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.