Tongue in Cheek

The Lock and Key

                           

                        Do you hold the key to your happiness?

Photo: A lock on a dresser.

A French Story of Food and Romance

In France it always starts with food.

Which you can buy on any street corner.  Buy a French baguette, a hunk of cheese, and a box of Medoc wine  and attach it to a moped.  Picnic a go-go.

Beauty is everywhere in France even at the back of a restaurant. How would you like this hunk of Cheese? It gives a new twist to "Take Out" food.

"Bonjour! Je m'appel Take me Home." (He is for you Nancy and Delphine, two friends who leave comments on this blog.)

(French souvenirs... Soap.  Keep it clean Corey!)

A French Story of Food and Romance here is how it goes:

The young tourist came to France. She jumped on a moped, taking a spin to the backside of a restaurant. There she met her knight in a white apron. He grabbed the dessert (or was the dessert!) and they rode to his backyard and had a picnic.

Happy Saturday.

Photos: Around where I live.

Do you speak French?

When I arrived in France I was thirty years old and did not speak more than three words in French.  Some of you have asked me what was that like and how long did it take me to learn to speak French.

It took me a very l.............o.......................n.......................g time to learn French.  I am still learning.  I have a very thick accent that doesn't bother me in the least.  Several years ago at a dinner party a man asked me if I could read in French.  I answered that I could read basic French but not classic novels.  I also admitted I could not write in French.  In which he replied (in French) "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? After all these years you haven't learned?"  I replied, "I am stupid."  I thought I might as well tell him what he thought and avoid anymore of his insults.  It worked.  The conversation about my French language skills ended, though the dinner conversation continued on lighter topics.

Since then when French people ask me how long I have lived in France I know in a small way they are judging my French.  If I say "twenty years," they often reply in one or two ways:

1. You speak well, but you have a very thick accent.

or-

2. You speak like this after twenty years?

After awhile this sort of response started to bug me. 

I thought I would change my answer so that we would all feel good.  Therefore when a French person asks me how long have I lived in France I say,  "Not too long."  They respond by saying;

1) Incredible! Your French is very very good.

They smile and I smile everyone is happy.

Yes I am bending the truth.  But that is a fault I can live with.  Unless God only speaks French in which case I am busted.

I speak French.  I dream in French.  I can follow a conversation in French.  I started to speak French when I found out I had cancer 15 years ago.  (Amazing what a little fear can do to one's language skills.)  I can buy antiques in French.  I can also kiss in French,  make crepes, and I feel I have come a long way since the day I couldn't say more than oui and non.

Photos: French vintage pieces found in a scrapbook.

Dinner with a Paintbrush

When I arrived in France I didn't speak a word of French. Well, I spoke three words maybe five, humble pie was my constant buddy, observing in silence my new vehicle and re-decorating was how I stayed focus during dinner parties.

Those dinner parties where we would sit for hours around the table, with the constant changing of plates at each course.  The chirping chatter of the guests made my head spin, I had to do something while smiling and nodding in ignorance.  That is how I came up with redecorating.

During the aperitif I would pick a theme for the home where we were having dinner.  With the amuse-gueule (first course)  color charts came to mind.  While the soup was served I would select which walls to demolish.  The arrival of the main course and throughout the cheese entree, my full attention was choosing fabrics for the curtains, and upholstery.  With the dinner guests well into their conversations, I was replacing the furniture and hanging mirrors in my mind's eye.

Enfin,  towards the end of the evening, with dessert and coffee being served the entire room would be remodeled!

Photos: Of a party in Marseille.

Collected Thoughts

Things we collect.  The smallest things.  Bits and pieces, from here and there.

Things we collect that we attach meaning to, find pretty,  or odd, that seem to say something to us.

Like people, places,  ideas,  words....

That stick to us, hold on to us... sometimes rewarding us with wonderful memories, and yet other times causing us to feel feelings that confuse us,  allowing us to search for the reason.

Small gestures speak volumes. 

Words that can lift up or pin us down.

What small word or gesture speaks to you? 

I love watching my little nieces and nephews play.  I love seeing their small movements.

I love being with my Aunts and watching their love pour freely.

I love the details of a party planned with care and attention.

Gentleness and humor

song and dance

life and living

the beauty and the beast

the stirrings of the heart

and the unknown reasons

that make our souls sing.

photos: Bits and pieces of vintage collections, and photos of my family too. The angels are my Godmother's paintings.

Les Jardins d'Albertas

The garden of Albertas  is between Marseilles and Aix-en-Provence created in XVIII century.  The French garden is strongly influenced by the Italians.  It is permanently in bloom with naked statues.  Very colorful in gray tones.  Flowers could not be seen, well at least my eyes didn't notice any other flowers.  I was not disappointed.

It is rare to see a garden full of male statues.  Everywhere I looked they seem to peek out, and then quickly turned their heads in shyness.  Of course I looked and focused on each one of them.  I was not shy.  They stood very still.  Oh those Italians thank you for influencing the French!  I love their seductive powers.

The garden was created for the Marquis d'Albertas, where he had plans to construct his castle. Though due to the French revolution the castle never came to be.  The Marquis Jean-Baptiste d’Albertas was murdered in 1790.

Only the garden remains...

The statues wait unclothed.

We were invited to party held in this Eden like garden.  The tables were set up under a white tent. Look at all the flatware right side up.  Each person received an olive tree.  I found the symbol of peace soothing given the history of this place.

We went early so I could feast on the pleasure of taking photos.  The party started with drinks in front of the basin.

In front of the stone basin stood a long table with white linen. Bottles of vintage regional wines where served.

How I wish this were my garden.  Of course with the gardeners too.

Isn't this an amazing entrance gate?  Imagine driving under that crown in a coach,  lead by six white horses,  and a glass of champagne in hand.  I was happy as a lark walking underneath it. Thankfully those involved in the French revolution didn't destory the garden, nor its gate.

Rusty is gold to me.

I wanted to kiss him but he ran too fast!

The tent tops behind the hedge.  I felt royal and giddy, I love dress up parties.

France with its rich history and culture  gives a farm girl like me a place to live a fantasy.  How lucky I feel to see places like this and weave stories in my mind.  I wonder how the family felt after creating this garden,  realizing that they would not be able to build their castle,  having their lives stripped? The French revolution created different dreams.

Why is this man dressed?  Why is this man smirking at me?  Why is he telling me to stop acting like an American tourist! How dare he stand dressed in this garden! Viva la difference!

Les jardin d’Albertas.

French Silverware

French silverware speaks of the importance that the French put on food and meal- time.  The French have a fork, knife, spoon for every food under heaven.  They also have one for every sauce, and believe me they love their sauces.  To which my thighs cry AMEN!

Since we are an American-Franco family some of my silverware is from America. The innocent pair come to the table, an American fruit knife (1920s) and dessert fork (1940s.)

Unlike dinner knives and forks, the fruit knife has a sharp blade with a point on the end for stabbing fruit after it has been cut.  The dessert fork has a fancy prong "do." Often the tip is curled-in to aid with slicing into a cake bite.

The fruit knife and dessert fork are much smaller than the dinnerware knife and fork.

The French place the silverware upside down on the family table, well that is in comparison to the American style of setting a table.  The monograms on French silver are on the backside.  Note the photo of the same service (1880):  The fork's front side is bare, and the back side is elaborate.

Though at restauants the French place the silverware right side up.  I am sure my dear friend Marie Noelle is going to tell me why (look for her comment below.)

The French have two sizes of spoons for coffee.  A tiny one for espresso and a larger one for cafe au lait.  The larger spoon can be used for tea, hot chocolate, eating cereal and yogurt (... ) that tiny espresso spoon has a singular role, certainly it feels smug adorning those cute little expresso cups!

(Photo French tea and coffee cups. Hand painted 1920s)

The table fork goes onthe left side of the plate.  The table knife goes on the right, with its blade facing towards the plate.  The table soup spoon (which looks like a serving spoon) goes by the table knife.  The dessert spoon and cheese knife go on top.

The first time I came to France and had a meal at French husband's parents home I went as stiff as the silverware in front of me.  The array of silverware overwhelmed me.  I sat the entire lunch (five hours) mimicing  French husband's Father. Whatever fork, knife or spoon he grabbed I followed suit.  I don't remember a thing I ate, but I thank God for French husband's Father's impeccable manners.

Another view of a French table setting line up.  As you can see I have mix and match silverware.  It makes collecting easier and fun.  Find a pretty fork at the flea market, inexpensive since it is on its own.  Buy it polish it...  Instant success! It adds to the collection and shakes up the snobby line up.

And by the way the French eat Pizza with a fork and knife. Tres Elegant.

Photos: Vintage French silverware.

French Antique Linen and Lace

Tipping over the card board box of vintage linen and lace the vendor gave me the thumbs up to dig through them, she went to the car bringing out another stack of linens.  I asked her if she had ever dyed them because I wanted to learn how if she did.  She slapped my back and said she barely had time to keep up with the demand let alone do something with them.

Linen and lace are easily found at the flea markets, though printed fabric such as lightweight romantic cottons, or printed linen, or the best- antique woven silks- are the true finds of the day. 

Ribbons, bows, tassels, silk flowers or sashes often used for first communion or weddings are another favorite to be found.  Better yet if found at an affordable price.  Pale blue is a common color, one that is soft and subtle as the morning sky.

I found this baptismal gown and cape at a flea market years ago for my brother's first baby. Looking for nearly nine months... sure I found many, each more beautiful than the next.  My goal was to find one that was rich in hand made white cotton lace, one within a certain price range, and that was in perfect condition. The cape and gown are different patterns, though from the same period of time.

Antique monogram bed linens.  Is it possible that they could be 2000 thread count or more?  Some are as heavy as a blanket. 

As looms were smaller a century ago the older bed linens have a seam that run down the center.  Hand stitched seams indicate age and are more sought after.  The pillow case in the photo has a ruffle added by a sewing machine.  Often old bed sheets were cut and made into pillows.  The top edging would be used to add a ruffle or trim to the case.  These type of pillow cases  are of lesser quality, and are often softer on the pocket book. 

A school girl's seam sampler.  The sampler pieces pressed to perfection are attached to pink paper and a small bow adorn the corners.  How sweet is that!

Over sized chimney runner, with fellow friends.

A sheet made into a pillowcase, though the crochet lace was added afterward.

Antique lace curtain panels.

Photos:  Of linens and lace from the flea markets in France.  Are you ready to come and find some?

Dreamgirl

Details of love.  Do you share them? 

Sacha asked, "How does a girl like to be treated?"

I said, "Listen to her.  Share with her.  Notice who she is."

Sacha replied, "Mom, Mom, Mom... we are talkin' my age,  nowadays,  not eighteen century whatever. "

(Photo this summer of my friend Ulla and her jewelry that she creates.)

I asked Sacha if he remembered when Molly (his cousin and my four year old niece,) dressed up in a vintage dress said, "I need a Prince."  I asked him if he remembered when she asked him, "Cousin, will you be my Prince? I need a handsome boy?" He nodded yes.

Photo: My niece Molly dressed as a Princess.

"Sacha," I said, "Girls at any age, whether four, fourteen, forty or more, want to be loved and appreciated. They want to share life and laugh and enjoy the freedom to be loved as they are. They want a Prince of a man to believe that they are worthy of everything true and beautiful.  A fairytale can be real life.

Isn't it true?

Sacha you have the golden slipper in your hand.  Send positive thoughts to the woman of your dreams.  She is there, and she too is dreaming of you. Your time will come."

Photo: A vintage small golden shoe.

I know deep down Sacha heard me, though he still shook his head and said, "Mom, Mom, Mom, I was kinda hoping you would say something like offer them a piece of gum and say "Hi" when you walk by. You know something normal day to day stuff like that."

Yeah that works too.

French Antique Glass

The French have a love affair with style. Note the square base, the  etching going up to the rim.  The stylish designs are a feast for the eyes and soul,  especially if you are invited to dinner where you can see the details of small beauty in the everyday tableware. 

There is a glass for every purpose under heaven in their cupboards.  Can you taste a strawberry parfait in this one?

When in doubt serve champagne.  Champagne is one drink in France you can serve anytime of the day or evening. I like that.  It doesn't have to be for a special reason.  This beauty is a Louis sixteen style champagne glass.  I found six of them in a dusty box at a flea market.  Dust not longer claims them.

This hand painted glass seems to sing, "Good morning would you like a glass of juice?"

A rare eighteen century (1700s) wine glass.  The base of wine glasses this old are often wider than the rim.  Slightly uneven in shape, and lightweight.  This one is filled purposefully with memory tokens as to remind me to be careful with it... hopefully it will last another two hundred years with memories of my family.

A deep rose colored apertif glass... rose colored before serving, and after the color is reflected in our cheeks.  It doesn't have to be filled to set my heart racing. 

A French antique bistro glass is etched for a "fete" holiday. Celebrating the moment, creating an atmosphere,  living ambiance... Meal time is a ritual in France.  Food and wine hold sacred spots.  Paper cups are a rarity unless at a picnic or at fast food joint.  I love France for that reason alone, (even if I have to wash every glass by hand!)

As evening falls the stars come out, the dinner sounds are heard, the raising of the glass, the toast, the welcome... the sharing of the moment.  Raise your glass to the stars and trust it will be filled with the joy of life.

Photos: French antique wine glasses from the cupboard that came out to take a bow.