Tongue in Cheek

Harry Potter, "...all is well."

               

Reading is a drug. The first line takes you on a trip that can last a lifetime. Sacha, like a million other people, has taken many trips with Harry Potter. Seven in fact. Seven times over. Seven is a powerful, lucky, highly symbolic number... as is this last book of Harry Potter. Seven trips too short...  he doesn't want this tale to end!

If you look closely at the photo you will see that he is reading his last lines... one or two pages remain... I asked him about ninety pages ago how it was going? Dazed he looked up and said, "Mom have you ever read a book were you wished the pages would not have to turn, letting the story go on and on?"

               

I nodded and said, "Boy have I ever."

I know this drug, I have taken it many times, pages, volumes, books upon books. I cannot kick the habit. Have you ever found yourself reading the lines of a book slowly, just so it can last forever? Do you ever close your eyes and hear the words come alive in your mind? Have you ever felt like you were in each word and that each word took on new meaning? Have you ever gone to bed with a flashlight under the covers? Have you ever washed dishes with the book propped up against the counter so you could read at the same time?

Sacha laughed, "Have you ever read the same line several times over just so you can hold on to it in your memory, so that it doesn't end when you close the book?"

Boy does he have the book drug bad or what?

Rarely does it rain in Provence. It drizzled non stop Saturday giving Sacha a chance to read the entire day. I watched him read most of it. I smiled seeing his abandon slippers, and his tongue in his cheek, so absorbed, so faraway. I didn't even mind that his room looked like a bomb had gone off inside it. Nor that he hadn't changed from his PJs. Nor did I mind bringing him food and placing it by his side. It was that kind of day, a day for a trip, a day for the book drug to take his mind and weave a tale.

               

The last page, the last line, the last word... and yet it doesn't end there, a good book never does.

Photos: Sacha taking a trip with Harry Potter in English.

Touching the Earth

Being a kid in the country means being free to do what you want pretty much all of the time. Unless you are at school or have chores to tend to. I grew up in a small rural town in California. I know most people think of California as one long coastline with movie stars dotting the beaches and where everyone has a year round tan. But California is more than that. It actually has farmland, my Dad had a dairy farm and grew rice.

               

Surrounding my childhood home there were fields. Growing up we were told that having land mattered. If you had land you could live; heck, with a patch of dirt, seeds and water at least you would never starve. I felt safe knowing my Dad had land, that he knew how to farm and that my Mom knew how to cook. You see food and love went hand in hand. I had plenty of both.

               

As a child growing up on a farm I took for granted the freedom that the land had to offered. The wide space to run and play. I took for granted the daily lessons of nature. Most often I didn't realize the soothing sound of silence during the day. These natural parts of my day seemed unimportant until I went to the urban side of the world. Though the moment I went to live in the city where my feet touched cement instead of the earth, where the sun and moon weren't visible at a glance but often peering between buildings, reducing seasons to simple words; too hot or too cold. I realized how lucky I was to have experienced dirt underneath my feet. The country become my "Emerald City." The lessons I gathered rose strong within me.

My French husband grew up in a city in Northern France. He invests in urban developments, land with concrete buildings. Far away are his city experiences, from my growing up on a farm.

When we first were married we lived in Paris for a few years, and as beautiful as it was, the moment my feet touched the dry earthy ground of Provence I knew then I could call France a home. Of course it helps to have French husband by my side, even if he isn't a farmer... If ever need be we could grow tomatoes in flowerpots.

               

Isn't it funny how at times we can look back and see a connection, see a vague cosmic order? As if a string ties this to that, and makes us say,  "Isn't that funny?" How life unfolds.

Photos: Taken last summer in California along the coast.

Sweet Dreams

               

Late last night the house was quiet even though a storm brewed outside. Tip toeing I went upstairs to go to bed. Sacha called out my name, "Mom?" Funny, the thought came to mind, when did he stop calling me Mommy? I peeked into his room and said, "Yes?"

"Can you rub my back?" He asked hesitantly. In the silence, in the dark, I heard that Mom still meant Mommy, and that rub my back meant to come and listen.... a little boy growing up. My hand rest against his heart softly, and after a while a hug tenderly good night-sleep tight.

Lest we forget teenagers need cuddles too.

Photo: On a wooden hanger a white cotton nightgown hangs.

Growing up Baby

              

When your child goes off to university your house grows quieter. You ache at night when you set the table and there is one less place...  staring at the empty space it fills with memories of left over yesterdays leaving you hungry for more.

How did that little girl grow up so fast?

               

When your child goes off to university and comes home for a visit, she will bake a thousand cookies. You will taste her new ideas and savor her new experiences, wanting to hear more...

...until she unloads all her dirty laundry, piles and piles of it upon your floor.

Oh darling I love you but I do not miss the loads of laundry. I wonder if there is a Laundromat near the school?

photos: My Godmother's doll..

Happy Halloween! (The best time to be a kid!!)

Happy Halloween! This is me when I was two. My Mother loved to make Halloween costumes. I am so glad she put an undershirt underneath my bikini top.

Here I am a year later, trick or treat! I am dressed as an Indian maiden, the costume was made from a burlap sack. I grew up on a farm (see the cows in the background,)  feed sacks made great Halloween costumes.

Note my little hand sticking out, I am not posing. I remember this moment like yesterday... That costume itched! I stuck out my arm because my Mother told me not to scratch, but that costume was rough! Dig the moccasins?

This is me at three years of age, (the last Halloween photo of me and my Mother's Homemade Halloween costumes... I bet you thought you were going to see me in costumes from the age of two to fifty...sorry ghouls. Though  I wish I had a photo of when I was dressed as a lady bug at Twenty Eight! Or a photo of myself dressed like a mermaid and out of gas on the freeway at midnight.)

My Mother made matching Mr. and Mrs. Ghost costumes for me and my brother. My brother (Marty commentor name: Orama) is younger than me, my Mother wanted me to dress as the Mr. Ghost since I was taller. I threw a fit and refused to be the guy at Halloween.  My Mother was disappointed but agreed.

I love the eyebrows, don't you?

Whatcha gonna say about that?

               

Photo: My nieces and nephews bus ride home from the first day of school in California.

Chelsea came home from university (Prepa) this weekend and the first thing she said was, "Mom, in my English class the teacher said that "thingamajig" was a real word!" 

I looked at her and thought to myself, "A college education pays off." After which I said to Chelsea, "Wada you know! I'll be dang! Did you learn that "whatchamacallit" is a doosey of a word too."

"Really? All along I thought you made up those words, you know like doo-dad, be-bop, *quakases, *chili con carne (...) (Chelsea rattled on a long embarrassing list but I'm cutting it short 'cause gee you might get the wrong idea of me!)

"Nope, those words are real. " I added, "Aren't you glad I spoke English to you all these years?"

                     

photo: My nieces, this summer, with a home made sign saying "Eat."

*Quakases is a slang word my Mother's entire family used for the word underwear.

*Chili con carne is a Spanish word for a meat dish you know that. But since we are vegetarians, I used that word to describe a "cold day." An example,  "Children put on your coats it's gonna be a Chilly con carne day."  Chelsea and Sacha were shocked the day they learned that Chili con carne was a meat dish and not a cold day.

How to take portraits of children

This is my niece Ka-Ka, the firecracker. The motorized bunny looks dead next to her. Taking her photo was not an easy task.

When taking photographs of children have everything ready:  the camera, the scene, the props, and try to take the photo shortly after the child's nap when they are well rested, tummies full and their cheeks are rosy pink. As soon as she woke from her nap I was ready for action.

So was she. 

She refused to wear the clothes her mother had chosen, and every time I tried to click a shot she darted a mile in the opposite direction. I lost weight trying to photograph her.

I took many photos to have this one. Ka-Ka's photo is all about those lips.

This is my niece Miss Molly.  She is wise beyond her age. 

This summer when I  was packing to return to France I found this dress in my childhood bedroom, it had belonged to Chelsea when she was little.  Molly walked in, I looked at the dress, then looked at Molly and said, "Hey Molly you want to try this on?"

Spontaneity works in taking photos of children, they are naturally expressive. They don't need to say cheese and have a big happy smile to look beautiful.

This is my youngest nephew.  The outfit he has on was worn by each of my (four) brothers when they had their one year old baby portrait taken. Warren is six months old and I doubt he is going to fit into it when he is one year old.

How to take pictures of children learn more by clicking here,  and click here  for good advice.

Just Right

                  

The little girl who had short, red, curly hair, bobbed up and down the aisle while her Mother looked at swimsuits. I was amused by her non-stop chatter, and her Mother's faithful replies. When the little girl wandered, the Mother would ask, "Where is my shadow?" The little girl would quickly return assuring her, "Here I am!"

Standing in the same aisle, I was captivated by their relationship.

Soon thereafter a large-triple-sized woman came into our aisle to pick through the swimsuits. The little girl looked the woman over a few times. Then pointed at her, exclaiming, "Look Mommy SHE' S really big!

Her mother paused... then gathered the little girl in her arms, "Yes she is big and you are small. The woman is just right the way she is. I am just right the way I am, and you are just right the way you are too. We are perfect however we are made, big or small." The Mother put her daughter down, and the little girl started to twirl, her red hair danced on her forehead.

Isn't it good to know we are "just right" the way we are?

Hearing that message (which I am certain was meant for me,) I held up the hot pink swimsuit, and winked at the little red hair girl.

Photo: Table art at Lauren's home.

The Loved Bun-Bun

               

My name is Bun-Bun. I was once-upon-a-time a fluffy white and plump bunny.

When Chelsea was a wee baby her cousin Annie gave me to her. I no longer have fur, nor pink velvet in my ears, and my lips have acquired several stitches of red thread to keep them kissable.

I have been lost and found a few times in my seventeen years. When Chelsea was a toddler I went to the grocery store with her and her Mother. After shopping for groceries Chelsea said to her Mother, "Bun bun all gone." And started to cry. Her panicked Mother who treasured her sleep, and who barely spoke a word of French had Chelsea tell the salesclerk her problem. "J'ai perdu mon doudou.*" It seemed everyone in the store stopped shopping and started looking for me.

I was then, as I am now a star. Have you ever known love so sweet as to have a child love you more than candy?

Photo: Chelsea's stuffed toy. Who corrects me each time I say toy. "Mom, Bun-Bun is not a toy!"

*Doudou is a French word to describe a child's favorite toy or belonging.

Little Miss Sunshine

                    

The letter is address to: Miss Sunshine. Isn't that you?