonnie , 80years old and happily enjoying life. I stumbled on Cory’s blog a little more than a year ago. I love seeing what has inspired her that day. It inspires me also. Pictures of her grandchildren are the best! But I also enjoy her musings. Always food for thought.
Posted at 09:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)
Thank you for sharing a photo of yourself on my blog. I imagine some of you wanted to but were shy or maybe did not want your image on a social media platform. I understand. Though for those of you who did, thank you, and for your messages, I was delighted to put a face to names I have read for years.
Here are a few more...
This is my husband and me as he prepares to play Pebble Beach in January. I’ve started my mornings with you for over 12 years! Can’t wait to meet you in person one day…Cindy Rieth
Posted at 10:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)
Hello,
Please, if you want send me a photo of yourself and a bit about yourself.
Thank you for letting me "see" you.
You can send me a photo by email at
coreyamaro@aol.com
xxx
It's supposed to say...My other half Randy and I are on our last big trip.
With love from Kathy, a long-time reader (and fan) of Corey and her blog!
Kashannie
Hi Corey; Love your idea of introducing your blogging fans. So, here's mine from this morning outside the Golden 1 Center in Sacramento. This is my sister Wendy, my Granddaughter, 17 yr old Makenna, her mom Sara, my husband Tommy and Grandson Bradey, 18. Makenna's Bret Harte High School basketball team just won the California State division V championship! First time ever for our little high school in Angels Camp. Thank you. Suki
(BRAVO!!)
Hi dear Corey —- this was a great idea — such fun to be able to put a face to names.
Thank you — and for all your generous and inspiring posts!
Anna from Granger (South Bend), Indiana, with two of the Lights in my life —-
My grandsons, Evan and Andy.
Posted at 11:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)
Hi Corey,
Posted at 11:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
Hello, there, Lovely Readers!
I hope you're all doing well. I have a fun idea that I think you'll enjoy. I would love to create a "Who is Who" section on my blog where I showcase all of you. You heard that right - I want to feature your photo on my blog.
All you have to do is send in a photo of yourself and a brief description (Your name, at least!), and I will feature it on my blog. It's a great way to put a face to the names we see in the comment section.
I'm excited about this, and I hope you are too! So, don't be shy, send in your photos, and let's make this "Who is Who" section a reality. Thank you in advance for your participation, and as always, thank you for being a part of my blogging community.
xxx
Thank you to those of you who have sent me photos! I will post new photos every day that I receive them. I should have done this years ago!
Send me a photo of yourself and whatever message you would like to add either by email at
coreyamaro@aol.com
Or through Facebook messenger.
Here are today's Who is Who on the French la Vie xx
Teri Salvo and my wonderful dog Ginger with her last litter of puppies. Now we are both retired, happily living in Chico, CA, I love your blog and all things French!
Hello Corey, I am Nancy Bill. Like you I live my life in two different realms that I fly back and forth from. I grew up in Vermont, where I still have a home and family of origin. I married a California boy, and we live on a walnut farm near Chico, California. I have seen your mother over the years at different events but never met you. Please come and visit me sometime when you’re in the neighborhood. Peace. Nancy
(Several days ago, Lia sent me an email with the message below and a photo of herself. Because of this gesture, the idea sprung to create Who is Who on my blog. Thank you, Lia, for the inspiration.)
Posted at 11:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
Hi, Corey, I used to be Iowa Julie, but we moved to Georgia (USA) in 2019 to be near our only grandchild. I love my family and also the natural world; I am an apprentice wildlife rehabilitator and a Georgia master naturalist. My special passion is trees. I wish you all peace and joy!
Hello, there, Lovely Readers!
I hope you're all doing well. I have a fun idea that I think you'll enjoy. I would love to create a "Who is Who" section on my blog where I showcase all of you. You heard that right - I want to feature your photo on my blog.
All you have to do is send in a photo of yourself and a brief description (Your name, at least!), and I will feature it on my blog. It's a great way to put a face to the names we see in the comment section.
I'm excited about this, and I hope you are too! So, don't be shy, send in your photos, and let's make this "Who is Who" section a reality. Thank you in advance for your participation, and as always, thank you for being a part of my blogging community.
xxx
Thank you to those of you who have sent me photos! I will post new photos every day that I receive them. I should have done this years ago!
Posted at 09:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)
Here I am ((Ella), with la petite Simone as we make our daily rounds in Nice.
Katharine (kfb2)
Here is a link to learn more about Kathie.
Sue Johnpeter,
Visiting the Fragonard parfumerie in Grasse last October
Jeanne from Ontario, Canada. I love my family, my faith, my friends, and spring. So anxious for its arrival. I love great books, music, and beautifully written words—a small introduction of myself.
Thank you so much for sending me your photo, I love seeing you!
Please, all you other Sweethearts out there, who read my blog, send me a photo of yourself, don't be shy. Let's see one another and continue to build on this community xxx
Please send a photo through FB messenger or by email to
coreyamaro@aol.com
Posted at 09:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)
Hello, there, Lovely Readers!
I hope you're all doing well. I have a fun idea that I think you'll enjoy. I would love to create a "Who is Who" section on my blog where I showcase all of you. You heard that right - I want to feature your photo on my blog.
All you have to do is send in a photo of yourself and a brief description (Your name, at least!), and I will feature it on my blog. It's a great way to put a face to the names we see in the comment section.
I'm excited about this, and I hope you are too! So, don't be shy, send in your photos, and let's make this "Who is Who" section a reality. Thank you in advance for your participation, and as always, thank you for being a part of my blogging community.
xxx
Posted at 11:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)
On the stool he stands
with carefree ease one foot in the air.
He is king on this sturdy old thing
claims it as a step ladder, to myself I shake my head,
« Should we take it home? » he says.
Ignoring the convincing chatter of reasons I should say no
I admire him, as he continues to balance with
His unawareness of a perfect pose.
So be it a stool for a step ladder.
Posted at 10:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)
Posted at 09:31 AM in The Baby to Be | Permalink | Comments (7)
Posted at 11:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)
The moment I saw this, I had goosebumps.
Countless times later, I still am moved.
And now Gabriel and I have watched it at least 15 times. We know some of the words and act the scene out; he is the conductor or drummer, and it is magical and holy at the same time. The first time he listened to it, he grabbed my arm and held it tightly. I told him about Goosebumps, happy tears, and the feeling of something profound that moves you.
Last night at dinner, we listened to it, and he asked me to turn it up loud.
Gabriel has very limited screen time, usually, none at all unless he is with me, and then we only watch three you tube clips a day, clips, such as, "How to milk a Cow" or "Tractor Ted'" or “Twenty Trucks for Kids”, and even then it is only three of them, not all of them at once.
So, "A Drop That Contains the Sea" is a big deal as it is the most extended video he has ever watched (No, they do not watch TV, cartoons, or any movie. What is Disney? Or Animation? This Concert/Orchestra for any age is a must-see;
Gabriel and I talked about it often during his two days here. And then we sat and listened to it without the video imagining the conductor, the singers, the violins, the choir, and the nanosecond moment of silence woven into the piece.
Please tell me what you think of it.
Posted at 11:50 PM in The Baby to Be | Permalink | Comments (32)
Chocolate Pear Brownie, or in French- Gateau au chocolat a la Poire (Of course I made that up, and my French is not to be taken seriously. Though I did write gateau, chocolat and poire the right way.)
Either way, in French or in English, Chocolate Pear Brownie is delicious and you will eat all of it so it is best to invite friends over when making it. Served warm, you will declare this a food god.
Ingredients
(I have used bananas, raspberries, and canned fruit (well drain) instead of pears and it works as well.)
In a pan melt the chocolate with the butter. I never use a double boiler because that is just one extra pan too many. Though I do spend more time be extra careful not to boil, nor burn what I am melting. I always lick the spoon. One less pan, but several licked spoons. Moral of the story: Same différence, when it comes to washing up or more work, but sweeter.
When the chocolate-butter is melted smooth, set aside to cool off.
Beat the eggs, sugar, vanilla, add it to the chocolate-butter mixture, then fold in the flour.
In a buttered baking dish (nine inch round) arrange the chopped pears (I leave the skin on.)
Pour the Chocolate mixture over the top, covering all the pears.
Bake at 375 f., or 190c. for 45 minutes. You might want to cover the top with foil after thirty minutes. After 45 minutes turn the oven off and let the Chocolate Pear brownie cool down inside.
Cut around the edge of the pan, then turn it upside down on a serving platter.
Serve warm with vanilla ice cream... or not.
Of course, you can also skip the recipe entirely,
grab a pear and some chocolate and go for a walk instead.
Posted at 11:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)
Driving along the twisty roads of southern Italy, we searched for antique shops, secondhand stores, and anything that we could find to renovate the apartment. The challenge was not to be distracted by the many beautiful abandoned century-old houses with their faded patina, stone steps, and worn shutters that echoed life from the hilltop villages high above the patchwork fields, olive orchards, and sheep with their wooly coats, and the sound of church bells that echoed through the valley.
Along the way, we met with people that helped us find what we were looking for. Language without words. One thing would lead to another down a different road into another shop, discover unfamiliar avenues, a serendipity journey with gold mines of simplicity that boasted our imagination, providing us with new routes to concoct our plan of action.
How many times did I want to stop to take a photo though I knew if I did, I would have a camera full and nothing with to renovate the apartment?
The muted hues of the hillside villages were captivating though I knew with the lack of a good camera, I could not possibly capture what I could see with my heart.
Then along the roadside this bright orange building with red trim, a hint of a yellow curtain, and a heavy-laden orange tree against a blue sky, seem to come out of nowhere, I had to stop and take a photo, mainly because it was surreal.
Posted at 11:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)
We searched the Italian countryside for pieces to furnish my friend’s pied-à-terre.
It wasn’t as easy as being in France. We managed to find a few pieces. Though the real fun was navigating the roads and language. The long twisty road home had different landmarks for each of us. Places or things my friend saw were not at all the things I recalled it was as if we were on two different roads. I noticed ancient homes that had for sale signs, my friend noticed the enormous red building. I spotted the dilapidated Ferris wheel, she pointed out the church. She would depend on Google I winged my directions with I bet a hundred dollars it is over there. I am up three hundred dollars.
We literally stumbled into someone’s yard and the owner opened his garage that was stuffed like a hoarder of antiques. I gasped.
This painting was one of the owner’s collection.
I still dream of it.
Posted at 09:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)
Grabbing the plastic bag I had prepared the night before, I left early in the morning for my friend Annie's house. (Annie is my friend who is 89, though she says she is 90 because she is closer to 90 than 89.) Annie told me to come early and what to bring to make Bugnes. Bugnes, like oreillettes, are similar to beignets or dough-nuts, though without yeast or self-rising agents... other than eggs.
Annie is an excellent cook, as Sacha has reminded me many times over, "...People Annie's age know how to cook. Honestly, mom, they can take a plain head of lettuce, put it on a plate, and it tastes like a million bucks." After a conversation like that, I always feel reassured about my cooking skills. Once, he went on and on about how Annie's "green beans" were the best he had ever had. I asked him if they were so different from the ones I made. But before he could answer, I said, "...shhhhhh, forget about it; I don't want to know."
I put the plastic bag full of flour, sugar, eggs, and oil on Annie's table. She had her apron on and handed me one. Annie placed a big bowl on the table, opened the flour sack, pouring half of it into the mixing bowl. Quickly her hands moved at lightning speed as she whipped the other ingredients into the bowl.
Clearing my throat, I said, "Annie, Annie remember I want to LEARN how to make Bugnes. Can you tell me your recipe first?" She pointed, then wiggled her floured finger toward the kitchen drawer, "There! Over there... yes, that drawer, see it?"
Looking through her stack of neatly printed scratch pieces of paper, I found it.
Glancing at the list of ingredients and looking at what she was mixing in the bowl, I said, "Annie, it says here, Two soup spoons of sugar..." but before I could finish my sentence, she added, "Yes, I know, but my way is better."
Annie knew the recipe by heart... had twink-ed it by heart too, and knew it well. I grabbed a pen and started to scribble down what she was doing:
I kneaded the dough. While it was rising, she talked about what it was like living in France during WWII. I love her stories about her past. Two hours later, the dough was double in size.
Annie handed me an empty wine bottle. "Inventive rolling pin, isn't it?"
I rolled out the dough, as thin as paper.
Annie used to be a hatmaker with a good eye for detail. She sliced the rolled-out dough into a perfect rectangle. Then Annie cut long strips down the rectangle, two inches wide. She then cut each ribbon into diamond-like shapes and slit each diamond shape down the middle. (Why, oh why didn't I take my camera, it would have been so easy to show you instead of trying to describe it!) Then she tucked the top of the diamond into the slit and pulled it through.
Annie made four to my one. Then she stopped and said, "Okay, you need to learn; go ahead and do the rest." She watched me with an eagle eye. Letting me pretend I could do it as well as she did. Though after making several of them, I did get the swing of it.
We deep-fried the Bugnes (they fry quickly, several seconds on each side.) Then we let them drain on a paper towel and sprinkled powdered sugar.
Photos: Bugnes: A French classic during February. In memory of Annie I post this every year.
Posted at 11:55 PM in Movable Feast | Permalink | Comments (13)
It has been a week since I came to Italy to help my friend Laurie (whom I met through blogging) navigate creating a pied-à-terre. My friend and her cousins bought a property divided into three apartments in the center of an old village between Rome and Naples. Though the apartment has been renovated, several changes and decisions exist mainly due to personal taste.
We walked through the four sunlit rooms and decided what each room should be:
Kitchen, bedroom, dining room, living room.
We made a checklist of things that needed to be done.
We looked at tiles, paint colors, and appliances.
We imagined the flow of those four rooms.
We talked to the team that will do the work.
We talked about the budget.
Currently, there are no photos to share or the village's name.
Though one day, when things are more settled, I will share.
The joy it is to dream up and create, the stress brought on by managing elements that go with the process, and the challenge of doing this in a foreign country.
No, I do not speak Italian, but my head is full of sounds not native to my inner voice.
Pasta has been on my plate more than once.
We drove to Naples with her cousin at the wheel. Beyond insane imagination and with Google map encouraging us, we drove through narrow streets. I prefer to call canyons and roads or riverbeds flowing with people who didn't blink an eye at our big car stuffed with five people. Laurie's cousin John drove down those impossible and most likely illegal city streets, saying, "I'm not comfortable." Meanwhile, I was amused by it in the back middle seat with the perfect unbelievable view of the road less traveled; by car.
...
We will return in Autumn, maybe sooner, to make the space a home.
Posted at 11:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)
Posted at 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
How many hilltop villages does it take before I stop gasping at the sight of them? How many villages have I said I could live here? How many empty old homes are there in the French and Italian countryside?
The dream is to breath life back into these places. To be able to wind them up like a music box and watch daily life return. Farmers, shopkeepers, cafes, cats in the windows, bicycles leaning against the wall, lace curtains billowing over a pot of red geraniums.
Instead my imagination toys with the possibility and admires the soul the still reaches out.
Posted at 09:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)
Italy -
In a tucked away place, far from the maddening crowd, down a long narrow road, snugged in the homeland of a friend’s family who has asked me to come to be a sounding board as she creates a vacation home, or as she calls it,
“A womb.”
The small town has opened its arms as if we have been friends for a thousand years. My friend Laurie has a way with people, a key to their hearts, or more so, a ribbon from hers to theirs, and I am included, which is such an extraordinary gift. Absolutely, Laurie never meets a stranger. I want to be more like her generous, open-hearted, and kind. Isn't it easy to walk alongside someone who shows you the sunshine throughout the day?
Posted at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)
Posted at 11:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)
The word tablespoon is worn off my Mother's measuring spoons; this is another indicator of how much my Mother cooks. This love language of hers is shared homemade generosity and measured in heaps.
The tattered loved-worn cookbook is filled with tried and true recipes stuffed with sweet mementos, marriage announcements, prayer cards, thank-you notes, Valentine's poems that she penned to my Father, and newspaper clippings of this or that about the family. The cookbook diary and the recipes of our lives are mixed in between the pages that whip up memories of what we have done in the days and years past and what we dined on throughout our lives.
Opening the cookbook, I can smell the aroma of childhood birthday cakes and fried chicken picnics by the creek; I can see the hand that turned sorrow into joy and taste the events that have marked our days. We have the ingredients to make a feast with our lives and the choice to substitute spice for that which is bitter. I grew up on second-helpings of home cooking, believing every bite was good.
Photo: My Mother's 1950s cookbook.
Posted at 06:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)
Stepping back from wearing black was a challenge. Black is comfortable, it goes with any moment, dress up, dress to blend in, or disappear in the crowd. My wardrobe was 95 percent black. Nearly a year ago, I put my black-colored clothing aside. Thanks to Laurie-Annya Linfoot, who encouraged me, I dared to step out of my comfort zone and splash on color. Just to be clear, grey and navy are not black. I am not diving into the box of Crayola crayons, but orange and green are taking the lead in my wardrobe.
What color do you like to wear?
Posted at 10:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (24)
The authentic Parisienne influencer.
Beret, scarf, espresso, sitting at a cafe at 2 pm,
those iconic chairs, table water and bistro glass, black coin purse on a bistro marble-top table with brass edging,
wrapped sugar cube, newspaper placed to the side,
not a pre-posed photo opt, genuine daily life.
The real deal, and maybe her name is Lucille.
Posted at 11:11 PM in Living in France | Permalink | Comments (9)
Close to our apartment in Paris is the small charming Place Flora Tristan. I was walking past it when a bright red Deudeuche (Citroën 2 CV) drove up and illegally parked. I was never so pleased about an illegally parked car because I knew that the red-door bakery facade was behind me; the driver left the engine running, which meant she wasn’t going to be long if I could quickly get to the opposite side of the Deudeuche, a sweet photo was waiting for me.
If ever I wanted to be wearing a black and white polka-dotted dress, green pumps, a straw hat, and carrying a massive bouquet of daisies, this would have been the day. Or maybe wearing jeans, a long-sleeved navy striped tee-shirt with a beret, I would have jumped into the photo.
Posted at 10:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)