Tongue in Cheek

Stepping back in Time: Tunisia

               

Last year around this time my family and I went to Tunisia. The colors still spring up in my mind's eye causing my cheeks to blush and my heart to race. While I was in Tunisia I went off the beaten path in hope to discover something mysterious and yet deeply authentic. I am certain you know what I mean, you know how it is when you go to some place new you want to discover something untouched unspoilt buy tourism, something that will stamp your experience with awe and wonder, like a personal postcard memory.

               

Tunisia did not disappoint me. Every corner was yet another vista for the imagination. The carpet ride was accessible simply by standing in one place with an open mind.

               

The aroma of mint tea seized me and carried me further and further into the souk.

                

               

               

               

Deeper I went into the souk, losing French husband and the kids in the crowd.

               

               

The last thing French Husband had said to me before I darted off was "...the last bus leaves at 6, please don't miss it!"

               

The stair way to heaven? I couldn't get enough of these tiles.

               

               

But I wanted to find that personal postcard moment and yet the time raced by holding me prisoner to my senses. It took me awhile to find my way out of the souk and then at 5:45 the postcard moment came to my attention.

               

A gate was open and I took it as a sign and entered. There were stairs that lead down to a courtyard. The lion carved in stone was sleeping. Curiosity stamped out any fear as I walked down to the courtyard.

               

A sleeping lion, his mane gentle curls. I found it beautiful. But he soon woke up in a voice behind me saying something that I couldn't understand. I turned around to see a guard looking at me and obviously asking me what I was doing in this courtyard. Though his face was not stern, so I knew he wasn't angry at me. I gestured with open arms and smiled hoping he would understand I found it beautiful and meant no harm.

He did.

He walked ahead of me motioning me to follow him. I knew it was nearly six (time to catch the bus,)but I didn't want to be rude, and hey I figured French Husband and the kids knew me well enough to know that I would be gathering memories and feeding my soul...so I followed him. We walked back up the stairs and then along the ledge of the building.

I was crazy taking this photo while balancing on the ledge. But I wanted proof that I wasn't just lost or something silly when I eventually hoped to meet up with my family.

               

Panoramic view from on top of this beautiful home. It was exactly what I was searching for- Standing on a ledge on top of an unknown house.

I thanked the guard and motioned that I had to leave. He motioned if I wanted go inside and take a tea...Oh I did, I would have loved mint tea, I would have loved even more to go inside to have seen the interior of the house...but time was holding me prisoner and I had to leave.

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Note: I did not take tea with the guard at the beautiful home with the sleeping lion. But I have taken tea many times in my memories as I re trace those steps. I am glad I entered that courtyard and had a near experience of going inside. Sometimes the fantasy is better than the reality.

p.s. I am talkin' tea here Dear Readers and nothing more...blush!

The Art of Making Coffee

               

The Theme: A Mother/ Daughter moment.

The Stage: The daughter's (Chelsea) studio.

First Scene: The Coffee Machine

Daughter shows Mother her new coffee maker. Mother does not like coffee, but drinks it to be with daughter who does. Conversation full and delicious. Daughter tells Mother about the coffee machine.

            

Second Scene: Conversation and Coffee

Daughter: Tells Mother how she got the coffee machine and about the friend who gave it to her.

-Daughter chatters about the coffee machine, then comes back to original subject matter: "...Even though he doesn't drink coffee he knows I do and thought I would enjoy it. Isn't that sweet?"

Mother: Zeros in on one word and one word only: "He."

             

Scene Three:

Mother: Who is wide-eyed, curious, and with an agenda...wants to know about that one word..."He."

Mother's First Line: "I'll have one spoon of sugar please and (as the Mother stirs the sugar into her coffee,) ...is the friend who gave you the coffee machine a Boyfriend, or just a boy who is a friend?"

Daughter (who drinks her coffee straight black) says: A boy who is a friend.

Mother: Really?

            

Last Scene:

Daughter: Tells Mother that the boy and her are very best friends. How they study together. How he helps her since he is brilliant in Math, and that she helps him with his English.

Daughter continues deeper: "One evening while we were doing homework," she tells her Mother, "We both looked up at the same time, our faces were this close (daughter puts her face right up to her Mother's face...Mother wants to grab her daughter and kiss her like a baby and never let her go...but Mother resists and tries not to cry.) we leaned into kiss but pulled back instantly."

Mother surprised and gasps, "Why? Why didn't you kiss each other?"

Daughter: Explains to Mother that it would change everything and that they value their friendship too much to risk losing it over being boyfriend and girlfriend with each other.

Mother: Scratches head, though understands and drinks the coffee that isn't that bad after all.

Islamic Art and Little ole Me

Yesterday afternoon I went to an antique dealer's home. Isa is someone I have known for years but we have never spoken more than ten words together. Usually we see each other at the international antique fairs where her hand is often holding something extraordinary and my hands are itching to have it.

She is one of the best hunters at the antique fairs.

The other day I saw Isa at a flea market. I broke the silence and asked her if I could come to her home and take some photos for a magazine. "Oui bien sur! Sans problem." She said willingly as she touched up her flaming red hair.

               

I  walked away rubbing my hands thinking of the wonderful things that I would see Chez Elle! I imagined 18th century Provencal antiques the type of antiques I have seen in her hands over the years. Small unusual delicacies such as religious relics, ivory chest pieces, gold thread lace, miniature oil paintings, things that Louis 15th had touched...You see Isa has a knack for finding the most amazing, impossible, incredible antiques... Antiques that have price tags on them that make my bank account look like bubble gum money.

          

But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for the mouth dropping experience of what I was about to see. Isa's home was not at all what I had expected. When Isa opened the front door to her home my eyes rolled out before me and I said in English, "Holy Shit!" (I shocked myself red!) Thank God she doesn't speak English bad mouth!

You know I felt like Alice in Wonderland except I was riding the Orient Express and my plain Jane little self seemed so so so soooooooooooo BORINGLY typical by comparison. I fell in love with Islamic art and color yesterday...and please tell me how I am ever going to look at grey white walls again?

             

             

             

             

Honestly, Isa's home seems to have belly dancers, ya ya sisters and mint tea pouring out of the every inch and nook and cranny. I literally stood speechless for 15 minutes and didn't breath.

To say it was a feast for the eyes just doesn't cut the mustard. It was alive, on fire, like a heart on a plate begging you to grab it and stuff it in your chest, and scream, "This is livin'!"

             

I should have known by her shoes that Isa was not an ordinary woman.

             

The endless stories, the countless details, the names of artists, styles, period of pieces washed over me as I sat and stuffed myself with her charm and exotic-ness. I simply could not contain everything she said... So I sat there drinking her in and loving every minute of it.

             

...even the kitchen sink spoke of another world far far away.

             

             

             

             

             

             

             

             

             

             

I took over three hundred photos of one room only. You might say these photos are the tip of the mosque!

Unbelievable! Oh and let me tell you her bathroom! I could die happy there, honestly I could. A sunken tube lined with enormous seashells... there was water in the tub and it was filled with flowers. I looked at Isa and asked, "Do you always leave your bathtub full of water?" She shrugged her shoulders like I didn't understand and walked away.

"Golly gee I am in for a wild and wonderful ride!" I laughed. Isa tugged my hand and said, "The train is moving are you jumping on with me or not?"

I am I am I am.........................

Photos:  Chez Isa. Islamic art and history. More to come as I absorb the experience of my new friend who talks a mile a minute and makes me feel alive.

Notes:

Islamic Art and History.

Clarke and Clarke

Islamic Culture

Travel North Africa here and here.

            

             

A House in Provence

               

Not far away from where I live is this big old abandon house. It has stone walls, frame less windows, a basement, and gigantic wooden support beams without a roof. Over the years I have watched it change like the seasons, weathering away slowly. It stands alone on a massive piece of wild property surrounded by vineyards and unruly oak trees. Certainly in its heyday the French owners knew how to live and work in such an isolated place. Today there is a highway that runs in front of it.

            

I don't know why it has been abandon... most likely it is due to to an inheritance feud which is common in France with real estate, or maybe the owners just don't care to do anything with it. Whatever the case I imagine many people have asked about it, hoping they could buy it and restore it into a French dream home.

I couldn't live in this house, I am too big of a chicken to live alone in the middle of nowhere. But that doesn't stop me from imagining what I could do with it, or how I would restore it. Though my imagination leans more towards what type of French antiques use to be in this house, and how I wish they were still there!

         

         

As this two hundred plus year old house is situated in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest town about 10 miles away, the people who lived there had to be self sufficient and mostly practical. The style of the house is called a "Maison de Maitre." Which does not correspond with other homes in the middle of nowhere. Which leads me to believe (or wishful thinking,) that the habitants where slightly romantic as well.

Provencal style this is the look:

         

Provencal style wine bottle drying rack. Every French home had one in the basement. After drinking a bottle of wine the bottle was rinsed and set on a rack to dry.

         

In a French country kitchen a set on cannisters would lined the mantle over the fireplace.

         

Provencal pottery without a doubt was in their home. Yellow was the most common color in French Provencal pottery, then green, blue and the rarest was white.

      

A ton of baskets were needed for storing potatoes, gathering vegetables in the garden, and storing the mending.

               

A trousseau of nightgowns, shirts and linens filled the closets.

                

A basin and pitcher would be needed in the bathroom.

                

Their lives would reflect post card scenes...red poppies, sunflowers, fields of lavender...

               

Of course without a doubt the door knocker would be one of my favorites, you know it would be!

               

A lantern would be lite in the evening only is company was expected to visit.

Would you like to see more of Provence style and my imagination? Or are you growing tired of antiques? Please do not say you are growing tired of antiques or when you come to France I will take you to Cafe Mc Donald's! Which is actually ten miles from this abandon house!

Photos: Classic Provence style around where I live.

For more information about where to swoon or buy French Antiques check these sites:

French Style.

Vintage Linens

Cote BASTIDE

Marie Claire

French Dreams

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Note:

I am off to peek into someone's home in Marseilles. A future magazine assignment...Isa is an antique dealer and one that I have admired for years. When I asked her if I could photograph her collection for a magazine she gladly said, "Oui bien sur!" (Yes, of course!) Tomorrow I'll add a few shots to show you a sneak peek! I am beyond excited to see what she has!

             

             

       

       

What you can find at any French Flea Market

               

At the French flea market you can find almost anything. It seems to me if you line up every linen bed sheet, dish, wine glass, table, chair, mirror, sconce, vase, painting, silver tray etc. etc... that you can find at the French flea market, into a single row... it would circle the world twice. I am not kidding.

Here are a few examples of French treasures you can find easily. French antique things that once use to be at the bottom of a cardboard box, or stuffed  in someone's attic before being sold at the flea market in France.

Bottles before plastic, reusable and made to be seen. A toiletry bottle, pharmacy jar and a small liquor bottle from a missing traveling set. Call me crazy but I usually pour the contents from the new plastic containers such as shampoo, lotion, liquid soap and such into antique pretty things. It is the way I live in my world, surround myself with flea market wanna-be treasures, making the ordinary seem like a holiday of simple wonder.

               

The French flea markets are loaded with pretty little things. Hand painted glasses and dainty dessert plates. Imagine a feminine bar! Where the liquor is disguised as perfume and the liquor glasses hold powder puffs and Q-tips, and the dessert plates holds soaps pretending to be cakes?

               

My Belle Mere (Mother-in-law,) has the real deal. When I go to her house I spend hours admiring her pretty things. She has the antique bug worse than me, actually most of the things in her home have been passed down through generations. Lucky duck! The best part about her inheritance is one day it might belong to me that she uses these things daily.

The little broom is used to sweep off the table crumbs! Did you know that? I love that little broom.

                  

French Husband's favorite thing in his Mother's home is not the little broom, but that upside down bronze pig?!  The pig is a match holder, and you strike the matches on its underbelly. French Husband told me as a little boy he often lifted the pig's head, emptied the matches out, then turned it upside down and left it like this for his Mother to find. He still does it when he visits his Mom and his Mother HATES that!!

               

I think my Belle Mere is going to give me one of her antique monogram table cloths for my birthday, I wish it were the little broom, French Husband wishes it were the pig. Maybe all three? Though I highly doubt it.

Whoops I am getting off the subject of what you can find at the French flea markets... as I was saying...

                  

These type of pretty things are common, and very easy to find at the French flea market.

                  

Hardware too. Do you see the size of those keys?

                  

France's flea markets are loaded with pretty things. It never ceases to amaze me of the volumes and volumes of treasures it unearths each weekend.

                

For example, nightstands... the choice is endless, this one is unusual because it is oval, and has three drawers. Most are square shaped and have a large interior shelf, that is lined with marble or zinc, with a door to close it off. Inside this space is where one would put a chamber pot... a nightstand wasn't for a clock, or a lamp or a book...it was for a chamber pot first and foremost.

                

Another one of the those French classic beds that you can find in any second hand shop.

               

But this rates as the number one classic French bed set. The thicker and larger the shell on top of the head board the better it is... at least that is what they say. An armoire,  a bed, and a nightstand usually cost around a 1000 euro.

             

French ephemera...don't get me started. A mixed- media or scrapbooker's paradise. Personally I like books better than the cards, and antique letters better than lace.

             .....Okay, I'll post more later today when I come back from the flea market ....

A few more flea market finds that I saw today...

                         

French dining room chair with a new do.

 

One of the many shadow boxes with a million little things to gawk out. Do you see the teaspoon mold? The small liquor vask? The compass?

               

This oil painting and gilded frame (circa 1900s three feet x 2 feet) sold for 700 euro.

             

...and if the French flea market does not have French linens then it is not a French flea market.

See you tomorrow xx

               

There's something about Eva

                    

There is something about Eva and Mattieu that I forgot to tell you. A juicy tidbit that would make any girl's heart beat faster, and any man wondering why he didn't think of that! In the beginning of a relationship the name of the game is romance... the first look, the first steps, the first words and the re-living those moments until they are a permanent foundation under your feet. Memories to substain you when you are far from the one you love.

            

Do you remember that Mattieu left the day before Eva? That he waited until the last minute to leave, asking Eva to join him since her flight was the next evening? Though it was impossible for her to go with him, as she was going to visit a relative in Paris. (I thought that showed a good deal of character and respect on her part. I think I would have flung myself into his arms and never looked back...I am flaky like that.)

The two love birds said their goodbyes, promising to write and to visit one another in several weeks time. Mattieu left and the next day Eva went to Paris. Now here is the juicy tidbit I have waited to share with you...

               

The next day after work Mattieu decided to go to Paris (a few hours away,) and give Eva one last kiss. He sent her a text message on her cell phone saying, "I will be in Paris this evening, I have something for you. Tell me where we can meet?"

But Eva's cell phone had run out of batteries. She didn't receive Mattieu's message! Though she had the foresight to copy Mattieu's cell number before her phone went dead. Throughout the day she left him messages from pay phones and thought it a bit odd that when she called his answering machine would pick up instead of him.

Eva had copied Mattieu's number wrongly.

...ah the need for a match maker! Someone who's head is in the right place when hearts are a flutter!

               

Mattieu called me wondering if I had any news from Eva? Did I have another phone number where he could reach her? He had to return to the Air Force base otherwise he would meet her at the airport. I told him he must feel very disappointed, to think they were in the city of love... Paris (!) and yet so very far apart! He responded, "At least when Eva reads that I came to Paris to see her, she will know that I came for her... and that is a symbolic kiss she will hold true. I came to Paris knowing I might not be able to connect with her. Though what is important is that my actions will speak my feelings to her."

Heart throb, boom boom boom! I tell you those Frenchmen got something groovy going on don't they?

               

You know where this is headed don't you?! And you are wondering if at last Mattieu gave her that one last kiss in Paris? Well Dear Reader the answer is no, they didn't connect that evening. Eva did not receive the message until she got home and charged her cell phone. She couldn't believe what she read. Mattieu had hopped a train after work and went to Paris on a whim to give her one last kiss. She felt the symbolic kiss and it remains the strongest.

This is one of the memories that will create their foundation.

             

The other day Eva called and groaned, "Corey, why why why does this year have to be leap year? One extra day to wait just because it happens to be leap year!! Aargh!"

They will see each other again in March.

Happy Birthday Eva! May this year be the year of "Happy Ever After!""

French Pastries

                

Yesterday as I went to the market to buy eggs, milk, cheese, tofu and vegetables I had every intention to take photos of the radishes, clementines, and collard greens until my taste buds caught sight of the bakery. Within seconds my good intentions took a back burning as my mouth watered for just one bite... a bite of chantilly beats plain white tofu any day.

Doesn't the photo up above called a religieuse remind you of Pierrot ? I think they should change the name don't you?

             

In the States some of the classic baked goods are chocolate chip cookies, apple pie, glazed donut, chocolate cupcake with sprinkles, strawberry shortcake, pop tarts... pineapple upside down cake!

In France the classic pastry names alone makes a person's head spin! The desserts have names such as... opera, tropizenne, castel, millefeuilles, baba au rhum, eclair au chocolat ou cafe...

                

               

Not only are the French array of sweet tooth fantasies stunning behind the glass case, they are undeniably delicious too. Not to sweet and prepared to perfection. When you purchase a pastry in France it is wrapped up in a box with a bow, or if it is a croissant, pain au chocolat, or escargot it is put into a little paper bag.

A small petite four is wrapped up and tied with a red ribbon. I love how the French pleat the paper when they wrap their packages. It is their way with details that I find delightful to notice.

            

At the end of dinner when the dessert tray is brought out it is French custom to serve the oldest woman first, then so on and so forth to the youngest girl at the table. Then the tray is served to the oldest man and so on and so forth to the youngest boy.

                              

I remember when we lived in Paris twenty years ago, the dessert tray was filled with many "petit four." But when we moved to the south of France the dessert was a large tart or a chocolate wonder of a surprise. Either way it was never disappointing.

            

Ah the stories I could tell about dinners and the dessert trays! But I will leave those for another day...maybe tomorrow.

            

French Husband prefers chocolate, the more chocolate the better. If it says chocolate then it is a sure bet that French Husband has his eye on it. Which is fine because...

          

Sacha prefers tarte au fraises or tart au framboise, and often that is the first to go when the dessert tray is passed around. Being the youngest and a boy doesn't leave you much choice when it comes to the French dessert tray. Maybe that is why Sacha doesn't have a sweet tooth?

          

Chelsea prefers millefeuille. Usually if there is a dessert left over after dinner it is a millefeuille. Not that it isn't a wonderful creation of flaky pastry and cream, it is just in the world of desserts it isn't the first choice of many.

Because of the French culture hierarchy of who picks first off the dessert tray Sacha and Chelsea have figured how to barter and trade...

Chelsea: "Okay, I'll take the tarte au fraise for you when it is my turn and trade you for the millefeuille that certainly will be the only thing left on the tray when it is your turn."

Sacha the natural born feeling type and worrier, "Thank you Chels but what if there is an apricot tart or something left over that you don't like?"

Chelsea the born manager of how to handle sticky situations: "Then the tart au fraise is mine."

               

As for me I prefer Choux avec chantilly which reminds me of my Mother's famous cream puffs.

                        

Dear Reader,

I have saved the best for last, one sweet taste to start your day. Trust me I am not cruel, I know you cannot taste this chocolate sweet no matter how you lick the screen... I have found another way to treat your tastebuds. Enjoy!

click here: Make  sure to watch it to the end... it is delicious!

Kisses, Tongue in Cheek

Photos: Just desserts.

               

            

Second Hand Shops in France

               

Second hand shops in France are one of the best places to find a steal deal. Don't be fooled thinking there are only broken down refrigerators and used sofas in such places, most antique dealers frequent these shops, though they would never admit that to you nor me.

The oval pedestal table cost less than a $100, though at an antique shop it would fetch close to $400. The wing back chair sitting next to the pedestal table cost... I won't tell you the price otherwise you might be on the next plane to France just to come to this shop! On the other hand if  you hop the plane let's make a deal, I'll give you the address if you can please bring me tortillas, chocolate chips and my little nieces with you. Fair trade isn't it?

            

Early nineteen century furniture is not very popular in France therefore it is a dime a dozen. This type of furniture is not my favorite, though I have seen some of these pieces painted and they end up looking rather nice. A set of six chairs, a table and the matching sidebar sold for less than $1000 at the second hand shop yesterday. If this type of furniture is your cup of tea, than you might think of coming to France, there is a ton of it for sale.

               

A pair of frou frou urns, this one had a cracked bottom but still stood proudly as I took it's photo. I dare say this is an Italian piece hiding out in France. That happens as France and Italy are neighbors, the furniture goes back and forth, but the style is evident, it is not French.

               

Textiles, especially old ones like this one cause me to daydream and stare into space. I would still be there if the shop keeper hadn't grabbed my arm and shook me, "Eh, Americaine cava toi?" (Hey American are you okay?)

This piece is the an unfinished seat cover. Wool thread, hand-drawn design (note: there isn't any color chart or numbers in those little squares!) I am guessing this piece to be 150 years old. Of course I bought it. How could I not?

               

A divine desk, a drop leaf writing table. Inside there are little drawers with locks to hold ones secret love letters. It is a sweetie. The design is older than it is. Imagine with the industrial revolution reproductions started to be produced, and those reproduction are antiques now. If you cannot afford a real Louis 15th writing table you might consider buying an old reproduction of that period. A hundred year old reproduction costs far less than the real McCoy.

            

A mercury glass candlestick. When I first started buying antiques I couldn't afford even a reproduction from IKEA let alone a reproduction from the 19th century. Though the desire to have old things verses new things was stronger than me. I started buying small bits and pieces. Items that I would use everyday, things such as a clock, dishes, a pillowcase, a candlestick...little things that I could use daily and that made me feel that I was surrounded by beautiful antiques (Insert: Daydreamer in her castle.)

               

The trick about buying at a second hand shop is that you must go often. Luckily for me there is a second hand shop right by the grocery store that I frequent. Every time I go to the grocery store I stop by the second hand shop. The trick is that out of the five times that I stop at the second hand shop I might only find something once. Nevertheless, when I do find something I usually forget about the grocery store!

Pure delight is finding a piece like this and paying less than peanuts for it. Who needs peanuts anyway?

                

My Mother loves country style antiques, what about you what is your favorite style? If you tell me I will try to find it and post it for you.

               

Do you like vintage garden ware? A pair of lions to guard your door? Urns in which to plant toparies or maybe a wheel-barrel, or a gnome?

               

Often when you find something at a second hand shop chances are that you will need to add some TLC to the old piece. It is part of the course, paying less has its price.  Though when I find something I like at a second hand shop I consider paying less a double bingo prize. Re-painting, or re-wiring doesn't break my heart though seeing something I cannot afford at a refined antique shop does.

             

Though at such places one can also find mundane things such as wooden spools, canning jars, baskets, books, or frames...that is the real beauty of a second hand shop: Someone's junk might be your treasure.

            

Those items might inspire you. Look at this antique hand-crafted spool shelf. Did you know you could use spools to make a shelf?

            

Hickory dickery dock the mouse ran up the clock, baby!

This sort of clock face goes inside a clock case.

         

The second hand shop that I go to is never arranged. The items move to fast to be put in any grandoise order. You have to have a good eye, or have a good imagination to see the item cleaned up and properly placed.

Imagine the bed set up with a crystal chandelier overhead, white cotton sheets with lace trim, and the bedroom window wide open filling the room with the breeze of a new day.

         

A small day bed with points de capiton, "upholstery buttons". These buttons, this design is the most expensive to create in upholstery. Older models, like most antiques are styled on both sides, front and back. The fabric was royal blue satin.

         

Each region in France has its own style of furniture, its own look, specialties... Where I live, in the south of France the style is called Provencal.

       

So after walking around taking photos of whatever caught my eye in this second hand shop I realized that I had better stop and go to the grocery store, otherwise the beauitful antique cupboards at home were going to remain bare like Mother Hubbard's cupboards.

Tomorrow photos of the market, or maybe just desserts.

             

Details of a French Village

               

A Provencal maison de Village (a house in the south of France, which is located in the center of town) has a distinct style. They are at least three stories high, they have long narrow windows with shutters that are painted in traditional colors, such as blue, green, burnt orange-red, gray, lavender... the roofs are tiled in terre cuite tiles and the houses are made of stone.

               

               

A maison de village has details that show if the house is upper class or of a simpler class. The fancier the house the more detailed the door, the window ledge and the cornice under the roof tiles are. The the upper class maison de village the doors are of solid walnut or oak wood. Though the simplier homes the doors are painted to match the shutters.

               

A painting from the museum in Arles, depicting a typical day in a simple working class Provencal village. Note the simple lines of the homes.

               

Classic yellow with blue gray doors in the Panier in Marseilles.

               

A rosette door knob usually in the middle of the door. A key is used to open the door and the handle is used merely to push the door open. Most door handles on French doors are used in this way.

               

Maison de village in Arles, note the detail, you know what that means... The round windows are called, "Bull"s Eye." I love the roundness of the corner of this building in Arles.

               

A yellow post office box in the center of my town. "La prochaine levee aura lieu...Mardi."

"The next pick up will take place: Tuesday." But that is questionable if you know what I mean.

               

The older man is wearing a traditional blue workman's jacket.

               

Layers upon layers of paint hide the details of this two hundred year old iron door handle.

               

The base of the tiled roof top's edging is made of baked clay. (Doesn't it look like the lace on a petticoat?) Though the edging along the roof is elaborate, the windows are not trimmed, and the sills are flat and plain. Exception to the rule n'est pas! Note: the window sits half way between the thick wall. Therefore there is a ledge on both sides of the window. The windows are about four feet high.

               

The shops in the center of the village, as well as the cities, have apartments above them. Often the old shops are turned into garages. A sad practicality.

               

The doors have letter slots to drop the mail.

               

I wish this was my doorway. Elegant, stone trimmed, amazing outdoor lamps, and wait what is that I notice... shockingly a door handle has been added! What's up with that!

               

A double delight, rosette and Fatima's hand.

               

An intricate hook for a shutter. When the shutter's are pulled closed (and they are every evening) they are locked from the inside.

               

Talk about blue in your face!

               

Patchwork.

               

Art Nouveau style, note the long fingers of this classic hand knocker. If you look at the other ones the fingers are small and round, they are older.

               

The beauty of a hand-cut iron lock and handle, from the 18th century.

               

A diamond shaped iron cut-out is standard fare for a lock cover.

               

A French door key, most keys are like this.

               

The lock part for the shutter's hook.

               

               

               

An 18th century window hinge.

               

               

I won't end this with a knock knock joke, but if you would like you may add one!

Photos: Mostly from my village in the south of France. If there is something you would like to see in my village please let me know. I am working on the requests made earlier on French Style.

France and where I live...

               

"No, nothing can be that lovely. I will have to come and see for myself..." Lee.

I live in a typical non-touristic small village in the south of France. It has been around for over a thousand years. Our home is a maison de village. We live down a very narrow impasse. The sidewalks are cracked, people hang their clothes outside their windows and cars are parked every which way. It is not romantic, nor chic...but it does have a simple charm to it.

Sure I over look the telephone wires, garbage cans, the graffitti on the walls, and the plastic planters on the window sills...Beauty is where you find it. I hope you will visit the south of France Lee, I know you will find it lovely too.

               

" ...I know from looking that you have marvelous things to take photo's of but I do believe you could make the most mundane item look beautiful." Darla. I don't know about that. Though my son Sacha says, "Anyone can take a good photo of France, they need only to go outside and click their camera, France is beautiful."

Darla, If I could I would tell my neighbor to take down the plastic Santa Claus. Then I would "photoshop" the telephone and electricty wires away. But since I do not know how to do that, I usually take photos upclose as it prevents one from seeing the things one doesn't want to see.

               

               

        (Photo: of the fountain in our garden, that we created using old stones.)

"Corey, have you lived in France long enough to have gotten used to it. You know, so that you take everything for granted and don't notice the different and beautiful details any more. Are you still in a state of awe?"~elaine~

France has a soul. It has history, it welcomes the new. It has the wisdom of an older person, yet the spark of a sixteen year old. Yes I am still in awe, though there are things I don't like and I wish my family in California weren't so far away... I must admit that France has stolen my heart. After twenty years of living here I can honestly say that I am more awestrucked than ever!

               

"...my favorite would be a peak into your blue/gray armoire and the shelves with the old book pages and white china/pottery...i would so love to have those old pages...is that your design or was it the magazine stylist." Cre8Tiva.

My home is my own design. It is my canvas.

               

Luckily I grew up with an ultra creative Mother, who could create masterpiece vignettes using anything from my Dad's barn, such as bailing wire and an old tool box. Also I have a French Husband who doesn't mind if the house leans towards the romantic femine side, or if I stripped it down to a sleeping bag on the floor.

note: The crown is from Ribboned Crown.

               

"I have a perpetual question. Are all your {and French, in general} walls a shade of soft gray-ish? It seems so, from your photos. It seems so, from other French blogs I have seen. And with small spots of color added, against the pale background of these walls?" Mari-Nanci

It must be the natural light in France that gives that hint of grey. Because the walls in my house, with the exception of the kitchen, are painted flat white. Simply because I can't decide what color to paint them.

               

                                                       photo: A rue in my village.

more photos to come...

               

TACE wrote, "...How can there be so much detail on a chair?? Gorgeous. Makes me wanna start hammering those upholstery tacks into everything I own!"

Out of all antiques, French armchairs are what I love most.

               

"I'm curious, Corey, does your wardrobe, what you choose to wear on yourself or perhaps buy for French Husband to wear reflect your decorating sense? ... Also, do you frame your photographs and hang them up throughout your house?" Susanna.

I do not have any of my photos, nor of others hanging in my home. Though I have recently thought of hanging some photos of the children when they were little.

Regarding my wardrobe... I love to go shopping for others but not for myself. My clothes are basic, and mostly black which is easy to manage.

                

Miz Booshay, "Is your bathroom also antique? I was hoping to see your kitchen."

Next week our bathroom is going to be re vamped. I am excited because I found an old claw foot tub for a song. After that the kitchen will be remodelled...if you look at this photo you will see there isn't much of a kitchen counter to work on. Plus there is one cupboard which is under the sink.

more later...

               

Maison de village: A home in the center of a French village. Maison de village usually shares at least two walls, nestled in between two homes. The wall are at least three feet thick of stone. Which means the shared wall is six feet thick. Sound proof and natural insulation assured. The Maison de village are typical three to four stories high. Ours has three floors. Usually they have a vaulted basement in stone and a bird's eye view from the attic.

" I really enjoyed these shots. I NEVER imagined your living in a "maison de village" -- I figured it was an old country home with a huge garden, like so many expats have and/or aspire to. It's interesting the images we get in our minds..." Betty.

"Do you happen to have those sweet French blue shutters on your home too?" Teresa asked.

             

Blue shutters rule, then green, after that it is a toss up. Ours are green.

French Style

Since you have been asking to see more photos of French style I thought I would do just that.

A fainting couch in the hallway at my home.

The corner of a very loved Louis 15th chair.

A French screen at my favorite restaurant in Marseilles. The fabric has been removed and glass has been added in its place.

A door knocker on a faded red door. You know I love these.

Wall art. Original paint. Hangs in my bedroom.

A tarnished silver medal on a linen hand towel.

A group of chairs waiting for your visit.

Apothecary jars filled with eye candy.

A face of a lock to a dresser.

A lamp post at the train station in Marseilles, Notre Dame de la Gare in the background.

A typical bakery chalkboard.

A miniatures portrait of Josephine.

I am on a roll with images today, I'll add more later.

What would you like to see?

Photos: Taken around, about and near my home.

________________________________________________

Because you asked:

For: Merisi's  who asked, "Oh, the kitchen, pleeease!" Here is a sneek peek.

"Miroirs & chandeliers ! la réflection de la lumière." Okay Delphine Douche a photo of "la lumiere chez moi."

Julie Ann wrote, "I would like to see ... the garden."

"Eye candy!" How about that Kim?

"I would love to see more of your vignettes. I remember last year or earlier you had a tray with little glasses filled with bits and pieces....it stuck in mind mind." This is for you  Colette . One of the first things I ever bought at a French flea market. A letter opener.

More to come....

Hot Tea

The hardest part about writing a daily blog is if the words don't show up when I wake up. When that happens I look around the house for a muse. Kinda like today. Radio silence in my head. Stories yes, words no.

               

I call out to French Husband,

"What should I write about today?" 

From the other room French Husband says,

"Sex."

"Coffee, tea or me... that's perfect!"

He comes in and repeats,

"Perfect?"

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

Photo: Two empty chairs, and waiting for hot tea.

What would you like for your Birthday?

                   

"What would you like for your fiftieth birthday?" French Husband asked me.

"Outside curtains like the ones we saw in Venice. "

He said, "Would you like the windows too?"

"Sure why not, and by the way can you throw in the house that went with it?"

Grinning slightly, hoping I was teasing he added, "Why not the moon and the stars?"

"I'm trying to keep it simple, okay?"

Between you and me... he is aiming too high don't you think? Then again if I'm not careful I'll probably get 50 yards of off-white cotton and a sewing machine.

photo: When French Husband and I were in Venice for our anniversary I saw these amazing exterior curtains. Can you image being behind such curtains? Oh la la...........

Falling or Flying it is the same when it comes to LOVE

                   

"How do you know when it is love? I mean how do you know when the one in front of you is the one? You know, how do you know the feeling you have is real? How do you know?"

I sat down, held the phone in the space between my neck and shoulder, and poured myself some hot chocolate. As the hot chocolate slipped down my throat, as the words spoken passed by my heart, as the two mixed into my stomach, I felt tears roll down my cheek, and said, "Love is like that you abandon your reason and fall in the space in between."

Falling in love. The mysterious, curious, wonderfully scary place.

I put my cup down, and felt warm inside.

Photo: Clean kitchen, food for the soul, hand on heart and a sense that everything has found its place.

The Heart and Soul

               

Where your heart sings is where your feet will dance. Is it that simple? I know as well as you, that often that which causes us to dig deep and give from the core of our being puts us more in touch with raw beauty, the ache, the need, the desire to give from the depths of our very being. Yes it is that simple, but diving in and doing it is another thing.

             

The empty chair is waiting for someone to come and sit down, to reveal themselves, to share their story. The empty chair waits. Have you shared the secrets of your heart with yourself?  I wonder if the cracks in my heart don't grow the sweetest flowers? I wonder what life would be like if I didn't know love? I wonder why anyone would be afraid to share the secrets of who they are? All of us have flaws, are thread-barren in parts and torn, is it not the beauty of the soul?

            

Heavy linen, with hand-stitched flowers, one thread at a time, pierced through, pull down, and repeat over and over....

Years later I put the heavy linen sheet, with hand-stitched flowers, on my bed. As I  press it smooth with my hand, I trust that the soul who created this beauty had joy in her life. That she too slept with someone she loved under this sheet.

          

At the end of the day, time reflects what we have done, who we are becoming.

I hope to have the courage and grace to be who I am and allow others to do the same.

photos: Things around my house that use to belong to someone, and then ended up at the brocante fair, and then followed me home.

The Guests are Gone, and Thoughts of turning Fifty Causes me to Re Think about Cleaning the House

An empty house. Yet when I look around everything seems to be jumping up and down yelling for my attention. Isn't that how it is when the company leaves and reality hits.

A truckload of laundry, stops me in my tracks, "Hey lady do you think you could manage to pick up the piles off the floor? By the way the iron is flat out jealous!" Looking at the iron I smirk, "Ha!" I walk over the piles and head downstairs.

                   

"Good morning Mom." Says Prince Sacha, as he continues to eat pasta from the pan. I open the refrigerator and it growls, "Empty! Chocolate and champagne are not real food, can you please come back to real life...bread, butter and milk."

                  

Sacha says, "I am eating pasta for breakfast."

("Bad Mom, Bad mom!" I think to myself, though Prince Sacha seems to be happily surviving.) Stacks of dishes pretending to be cute on the counter. No clean glasses so I cup my hands and drink.

                

I walk back upstairs. Not bothering to notice the stacks of paper on my desk, that are moaning in a steady whisper: D-e-a-d-l-i-n-e-s!

Slipping into the bathroom, my friend the tub comforts me. Hot water roars from the tap, like a steady glass of white wine filling up, coloring my thoughts hazy. Only to be reminded that there are no clean towels. I don't care I'll drip dry.

As I stand up in the tub to drip dry I see my reflection in the mirror...

In two weeks I'll turn fifty, I gotta get my act together. Second thought maybe not, as I turn the hot water back on.

The Day After

                

"Is there anything better than that first kiss or first love? I don't think so!" said Lynda on the comments to yesterdays post.

I don't know about you , but the day after seems anti-climatic. Looking around the house I see the left-over symbols of the past weekend, and it helps knowing that you too are wondering about Mattieu and Eva. Have you ever noticed that the day after a big event, there is a need to re-hash the details?  So of course I need to re-hash!!

Here are some of the questions you have asked me about the pure bliss weekend.

Where are Eva and Mattieu at this moment?

Mattieu is in the French Air Force in Northern France. He has a major test to take this morning, I hope his head is in the right place, and that this weekend won't deter the outcome, but rather increase his chances of doing very well. Eva flew home last night on cloud nine.

Don't they seem happy?

I can attest that they are! Last night as I drove Eva to the airport she said, "Corey, you know if Mattieu and I get married, then you will be my Aunt!"

I hadn't thought of it like that and it made me laugh and laugh, an added bonus!

Did Eva come from the US? Just for a weekend? That amazes me, and I wonder if she didn't have some jet lag to deal with!

Yes, Eva flew to France for a long weekend, arriving Friday and left yesterday. The excitement of meeting Mattieu kept the jet lag at bay. I was impress with her stamina. Then again it helped that she was bumped to "FIRST CLASS." Eva happened to be sitting by a Pilot, for the airlines, on the commuter flight of the first leg of her trip-- he changed her seating on the next flight! Talk about having a lucky star above your head!

Well, since I am sworn to secrecy I cannot say where Eva lives...but I can say this, she lives on the Sunny side of North America.

Will Mattieu and Eva see one another soon?

They will see one another in March.

Will you keep us posted about their relationship as it unfolds?

Is the Pope Catholic?

(Someday you) will have to give us an idea what all transpired before Eva's trip across the Atlantic - were photos exchanged, were phone calls made over the months, etc?

They were pen pals for a few months, some letters, and photos were exchanged. Eva wanted to speak French better, and Mattieu was hoping to improving his English. I think it is safe to say: "Mission Accomplished!"

How old is Eva? and Mattieu?

They are the same age, "thirty something," 32ish or there of...

You didn't even go to the flea market??!?? Girl, you got it bad! You are in love...with love itself! (Cue girlish sigh!)

I know I have "it" bad! The only reasons I miss the flea market are ones that have me strapped and pinned down to the ground with ten elephants sitting on top of me.

Before Eva came this weekend she said she would love to go to the flea markets with me... yeah yeah that was a good one liner! She found the treasure she was looking for on Friday at my home and never ever gave the flea market another thought.

I tell you it was worth ten elephants sitting on top of me. Maybe that is why today I am so pooped out.

Do you feel it is a match made in Heaven?

I-Beam Heaven :)

Does Mattieu speak English and does Eva speak French???  (So were Sacha and Chelsea around to witness you and French Husbands weekend of playing Cupid?)

They both speak a bit of both. So they fit right into the International Home of Pancakes. French Husband spoke French to Mattieu, I spoke English to both of them, Sacha spoke English to Eva and French to Mattieu, (Chelsea was out of town,) and they spoke the language of love to each other.

Their conversations still lingers around the kitchen table and I am lapping it up, over and over again.

Paramount might want this charming modern day matchmaking story to hit the big screen. Corey, who would you choose to be your character?

Hum.. I hadn't thought of that one! Okay God here is your chance, someone without a double chin and who has long beautiful legs!

Many of you asked about the ring Eva had on her left hand?

When I first met Eva she had that ring on her left hand and I asked,

"Hey baby cake what is up with the ring on your left hand on, and on your wedding ring finger to boot?"

Eva told me that she is constantly taking her rings off and putting them on one hand to the other, or hooking them onto her necklace, or putting them in her pocket...let's just say she is a fidgety type and those rings are constantly moving around.

The ring(s) are not wedding bands, but a gift from her family.

Though the singular question I was asked the most often sounded something like this:

Now is there an uncle...friend ....a neighbor, who might like to meet a southern gal?

...And from another reader, I have a couple nieces who are single...any other cute French nephews in the family...? And yet from a hundred others...What about me? Do you know another man? Can you make me a match?

Maybe. Yes I do know of a few other single men... Do you dance salsa?

Where do Your Dreams Lead You?

                   

Where do your dreams lead you? Eva and Mattieu dreamed of finding love. A love different from the ones they had experienced before.

When Lily wrote me last July, regarding my blog post about my very handsome nephew, and his being single and available, neither of us had any idea that a day like today would ever actually happen for two people we both loved whole heartily.

Lily, I might be a match maker, but you are a miracle worker.

                

Many of you asked me how Mattieu and Eva felt about my sharing their story on my blog?

Eva said if I changed her name and didn't show her full face she was okay with whatever I posted, "Corey I have read your blog for months and I trust that you would share honestly and respectfully. Plus I feel know the people who comment on your blog, and they seem to be the most creative and supportive group, I would love their feedback. Plus I know they would be cheering for love!"

Mattieu said, "Okay, why not?" 

I asked before taking each photo...sometimes.

As the week end came to an end they asked French Husband and I many questions about what it was like to fall in love with someone from another country and how hard was it to endure a long distance relationship.

I told them, "... it was a piece of cake, nothing to it, a drop in the bucket, easy as pie, the cat's meow, hands down the simplest thing in the world to do!"

French Husband looked at me, and started to say something contrary! But before he could utter a word, I reached over with my leg and kicked him under the table. He swallowed hard and said, "Yes? Ouch." Then cleared his throat, rubbed his leg and continued while looking down, "Yes easy, very easy."

We are terrible.

But sometimes you need to bend the truth. Sure it is not easy, love is not easy, but it is worth every mile of the journey it offers.

When the time came to take Mattieu to the train station emotions were high.

Eva felt love bite and it started to chew at her heartstrings... she melted like chocolate. Mattieu put his arm around her, and never let go.

Love does happen, if we let it. Love is good. I looked at them and thought, "Miracles do happen."

Yes the first stage of love is easy, you could say a walk in the park. Especially if the park is ripe and ready for a rare flower to bloom, and if gentle hands tend to it.

I asked if I could take one more picture that would sum up what this weekend meant for them?

They leaned towards one another with a look in their eyes that caused me to stop breathing! My heart leaped, a lump caught in my throat, my eyes watered, my mascara started to run and I reached for a kleenex and at the pivotal moment they KISSED!

"Hey, hey, HEY, wait a minute can you do that again? Because I was too busy be happily shocked to take the darn photo!"

                 

          May there be no end to happiness ever after.

____________________________________________________________________________

Dear Readers, Thank you for following along this weekend, and for your fantastic comments on love, happiness, joy, and desiring the best for these two love birds! I hope I can find something to write about tomorrow...because let me tell you match making sure feels good these days. Maybe, I will answer some of the many questions that you have asked regarding Mattieu and Eva.

So dear gentle readers, yesterday was a perfect day, sunshine, light showers and the best chance for a garden of love to grow.

The Last Day of the Match Maker Tale?

Unpolished silver bucket with a lion head handle, holds bits and pieces of a song that wants to be sung.

A man and a woman took a chance and stepped on to the dance floor... Hoping for songs of love, feeling the rhythm in their blood, experiencing a longing as their music spun: Into the groove, rock and roll, a hopeful slow dance into the night.

As the music played many notes, mixed tempo, tango and a slow two-step. "Baby do you want to dance?"

As only falling in love can do, every dip, turn and swirl, feels like the first time-

Exaggerated and new. Remember those first moments? Time stands still and races forward seemingly all at once. Where you look at something you have seen a hundred times before and yet you notice it as brand new- golden, true, and somehow made just for you? Is that perfume in the air? Certainly it is! Where the unnoticed mundane things take on new meaning...singing, yes singing for your ears only.

Tell me has the sky always been blue?

Ah falling in love, where walking is called waltzing and you hope it never stops. . .

What will this music bring?

-------------------------------more later as the day plays out.....................................

The art of making coffee for someone is knowing exactly what they like, and how they like it.

In the beginning we do everything for the other person, don't we?

Please let me..

No please allow me...

No no no I can, please let me..

Oh but I really would like to do this for you..

Aren't you kind!

No you are the one who is kinder!

--------------in the beginning it is this way, very polite and nice and sweet and GOSH am I the luckiest for being able to witness this beginning... It made me look at French husband with a newer sparkle too.

Mattieu brought coffee to Eva, one dark and one cafe au lait.

Eva said, 'Oh, Let me carry that, how nice of you to make us coffee!"

I think this is my favorite moment....so far............

_____________________________________more to come______________

Before taking a walk outside with Mattieu,

Eva said, "Who would have thought, who would have known, who would have believed....."

The time draws near.

The hearts flutter.

They stand in front of one another in a world of their own.

Meanwhile French husband, Sacha and I take bets. What do you think will happen?

-----------------------------------------We are off to the train station...I'll let you know this evening what happened.

UPDATE----------------------------------------------

Walking to the train, Mattieu left this late afternoon.

Seeing them, brought up old memories of when French husband and I were dating, and when I would leave France to go back home to California, long distance relationship are the pits.

I asked Eva how she felt. Empty she said. This feeling is so odd, so unexpected, it seems unreal...I have met Mattieu and it seems I have known him all my life....and now I must say goodbye?!

The reality sinks in. Departure draws near.

At this point I thought to myself, "How will I ever go back to normal blogging world again? I do not want either of them to go? I want to write about this tale of happy ever after forever. Then I realized that if Eva married Mattieu she would be part of our family!!! Oh my God! Wow! Happy day! Could it be would it be...then I knew how much I had hoped for my skills as a matchmaker to come true this time.

Have you ever met someone and knew in an instant you could be their best friend forever?

-------------------------------------------------------next update tomorrow morning.

Oh la la just you wait to see what I saw!

What do you think happened to Mattieu and Eva in the end?

Do you think you will need to:

1) Get your sunglasses on because it is going to be bright and sunny tomorrow?

or

2) Chances of showers bring an umbrella?

Match Making Weekend in France

               

Dear Readers, You will have to bear with me for the next two days because my vocation as a Matchmaker has my complete attention. By Monday afternoon my life will go back to cobblestones, French Husband, teenagers, baguettes, French brocante, antiques and the day to day inspiration of life in France.

But this weekend, this amazing weekend, is dedicated to the matchmaking of two gentle souls.

               

Mattieu and Eva, are getting to know each other upstairs in the  guest room/study or as we call it the "Blue Room" which isn't blue, (You see in our old house the children's play room/office was called, the "Blue Room," and well that name followed us to our present day home.) But I am sure you are not reading this post to know about the color of the room! Anyway, they are upstairs in the blue room.

Their jackets are downstairs arm in arm, as I drink my coffee these two jackets seem to tell a story all their own.

               

A few days ago Mattieu asked me if I had any plans made for our weekend together. I told him other than Matchmaking, uh no. I went on to say that I had ideas if they didn't hit it off, or if they needed guidance, or suggestions for places to go, or card games we could play, or trails to hike...BUT I was hoping they would occupy themselves and that I could sit back and smile and dream up lovely dinners and do dishes during the weekend!

               

Last night after dinner I noticed Eva's watch and rings on the kitchen counter, she had taken them off thinking she could help me in the kitchen. Though I had said, "No way, get going, scaddle-scoot!" Obediently she went off to take a shower.

Mattieu was in the living room, talking with French Husband... I went up to Mattieu and said," Oh Mattieu Eva left her watch and rings downstairs, here can you take them up to her please?"

Now here is the tricky part about being a match maker; Sacha jumps up and says, "I'll take them to her room Mom." I had to nearly tackle him! Then French Husband said, "Mattieu would you like some more wine?" And before Mattieu could say anything French Husband started to fill his glass! In which case I had to stand behind Mattieu and do sign language to French Husband. With my hand I drew a fast line across my neck, in sign language that means CUT!

"Oh!" French Husband says nearly tumbling over his exclaimation. I handed the watch and rings to Mattieu.

Photos: Two wine glasses from last night, two jackets, two unused morning coffee cups and a pair of spoons.

I will post throughout the weekend updating on this page.

-----------------------------------UPDATE-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At 2pm we had breakfast. Fashionable late I guess you could say.

I pulled Eva aside and pointed my thumb up, and then pointed my thumb down and looked at her... She kissed my cheek. I think that means thumbs up!

The spark. 

After that I thought about playing Elvis.

More to come....

---------------------UPDATE--------------------------------------------------

There comes a moment where you have to sink or swim... One must jump from the nest, test the wings of your heart, and that is scary, scary stuff...but it is the only way to know if you can fly.

I sent them off (hours ago,) with some chocolates, a thermo of coffee and some bananas.

I'll keep you posted...........................

Last update until tomorrow -----------------------------------------------------

Eva and Mattieu came home to a house full of friends, we decided to have a dinner party!

Carotte Ginger Soup

Puff pastry with blue cheese and walnuts.

Pasta with artichokes in a white truffle cream sauce.

And little cakes from the bakery around the corner.

I must admit I loved watching them try to steal moments amongst the eight of us.

It is far too late...it is 2:30 am.

Gee, when people are getting to know each other, do they always stay up late and talk the night away?

Mattieu and Eva are still talking...endlessly. I think that is a double thumbs up don't you?

The Match Making Weekend Extravaganza, or where friends meet and share some wine...what will it be?

             

Love potion. A three bottle set. Crystal containers with gilded stars in protective wooden box.

A few months ago I teasingly wrote that a French perfume company was creating a love potion, and I asked, "If you could create your own "love potion," what would you add?"

Since today is the day that Mattieu and Eva will meet, I went back and re-read the comments to the post on Love Potion. A matchmaker needs to have her bottles full and must have a wealth of experience and advice. Or beg her friends to help.

                

Last night, since I won't have time today, I set the meeting scene, or better known as the table. I thought you might like to see it... it often begins with food in France. Do you think Mattieu should be sitting in front of Eva or by his side?

Mattieu arrives this evening on the TGV  "bullet train" from Paris. French husband will pick him up. Eva arrives at noon at the airport, I will pick her up.

French husband has it easy he knows Mattieu.

I asked Eva what she would be wearing as I could recognize her. She said a grey leather jacket and grey boots, she also said she was thin, and had blond brown hair. I asked her how she felt and she said, "Nervous."

How gutsy of her to be flying across the world to a blogger's home to meet someone she barely knows! Love certainly does ask us to take risks.

The other day when I talked to Mattieu I  asked him if he wanted me to invite some other friends to this evening's dinner party. You know to help the conversation, to ease the possible awkwardness, to give space for them to meet...you know like in Franco Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet? Where Romeo and Juliette see one another in the distance and have time to look at each other in the midst of many people, you might call it safety by numbers.

Mattieu said, "Oh no, just us that will be best." He sure scored "real man" points with that answer.

               

On a red pillow she leaned, taking off her mask...yes she was ready for the chance-

I will add updates throughout today and the weekend. Bits and pieces or what happens or not, and of course I will add photos. It should be interesting... as Eva said, "Whatever happens one thing is certain, we will have a good time getting to know each other!"

Photos: 19th century portable liquor bottle set, plus other vintage paraphernalia of romance.

(Note: France is six hours ahead of the east coast and nine hours ahead of the west coast.)

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

Update:

I met Eva at the airport, and we haven't stopped talking and laughing since. The first thing she said to me was, "This isn't a dream, this is really happening isn't it?"

Eva has a grey leather jacket, shorty-one, very chic and hip, which I might have to keep it for myself.

 

She has very expressive, artistic hands. I always look at a person's hands to know a person. Eva told me she thinks the same thing, also about a person's eyes. Definitely she is sitting across the table from Mattieu. He has the best eyes ever! Blue.

Eva a little peek. I can't wait 'til they meet!!

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

Update:

(photo: Taken last June at the AIR FORCE Gala where Mattieu became an Officer.)

Mattieu called to say that his train was late...he will be here around 9pmish. I asked him if he wanted to know what I thought about Eva since she was right in front of me. I could see him smiling through the phone; He said, "I could ask, and I want to ask, but I want to live the moment and not hear it second-hand."

OH MY he is way too delicious isn't he?!

Between you and me, and a hundred others...Eva is a doll! A real lovely person and I cannot wait for them to meet.

I asked Eva if there was anything special she would like me to make for her "Matchmaker's Dinner?" Eva looked me straight in the eye and said, "Who can think of food on a night like this? We could eat Cheerios for all I care!"

Oh She is too much fun!!

-----------------------------------------------------------UPDATE

French Husband and Mattieu promised that they would call me before they arrived. That way we could be ready...you know what I mean. Excitment was high.

Eva said she was feeling a bit jet lagged and asked if she could have some fruit. Of course I said offering her the fruit basket, she took a banana. She peeled the banana and had just taken a big bite, when the front door opened and in walked French husband and Mattieu! First impressions matter, therefore I jumped in front of Eva, no way did I want Mattieu to see her with her mouth full, eating a banana! The first words out of my mouth were..."Hey you two were suppose to call first!"

Eva, leaned in and said to me, "What a true friend you are by saving me from the most embarrassing moment! Thanks for covering me!

Whatever ice there might have been was broken instantly.

___________________________Last update until tomorrow.

Sitting side by side. The sweet beginning.

Blogger turned Match Maker

               

Last June I wrote about my French Husband's nephew Mattieu, how he was very handsome, wonderfully nice and available. Well all be darn, if I didn't became an overnight, match-making, referral agency. Many of you wrote to me teasingly: I have a daughter, a sister, an Aunt, or a cousin, a nanny, or a friend who is single and could be interested. Some sent photos. Some wrote twice.

               

I saw a need. With black book in hand I became a Match Making Agency with one male client, and hundreds of bella belles! (Slightly exaggerated number of bella belles.)

               

Well to be honest, Mattieu didn't know that I was chatting with anyone about his possible new love life. Why should he know, it was just a jestful girl thing anyway? Besides it was a fantasy, a light hearted game...the truth didn't matter to any of the single girls nor I. Not one bit, and of course that didn't stop any of us from giggling even more, and dreaming up escapades that nobody dreamed would become true.

               

Except Lily.

After the few days of silly chatter, Lily kept writing. We started to share more sincerely, the jestful game transformed into a friendship and in those few emails, I don't know why but I felt something, I don't know what, but a feeling I couldn't shake. Lily felt it too.

But here is the catch. Lily, wasn't interested in Mattieu for herself, she wrote to me asking about Mattieu for her best friend Eva. She thought Eva and Mattieu sounded alike...and how she too couldn't shake the idea of the two of them meeting.

It was odd, it was a long shot, especially considering neither of them (Eva nor Mattieu,) knew each other, nor that Lily and I were talking about them in such a way.

               

Well eventually Lily and I knew we had to take the next step, we had to break the ice, and tell them about our match-making secrets. Can you imagine that? How do you tell someone, something as off the wall as this?

I thought about how I was going to tell Mattieu, which for me was odd because I usually jump and think later. "Oh Hi Mattieu... Hey by the way, Um...ah... You see a few weeks ago I wrote a post on my blog about you being single... Then this woman from blogging, who read what I wrote about you contacted me. ...um um anyway, this woman has a best friend who she thought you might like to get to know... and oh by the way the person lives on the other side of the planet. So maybe you two could write emails like pen pals? You could practice your English and she could practice her French?"

But I couldn't say that!! Not the whole truth like that. Match-makers have to know how to play their cards, and the deck of cards in my hand were pretty tricky.

               

After much consideration, a few chocolates and a glass of wine I called Mattieu. I told him that there was this person who reads my blog and she was looking for a pen pal to practice  her French. I went on to say that, since he wanted to practice his English she might be an interested person to write.

The story continues tomorrow...when Eva flys to France to meet Mattieu...

P.S. The meeting is at my house.

Photos: Small items seen at the brocante, writing tools, ink well, black book, whistle, glasses and love notes.

The Source of Love

             

French husband proposed to me in a small neighborhood park in Paris. His breath was swirling white from the cold; funny when you are first in love, the things around seem brand new and miraculous,  seeing his breath made me feel less cold. We sat on a bench. French husband handed me a box of chocolates. Opening it I saw a simple gold band in one of the empty chocolate spots. Oh. I looked up at him, and followed his eyes...

                     

Slouched over the park's fountain was a young man, obviously poor in spirit, shaking from cold, he was holding a spoon over a lighter. I looked back at French Husband, and tried to understand. French Husband stood up, as if in a trance he went to the young man, put his arms around him and held him for which seemed like eternity. He rocked him and gently talked to him. Eventually, the two of them walked to the nearby phone booth, later an ambulance came. French Husband walked back to where I was sitting. He told me the young man was trying to shoot up heroin- and yet he felt it was more than that. French Husband sensed the young man was trying to kill himself, and he felt he needed someone to hold on to.

                      At that moment I knew my answer would be yes.

The way to know the heart of a person is to see how they treat people they don't know when in need.

                      

Photo: Views and painting of Versailles.

Twenty years today.

Carrot Ginger Soup

               

Carrot Ginger Soup

Take as many carrots as you can in two hands, take their hats and coats off and put them into a nice bath of cold water, turn up the heat and let them dance.

Introduce them to an exotic new partner named Ginger Fresh.

Let them each bring a friend...Carrot will invite Lemon because she is a tart and full of spunk! Surely Fresh Ginger will bring Curry because he is easy to blend, and has a subtle softness about him.

Don't forget to serve white wine that night, it aids the conversation.

Add a bouquet of laurel, celery and onion let them do the tango in a hot pot.

Blend the music smooth and lace it with cream.

Note: Matchmaking is brewing...I'll give you a clue.... Many of you have asked if French husband has a brother. He doesn't but he does have a nephew. Very single, very handsome. I said that on my blog several months ago. Well to cut to the chase...Miss Eva from Sunny Side-Up (not her real name...I'm not that revealing....) is flying across the big blue to meet him. Carrot Ginger Soup!

Thursday my home because Matchmakerville, do you want to be a fly on the wall? Come on you know you do!!

Place du Tertre in the Montmartre

               

There is a hill in Paris where the cobble-stone streets twist and turn, and the many, steep stairways lead you up and up, to a square where artists gather to paint portraits and scenes of Paris.

The Place du Tertre, is behind the Sacre Coeur, in an area of Paris called the Montmartre.

               

The painters set up their stands in the open air: Two fold-out stools (one for the artist and another for the subject,) a large umbrella, their wooden boxes of paint, and an easel.

               

If you want your portrait painted or sketch, you need only to go to Place du Tertre, find an artist whose style appeals to you, and ask. A portrait cost about 80 dollars.

               

There are also many artist who paint scenes of Paris. You won't find Monet, Renoir, van Gogh nor Picasso... but you will be amused, and chances are you will have a sweet souvenir painted in your mind's eye.

               

               

               

               

               

This painting held my attention. I liked his painting tools, he was very quick and the sepia tones he used on that grey evening, seem to POP with texture and depth. We didn't buy anything, though when my niece came to Paris she had her portrait painted.

               

               

The Place du Tertre, is behind the Sacre Coeur, in an area of Paris called the Montmartre.

Photos: Taken last week in Paris.

Note: I have a whooper of matching-making adventure stirring up!! One that will certainly paint my small town red, and knock your socks off! I am not kidding. So stay tune, the affair starts to unfold Thursday.

             

Fauchon in Paris

               

Have you ever been to Fauchon in Paris? The first time I went to Fauchon's was over twenty years ago. At that time it was the fore runner of designer grocery shopping. Where the salesclerks wore white gloves. Where if you weren't carrying a "Kelly bag" and wearing an Hermes scarf you felt out of place. At Fauchon's you could order any type of food, from anywhere in the world, and it would be yours, in a black and white Fauchon sack, in less than 24 hours.

               

Fauchon use to have a trademark style about it. An elaborate, chic, country flare style. Where antique wooden tables held edibles that were lavishly stylized. Such as eggs balancing a mile high, or exotic fruit pouring out of a cornucopia, with its perfumed air tempting you. Or expensive delicacies that made your eyes pop out of your head from curiosity. You couldn't touch anything. A salesclerk would take your order. He would wrap carefully each item in tissue paper, as if it were the queen's jewels. Though most customers sent a list and had it delivered.

               

But times have changed...  Fauchon is as chic as ever before, but with a more welcoming twist to it. Where tourists can walk-in, and eat sushi, as if it were a baguette with Camembert at the local bar. The interior has been renovated into a sleek, contemporary haven...where you can buy designer, ready-to-eat, on-the-spot, go-go-food.

At first I thought Fauchon had lost it's soul...it's personality, until...

               

When we were in Paris last week, Chelsea and Sacha took a peek into Fauchon. I noticed the two of them starring at a bushel of apples. As if the apples were golden and not as in Delicious, but rather real gold?!

               

Fauchon's apples stole their heart. They stood gawking at them. I thought to myself, "Am I missing something? Apples? What gives? I mean here we are in Paris, at Fauchon, and I thought their taste buds would burn for a petite four or something exotic, like I don't know what, but never did I think they would swoon over apples?"

               

"Honestly God, is my child starring at the basket of Fauchon's apples?" I asked myself.

I was certain I was going to drool a puddle of embarrassment if he continued to stare at them. So I tapped on the window and shook my head like only a Mother could do, and raised my hand, like Hello? Apples!

               

Sacha later told me the apples were each stamped with an intricate golden seal that said, "Fauchon." "They looked so cool!" He beamed.

Oh la la Fauchon is still at it, it can take a simple apple and make us think we are Eve in the Garden of Eden. Tempting us mortals into thinking it is heavenly!

Photos: Taken on the outside of Fauchon's looking in at Chelsea and Sacha.

Note: I thought about asking the driver if I could borrow his truck and do a little antiquing while in Paris.

Champagne at the Grand Trianon (French Guessing Game Ends)

Walking into the hall of the Grand Trianon she noticed the ribbon on her pink satin slipper was not tied. Biting her lip as she thought what to do next, she put the toe of her right foot on to the heel of her left foot and pushed down, causing her shoe to fall off. Why did she do that? Was she hoping the butler would scoop up her slipper on to a glove tray?

The array of Marie Antoinette's dresses was a feast for the eyes; They say she liked blue the best. Though who could say that is true? Everyone knew Marie-Antoinette loved clothes, she had dozens of dresses in every color. Certainly she wouldn't notice one missing tonight... let alone a pair of pink satin slippers... at least she hoped Marie-Antoinette wouldn't notice!

Admiring the canary yellow curtains she thought, "Hum those would make a luscious bathrobe! Imagine the bathrobe's belt made from that cord." Her thoughts came to a halt when she heard the popping of champagne bottles and the clinking of crystal glasses "corne d'abondance"  in the room next door.

The room next door was white, like a meringue pie. A perfect place to showcase the colorful splash of ballroom gowns. Suddenly a row of tall dark men walked in, each carrying high over their heads, a silver tray like thing, odd in shape ... she stood on her tippy toes to see what was inside, but could not?!

On an elaborate commode they placed the silver monteiths or also known as rafraîchissoir à verre each contained chilled, stem-less, champagne, glasses. Oh she couldn't wait to go home and tell her blog friends what she saw this night!

She sat down on this stool for a moment. It was too pretty to pass up. She moved her hand along the silk trim and all be darn if there weren't little bells inside! How fantastic! How original! Didn't they just think of everything!

While sitting on the stool she noticed HIM...her heart stopped. Her barefoot touched the marble floor. Her hand raised the chilled champagne glass /corne d'abondance to her lips. Just then his sash flew back.... Wow! Holy cow! Mother of God! Who cares about silver trays on a night like this!

The winners who guessed correctly are Kitem and Edi. Thank you Martina for showing me a link to a rafraichissoir a verre which showed me that it is the same thing as a Monteith. Hence two winners.

The winner of the most original response, goes to Kim with her response to the guessing game antique tray: "I keep seeing water in it, held for a baptism, they sprinkle the water on the child from it."

Also thank you Tara for allowing me to use a photo-link of your corne d'abondance, especially made to sit in a monteith or rafraichissoir a verre. Also special thanks to Marie Noelle for helping me double check, research and for finding the French terms for the champagne flutes: Corne d'abondance, or le pomponne, or/and "boit-tout" (You had to drink up before putting your glass down.)

Thank you each and everyone for your responses, comments, emails, help and enthusiasm!

Photos: Taken while on holiday at the Grand Trianon in Versailles

Cupid drinks Champagne (French Antique Guessing Game Continues)

The Guessing Game Challenge had many original entries. Amazing responses! I don't think I will ever be able to look at that silver tray in the same way. In fact each day I will imagine it as something you guessed it to be.

Terri B wrote, "It's where Cupid lays his bow and arrow after he comes home from a long day on the job!" Isn't that a romantic thought! How I wish that were true. Imagine the stories Cupid would share each night with me. Gosh talk about girl talk late at night.

When we were in Paris over the New Year we went to Versailles where King Louis the Sixteenth and Marie Antoinette lived. If you come to France you must go there to dream, it is a place of dreams. In each room Chelsea and I would talk about the color of dress we would wear. (You thought we talked about history? Oh no, pure fantasy is what we shared.) Most of our dresses were picked in pastel color in silk taffeta. We noticed, as we went from room to room, that our dresses become more elaborate. Diamond buttons, ribbons dyed with rose petals...you know pure girl stuff.

I must stay on track and not wander off the subject oops! Let's get back to the silver tray.... "Let them eat cake," did not help Marie- Antoinette live in the castle of Versailles for very long... Katherine Miller wrote, "Obviously, this was used for catching the lopped off heads during the French Revolution. No horrid little basket or box for the French when something lovely will work better. Viva La France!"

Often when reading blogs it stirs up memories that are buried and asleep. Annie Elf shared one of her memories, "Years ago when my grandparents' house was heated by a fireplace only, my grandfather would take the cold remains of the spent fire and place them in a beautiful, shallow silver dish. Carefully he would carry the spent ash outside and generously sprinkle the ash over his beloved garden. He fed from beauty to create beauty. He had the most beautiful petunias in the neighborhood."

Many of you guessed the silver tray to be something to hold a crown, or a hair-brush set, or for love letters, possibly flowers or fruit, maybe calling cards, or for perfume bottles, or false teeth...Some thought it was a fancy bed chamber pot!

Olivia added, "When a soldier from Napoleon's army arrived at a social gathering the servant would meet him with this wonderful tray. He would put his gloves on it and his gun so that he wouldn't sit in the gentile parlor and accidentally blow his leg or anyone else's off?"

Sheila wrote, "A tray to hold the communion wafers." I must admit I like this idea way over vomit, a bed pan and chopped heads.

Kim shared a divine thought about the silver tray, "I keep seeing water in it, held for a baptism, they sprinkle the water on the child from it." Kim's thought made me wish I had saved some of the baptismal water from my children's baptism to keep in a little bottle.

Marie-Noelle, my French friend who is brilliant at research, (though the silver tray stumped her too.) gave this thought: "As you focus on the plump cherub and as we are now in an "after-fast" period, ... AND because at that time the meals lasted for so long with their fifty or more courses...
I would say ... or rather whisper (breaking all romantic ideas) this answer:
A silver plate in which they could throw up before carrying on with the next courses..." As Marie-Noelle then offers her apologies, "My apologies to your readers... The French DID so in the past - even if my answer does not suit here ..." Isn't that nice that Marie-Noelle thought of our feelings after she shared vomit with us!

Sue K thought the silver tray might not be a silver tray but instead, "...a light fixture or chandelier...perhaps the metal rim that holds the glass globe?"

Like I said, the French have a certain savoir-faire. Their culture is rich, intoxicating, it reaches into you and pulls your heart to the surface. Romance and practicality go hand in hand. Much as beauty with nature.

Unfortunately, the answer was not found in any of the responses. Though there were a few that hinted closely towards the reality.

I'll leave the comments open for another day and hope that someone finds the correct answer. Here are some hints, that came close but not exactly the answer I am looking for:

Kitem said, "RAFRAICHISSOIR? I remember my old Auntie Marcelle had one on her dining table in the formal dining room. I wonder what happened to it?"

TACE offered, "...to set a small cask of wine on/in it?? To raise it up before raising a glass."

The answer about the silver tray, and the winners will be announced tomorrow hopefully!!

Photos taken on our trip to Versailles, inside: The Grand Trianon.

French Antique Guessing Game

The French have a certain style, a certain flare, a certain something that gives them an edge. I admire that savoir-faire. For example they can tie a scarf better than most, they can hold their forks and knives in such a way it seems they are the maestro at a concert. You know they just know the ins and outs of how to be. Culture! That's it, that is what they have...Culture.

Having culture is like having good bone structure.

I dream of good bone structure. Though my thighs and face have more in common with this little angel, or I should say plump angel.

Do you know what it is used for? A Napoleon III piece covered lightly with silver. The French create beauty in everything they do. They are the day to day artist adding color, a touch of magic, giving us awe in the way they can weave glamor in the simplest of things.

Do you know what this piece was used for?

A little treat for the first person who gives the right answer, and another for the most original answer too. Challenge ends tomorrow.

UPDATE: 54 comments and the challenge continues...the right answer has yet to be revealed...Ah-ha maybe this time I have finally found something that will stump everyone! It is a pretty thing isn't it...it seems so obvious but it ain't easy is it!

Last update: Over 100 comments and the answer to the purpose of this tray is still far far way. I wonder if anyone knows what it is...other than me...kind of a lonely thought isn't it?

Lost and Found

               

Photo: Paris swarming with tourists, French husband in the middle scouting to find us. Can you see him?

Paris was crawling with people. In all the years that I lived in Paris and the many times I have gone back, I have never seen it that crowded. The line to go inside Notre Dame seem to extend to the Louvre, then continued down the Champs Elysee, it wrapped around the Arc de Triumph and shot straight to the base of the Eiffel Tower. Like a dot-to-dot drawing, the famous sites were connected, creating an unsurmountable waiting game.

"If you get lost, stay put- I will re trace my steps until I find you." That is what I use to tell my children when they were little. "If you get lost- don't panic, stay put... I will find you." Luckily now that Chelsea and Sacha are teen agers there isn't any need to remind them of our "getting lost" rule.

However while in Paris I never lost Chelsea nor Sacha...though we were always losing French Husband.

               

               

...luckily he would find something nearby to stand up on, and then look around for us. We often spotted him just by turning around and looking up.

Once in a large grocery/department store Chelsea (who was two or three at the time) announced to me that she had lost her favorite stuffed toy. I knew that without it many sleepless nights would occur, crying would prevail and that my sanity would crack. I knew that I HAD to FIND her missing security blanket, which was disguised as a worn, little bunny, called Bun-Bun!

               

Since we lived in France, and my French language skills at the time were next to nothing... I had the wee little Chelsea tell the salesclerk in French what happened. The salesclerk made an announcement:

"Une petite fille a perdu son doudou..."

You could hear a needle drop, a silence and a sigh went through the department store. It seemed every person stopped what they were doing and started to search for Chelsea's Bun-Bun.

Eventually the favorite stuffed toy was found in the vegetable section. A chuckle went out when the salesclerk announced that the doudou, a worn little lapin of the Petite Fille, had been found in the carrot bin. The department store was amused. Chelsea sat on the counter like a prize trophy with her bun-bun, while the French admire the little girl's amazing communication skills: Elle parle anglais aussi bien!

               

French Husband, lost and found in Paris. A prized carrot to be sure. Hey, wasn't I lucky that none of the women in the photo were looking at my main attraction... nor for a French Husband? I suppose they thought he was another lost tourist in Paris.

p.s. As we'll be on the road heading back to the south of France... tomorrow there will be a GUESSING GAME.

Paris on the First Day of the Year

Happy New Year! May the sun shine the way for you everyday of the New Year!

Photo: The top of one of the corner columns of Pont Alexandre in Paris.

We are in Paris! French husband, the children and I spent the last day of 2007 and will spend today the first day of the New Year in the most beautiful city in France. Here are some snapshots of our time so far...more to come in the next few days.

The Louvre, The Pyramid and a bronze statue of a woman taking a nap after rocking out dancing the TECTONIK last night under the Eiffel tower.

"Do you think they are playing catch?" I asked Sacha.

Sacha informed me that even the Roman gods did the Tecktonik! 

Oh these French teen-agers they are fast!

A view looking out of the Louvre, towards the Pyramids.

The Winged Victory of Samothrace, in the Louvre.

Happy New Year!

Photos: Paris glory.