Tongue in Cheek

A simple gesture of unmeasured kindness.

My son Sacha asked, "Mom how will I know when to turn the other cheek, or to grab the person's hand and say no."

photo: Cast iron hands used for making gloves.

The Party at Lauren's

Photo taken at Lauren's home.

A gathering, like twigs in a nest, one by one, we arrived at Lauren's home for a party amongst blogging friends.

Photo: Vintage French party girl, with a pink bow in the right place. I dig her hat!

I love parties where a bunch of friends come over, eat cakes, laugh and dance on tabletops. Where those gathered talk out of turn, sparkle and spark, and feel they have known each other for a life time. Where the shy ones smile, the loud ones sing out tune and the time passes in a blink of an eye.

I love a party where everyone fits in by being themselves.

Photo: Of the Queen's wand.

Lauren's home is a feast for the eyes, creativity and imagination greet you at the door, and never let you go.

Added to that pleasure, she invited six ultra talented women (Mary, Ulla, Donna, Lea, Sharon, and Nicol,) who's art is sought after, praised, published, and made me feel giddy with happy shivery-goosebumps. I wanted to grab their hands, race home take some paper, a scissor, some glue, and start creating art with them.

Photos: Bits and pieces of the day, the art, the style and the stuff that made me smile. If you click on the image it will enlarge.

Photo starting L to R: Moi, pink slipper with snowflake and way to much cleavage, my Godmother Mary who has the flower bed, Lea who creates labyrinths, Donna the ribboned crown, castle in the air Ulla, Lauren Sepia Paper Art, Nicol delightful doll maker, and Sharon at American Harvest. (Photo taken by Ulla's daughter Rowen.)

Thank you Lauren for a wonderful day!

Tea in the garden, Roses in Bed

The morning pours through the windows of my Godmother's home. It is going to be a beautiful day. How many of you can say you slept on a porch, in a flower bed?

You see I wasn't joking, my Godmother has a flower bed on her porch. She likes to tease, that many "dream seeds," where planted on this bed. She is a beautiful rose, growing the most amazing garden of delights with her dreams.

My Godmother's house is gigantic, stuffed from the floor to ceiling with vintage everything. It is a wonderland for a girl like me. I know my Godmother was made in heaven, and I think God thought, "Hey if I give Corey this wonder-woman-flea-market-queen-of-a-Godmother, maybe she won't mind that I am going to give her a double chin and big nose too."

The slippers she gave me are not made of glass. Everyday should be a holiday, or at least summertime! Ah to wake up in a flower bed, and to be greeted with rose slippers with snowflakes on the toe... well it is fantasy made real where most things are possible.

Honestly every inch of my Godmother's house has a touch of Marie-Antoinette, Betty-Boop, and Martha Stewart stuck to it. I went into her closet and just screamed! She had rows of vintage prom dresses, and hats to match. Talk about bling-bling!

"Let"s have tea first, I am not good at making decisions at any time, especially in the morning," so she said, "Pick a teacup."

"Don't forget to grab a pitcher from the wall, there is cream in the fridge."

"Shall we take tea in the garden? Though of course the birds are using this cup as a birdbath."

Photos: My Godmother's home. A wonderland. A generous heart. Alice in wonderland, has a kindred spirit.

Would you like to come visit? A party is being planned.

Holding Hands

Trust the hands of friendship that come your way...

The giving and receiving, 

the gentle and the strong.

The hand that asks you to hold on,

and the one that helps you to let go.

Be the loving hand that creates a circle,

Big enough to hold the moon, yet small enough to wipe a tear.

Photos: A circle of friends, show and tell, laugh and celebrate, together at my cousin Judy's home. S

Home sweet Home

Being back in my childhood home my thoughts turn around family, and the life I had when I lived here. The familiar objects tell me stories I do not hear in France, nor do they share the same meaning. I look at things I have seen a million times before, and memories flood my head taking me to places where in France the river does not run.

Where does the damn burst in you, when does the flood gate open? Have you ever been carried away by a rush of memories, causing you to forget where you are? Reminding you who you have become?

photo: My Mother's Garden.

The Invitation to Dream

               

Within each of us there is a dream wanting to wake up and become real, tangible, whole and complete.

Within each of us there is a past, present and future collaborating with the scribe of our script. 

Within each of us there is a history buried, wanting to be born anew.

Within each of us we have cells that connects us to the sun, the universe, and the bottom of the sea.

Within each of us we carry the invitation to dream.

Photo: A small vintage silouette, that hangs in my cousin Judy's bedroom, which caught my reflection in the glass.

Mont Viso, Italy

Photos listed below taken by my dear friend G. Hutter, while with French husband hiking to towards the Sunrise at Mont Viso, Italy.

Every summer, actually every chance French Husband can take, he is either roping down a deep dark cave, or hanging from a cliff, or learning to fly.

Therefore, it is only natural to his wild nature, that French Husband goes on an adventurous trip while we are in California. This last week French husband and a dear friend hiked up the rocky, icy, top to Mont Viso, in Italy.

photo by G. Hutter. The rocky face of Mt. Viso with patches of ice. Not your typical walk in the park.

If you want a closer look of their hike to the top of Mont Viso, click here to watch their short video: Mont Viso.

photo by G. Hutter: The two of them on top of the world. Mt. Viso Italy

It is breathtaking... Mont Viso, but not as breathtaking as seeing my husband after nearly two weeks of being in California without him!

The Moment is Now

The upside down glass is neither half full, nor half empty. It waits for someone to turn it over, fill it up, and drink heartily from it.

Life pours out like a waterfall through an open faucet. Begging us not to wait, but to grab a glass, and drink from it in big gulps. Savoring every drop of blood sweat and tear.

Nevertheless, the glass sits perfectly ready, waiting, for the right moment. As the faucet drips, drop by drop... The moment is now.

photo: An ordinary French cafe glass on a pink paper napkin.

The Embrace

                  

With his strong gentleness wrapped around her, he gave her room to grow.

photo: Iron delicacy.

A weird baseball question thrown at me...

               

                photo: My nephew Joe playing Little League Baseball.

The other day Sacha was attempting to play baseball with his cousins. After swinging the bat like a madman at any ball that crossed the plate, they told him,

"Hey Sacha, you don't have any plate discipline, and you have a minus 10 percent contact."

Sacha looked at me as if to say, "What does that mean?" I shrugged, clueless. Sacha groaned, "Mom you're American and this is baseball, you should know?"

I think maybe I have turned French.