The above text is from:
The above text is from:
Today France recieved the compassion, support and prayers from all over the globe. It is truly a great feeling to know the world cares. Today 129 people are dead, 352 wounded and 99 of which are in critical condition. Thousands are living the worst day of their lives.
In January, freedom of speech and judaism were attacked.
This time french culture was attacked. A sport event, restaurants, bars, a concert...
Peace and happiness...
Already I am hearing of people canceling their trips to France, canceling hotel and restaurant reservations... Canceling great memories they were going to make.
Terror doesn't define this beautiful country. France stood strong in January and had the greatest feeling of support and brotherhood.
If you want to support France and the values we all share, don't give into fear. Stand strong and show IS they can hurt us but can never take away what we stand for.
The following images of solidarity and hope on instagram and FB. I do not know who created nor who first used them. But I assume they are for us to circulate, to say bravely, "We will rise and follow love, peace, we will not be led by fear. Take courage, believe in one another, become a warrior of peace a champion of love.
Thank you each and everyone for your abundant love, friendship and support. I have felt your support, and have asked that this feeling, this caring energy of yours that I feel be transmitted to those in need.
Please pray for the victims and their families.
Live life lovingly is not an easy task especially in the face of danger, anger and fear. We must remember to listen, to reach out, to be better than ourselves in our everyday life, by the people who we meet. I pray we will conquer this evil, that we can understand what is at the core of this destruction and move in a direction that lets us live in peace.
Ruth and I are in Paris, we had dinner three minutes away from the attacks. As we left the restaurant we heard ambulances, the area seemed electrified, we had no idea what was happening until we got home and our husbands were calling us in panic.
Chelsea is not in Paris as she left this evening to visit a friend, and Sacha is with Yann. Mr. Espresso is in Paris but at home.
Thank you for your concern.
We are safe, and the shock is setting in.
Please pray for those who died and the families who will receive such horrific news tonight.
A group of older men carrying flags gathered on the Champs Elysees. I noticed the tops of the flags: The old blue, white and red ribbons with golden tassels. I collect those, and of course my heart jumped thinking of the brocante.
The flags had owners, and those owners were older men and women who had a sense of honor holding their flags.
I felt a ting of sadness thinking that I have ribbons that once belong to someone who might have felt the same honor.
The French flag waved large under the Arc de Triomphe.
What was it like on this street over fifty years ago?
I felt tears sting my eyes. I heard my Father's memories echo in my ears, I heard Annie's stories unfold around me, shared memories came running up the Champs Elysees marching, holding flags, waving.... Intense emotion suddenly was mine, and it was as sweet as any perfume.
A marching band played dressed in white. Songs that were not like the American ones I have known...
...their songs, sharing the same victory we all know.
Courage to be strong when called upon.
To walk daringly in the face of death, while believing strongly in life.
Pride standing in the brave heart.
Ribbons, and flags that never fade.
Stories shared that lead us forward.
Faith, family, friends... ageless triumph.
Honor in actions lived.
Ici est tombe....
the 25 of August,
Died for France.
These memorial plaques, of men and women who died for France, are everywhere in France. This one is in Paris. The city, like every city, town and village in France, puts a bouquet of flowers on these memorial.
So does he.
Bravery with a red beret.
I asked the veterans if I could take their photos.
To stand in what I believe, to be strong in the face of darkness.
I will lean on the courage that they walked before me.
The Eiffel Tower,
A black beret,
Edith Piaf's music playing in the background,
The words Oh La La...
If you put all those things together on a red checked tablecloth, along the Seine, with a bottle of wine.... well then you are in France no doubt.
Wine in France is like air for most of the world. It is the color and texture of the landscape, the joyous beginning of many meals, it is rocky soil smoothed with time, and once wine spills it becomes the source of many conversations and French kissing.
I know little about wine:
1) I know the difference between red, rose and white.
2) I know if I like it or not by the first taste.
3) I know that Medoc is my favorite and that white wine is not.
As you can see I am an expert.
French Husband pulled out a few bottles from the basement. He lined them up and told me to pick one. I decided on the one with the label that looked like mice had been chewing on it for centuries. It was marked 1999, I always loved Prince.
Lesson number one:
Peel off the foil top, then if need be (and in this case it needed to be) dust off the cork.
Lesson number two:
Take a firm grip of the bottle neck.
Lesson number three:
Put the cork screw in the middle of the cork and turn it downwards with gentle force. Turn the corkscrew until you can no longer see the coils.
Lesson Number Four:
Listen to the sound of the cork coming out. It tells you something, I don't know what, but the French always say whether it made a good sound or not. Then inspect the cork, it is one of the first signs (other than the label) if the wine will be good.
Smell the Cork.
Close you eyes...imagine vineyards with the vines intertwine red, yellow, orange and green.
Lesson Number Six:
Have wine glasses on hand, preferably ones without water spots. I should have whipped these before the photo. I wanted to use our everyday antique wine glasses. But French Husband said the wine needed to breath, and these do a better job of letting the wine breath...
Lesson Number Seven:
Next pour the wine into a carafe or into glasses.
Again listen to that first sound... the wine talks : "Gluc gluc gluc..."
French Husband loves that. Sometimes I think he loves that best.
Note the color, that is another thing French wine lovers do... they talk color.
Put the corkscrew, and the cork with the wine top up by the bottle. I love this part best. The cork standing proudly by the bottle looking very classy and oh so chic.
I know I am not a wine expert. But gee how I love the pieces that surround it.
Lesson Number Nine:
Put your nose into the glass and breath in deeply.
Swirl the wine around the bowl of the glass and repeat the breathing thing.
Lesson Number Ten:
Say something about the legs, the lines that run down the side of the glass. This is a critical thing... kinda like a women's legs... very important aspect to wine knowing... how to define the legs.
Lesson number Eleven:
Swirl the wine,
study the legs,
put your nose into the glass,
take a deep breath,
take a mouthful,
swish respectfully in your mouth,
breath deeply again,
Lesson number twelve:
Say something. Something like:
It needs to breath.
Ah the hints of raspberry, and notes of chocolate.
It was a very good year...
Talk wine words....
Pretend you are Robert Parker.
or if you are like me say, "Lovely," then take a bite of something and drink again.
Lesson number thirteen:
Then do it again, and again and dance.
Have any wine tasting secrets you want to share?
Brocante home it starts in the kitchen: Linens, jars, baskets, plates, silverware, cups, pots, lids, bowls, knives, cutting board...
Endless practical beauty that serves with grace and perfection over a hundred years later. A Creil jam pot, ironstone that has been stained with sweet harvest year after year.
Will we remember plastic in the same way? Or TV dinner trays? Flour sacks yes. Recipe card holders with droplets of this and that, handwriting that reminds you of your mom cooking...
Rolled rough linen with pale blue monograms, often in red, so blue caught my eye. Silver handle salad serving set. Art to serve art. Divine to feed the soul. Too nice to use everyday? They have been used many days and long to remain in service. Who wants to sit in a drawer when you can toss salad and slide with olive oil?
Bread basket begging for bread, cheering crumbs escape.
Who wove this basket?
Who was the artist?
A purpose for everything under heaven, especially in a French kitchen.
"Je me regalé."
Was one of the first expression I learned. That way after dinner with guests, I could tell the hostess, "Delicious!"
When you find a jam pot at the brocante, be it pottery, ironstone or in glass, the larger sizes were for plentiful fruit such as apricots, peaches, strawberries, grape...
Which means the smaller sizes were for delicate fruit that were harder to pick, or little juice from, or more expensive... berries come to mind.
What is your favorite jam?
A wine bottle stomper, cork bottom decorative top.
Nothing is forgotten or over looked. A brocante kitchen is creating a feast with things that are functional but not plain or boring. Items that make you take note: Texture, style, artistic shapes, ordinary things are dressed up for no other reason but to say,
"Yes, this is a daily feast, as it should be, breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner. Feeding the senses."
An wine bottle drying rack holds old jam jars. William Sonoma made these typical French jam jars into drinking glasses. When I first came to France and saw these at the brocante I bought them for drinking glasses. French Husband almost fainted, "We drink from these? Mais non Corey." Poor guy the shock of an American wife at the brocante bringing things home and re-creating how they were used..."
"A quilt for a tablecloth, mais non Corey."
"A washing paddle used as a cheese board, mais non Corey."
"A spritzer bottle to store olive oil, mais non Corey."
"A sugar shaker for talc, mais non Corey."
"A table cloth and napkins to cover a fainting couch, mais non Corey."
Now he doesn't blink an eye.
Linens with monograms. Doesn't matter if they are not your initials..
Make up a word, create a game around the dining room table with the various monograms.
Etched champagne glassware.
I tell you the French love details.
A cooper boiler turned into a bread basket.
You know what you know who said...
Glassware for a country that loves red, white and rosé.
The glasses I have collected do not match, pick a favorite and use it daily: tea, milk, parfait, soup...
Last weekend French Husband met a brocanteur (antique dealer) who sells silver by the kilo. The brocanteur gave him his address, he lives three hours away... and French Husband wants to go.
The seed I planted long ago is becoming a wild weed. Curious as I was I asked, "When?"
"As you want."
Brocante Home means cooking up sensory overload.
Autumn morning light
poured through the kitchen window
illuminating the breakfast table.
Like a prayer, unspoken but heard.
The objects took on meaning,
Silently singing straight to my soul.
"Your bread and butter is here, right here.
No need to search further.
Nourishing, wholesome, peaceful, family, obtainable..."
Though my thoughts were my own.
My husband without knowing the significance of my moment
broke the bread,
Light flooded the space in between.
I love when something so simple,
without fanfare or knowledge,
softly comes with a deeper meaning, than what is at hand.
It is in these moments which heal, a tender knowing comes,
love is evident,
Bread and butter.
I grabbed my camera,
captured the moment.
French Husband looked around to see what was I photographing.
A friend of ours was with us asked, "What does she see?"
French Husband, shrugged, buttered his bread, looked at me then smiled.
Did he know?
What is your bread and butter today?
Last night our friends Trisha and her husband Ben came over. Trisha I met through blogging a few years ago. Out claim to instant miracle is that we met for a drink in Paris as Trisha was on her way home to the States. Though a few weeks earlier Trisha had asked me if I could find her a large chunky monkey crystal chandler. Long story short I did, so instead of a drink we went straight to the antique shop that was closing in 15 minutes. Longer story made shorter, Trisha loved the chandler yet how was she going to get it home since it wasn't something you could never slip into a carry on. We walked the streets in record breaking speed, found a box, then had the antique shop call a taxi, while we dismantled the chandler into the box the size of a baby elephant.
The chandler made it back to the States. When Trisha took it too be rewired the black iron chandler was gilded underneath and the crystals tagged... yes it was that dirty. Later Trisha found out that the several hundred dollar chandler that I found was worth 10000 dollars.
Of course the next time Trisha came to France she took me out to dinner to celebrate our first meeting and great find.
Anyway I am way off the subject... last night while Trisha and Ben with at our house the famous question was asked again...
Why does France have a passion for pink toilet paper? I am not talking pink as in isn't that cute. But France has more pink toilet paper than white toilet paper.
As Sacha has said before: "When you get pass the nice things to talk about, and start talking poop and toilet paper you know who your real friends are."
Thank you for being my friends
If I had pink toilet paper I would have put a picture of it. Secondly, brocante is my thing... so old is gold not pink.
French autumn color designs:
1900s hand painted tile floors
New tiles with an old feel can be found here:
French Indienne Textile
1700s hand blocked and tinted.
If you would like to see more and I mean a ton more google does not disappoint:
The following is from Souleiado
Photo via Souleiado
When these colorful cotton textiles arrived from India in the harbor of Marseille the merchants were stunned and surprised by their incredible dyeing: The colors never faded it seemed each washing made the colors brighter.
photo and text via Souleiado
"The desire for these fabrics increased after the creation by Colbert of the East India Company in 1664. The rich bourgeois snatched these fabrics from each others hands, and Madame de Sévigné launched the fashion in the court of Louis XIV."
Photo and text via Souleiado
"Colbert suppressed the taxes in the harbor of Marseille which gave easier access to import. The Indienneurs, supported by Armenian traders and technicians with proven expertise, opened workshops indiennages in Arles, Avignon and Nîmes. These workshops skills sharp and recognized export to Italy and Spain, and their production is spreading rapidly throughout France by the fair of Beaucaire."
Photo and text via Souleiado
"These fabrics created excitement amongst the nobility, enthusiastic and fascinated by the colors. However, Colbert's death in 1683, and the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, undermined the prosperity of the market. In 1686 Louvois prohibit this emerging industry thinking preserve large French textile industries of linen, silk and wool. It not only prohibit the manufacture and marketing, but also the port of Indian across the kingdom of France."
Photo and text via Souleiado
"Marseille tried to resist against that law, but in 1689 all the printing blocks in Marseille were officially broken on a public square. Many indiennes makers then moved to Avignon. It was a papal city where the prohibition wasn’t applied, others flee to Switzerland and Germany."
To read more continue here:
On a recent French Muse Excursion our friend Nelly made us homemade apple tarte for dessert.
When I asked her how she made it she waved her hand and said, "Good question, apples, cinnamon, a little sugar, I forgot butter and crust. It turned out what can I say."
An artist though and through.
Autumn antiques, why not call them that? Antiques about grape harvest and making wine.
Beautiful old pieces.
Received sunshine held for tomorrow.
Autumn scenes in Paris
Flower shops that spill on to the streets, petal after petal, filling tender senses, vivid blooms with inviting perfume, instantaneously the desire to make an armful bouquet:
"...Dans mon cœur
Tu fleuriras toujours
Au grand jardin d'amour
too many to count,
watching the dance from branch to ground,
A carpet tempting you to frolic in a pile.
Yellows that make the sun jealous.
Jealous as its rays kiss.
From Invalides to the Grande Palais a cry heard as the sun kissed them both in the late afternoon.
A stroll an hour before sunset: From the Louvre, through the Tuileries Jarden, pass the Place de Concorde, alongside the river Seine, across the Pont Alexandre III, to the Invalides.
Sacha and I went, he wanted to see the exposition of the Arms. I looked at the costumes: The buttons, the gold trims, the plumes on the hats, the sword cases... embellishments that I find at the brocante came to light.
Sad history war is.
French Husband and I
Reflections from the
Seine waves splashing on the quai
Hand in hand
What colors are out your window?
Let the French Muse Guide you!
Driving along the road I was greeted with a flock of sheep. Like a parade they came with their bells ringing, taking over the entire road leaving me little choice but to pull over and admire them.
Their master, a Shepherd for over thirty years, told me he was bringing his sheep down from the French Alps on foot, and that he would stay in the area (outside in a small cabin) until June 15th. Then when the heat of the Provence becomes to hot to bear he will lead his sheep back into the French Alps.
The autumn sun warmed my back as the Shepherd and I watched the sheep enjoy their nibbling. Where ever I was going took a back seat. It was if this moment was meant to be... meant as a reminder to enjoy the gift at hand.
Thank you so much for your comments yesterday!
When I asked on my blog, "What you would say to your younger self?" Your responses were heartfelt and came from your truth? I composed part of each comment given and added them here:
Hands of Time
Be gentle with yourself,
Get to know your mother while there still is time,
Work really hard but not to be overly serious,
Take time to understand,
Be open to the twists and turns,
Savor the moment,
You are ok just the way you are,
Use your energy to identify strategies about things that you can DO,
Mistakes are learning experiences.
Don't let the good things in life rob you of the best things in life.
Walking through the Louvre, then the Tuileries gardens, followed by lacing along the river to the Pont Alexander III bridge at sunset. The view spectacular being with Sacha put the extra kick to my step.
Sacha graduates next month, his voice was filled with uncertainty, hopes, nerves, melancholy... The natural state of affairs when one takes seriously their journey and wonders as far as they can see: What next?
Mother and son walking at the end of the day, trusting that tomorrow will come.
We took a drink.
I admired with Moustache.
Listen and be.
Let the rawness of uncertainty sit at your feet, let it pinch you so it moves you, but do not let it cripple you.
Life is before him with its balancing act of holding on and letting go. Scary sometimes, beautiful most of the time, and full of surprises constantly.
A long walk
with intense conversation of all that wonderful life stuff,
makes dinner bell sing.
French Brasserie Flo
What word of advice would you give your younger self?
The differences between France and America are subtle. Take Mums and pumpkins for example.
Mums a fall flower arrives in force in October. They spill out from the floral shops onto the streets, creating a parade of magnificent color. Just as pumpkins shout out Autumn in America, mums are the flower that say Autumn in France. Pumpkins are a food in France, were in the States pumpkins are more for decoration.
A neighbor brought us three beautiful pumpkins I put them on the table for display, how many French friends asked me, "What are you doing with the pumpkins?"
When invited to a dinner party it is a thoughtful gesture to bring something to the hostess. Candy, wine, or flowers is the typical avenue. (FLASHBACK 1988..... Why not bring a Mums plant I thought and bought one that seem to be a perfect ball of gold. When I came home French Husband told me it was a plant that symbolized All Soul's Day. "It is the flower we take to the graveside of those we love who have gone before us."
Oh! scratch that
flower off the list. Paper whites, can I bring them instead? Do they have anything marked on them as unusual or special?
Mums are not a flower to give to "the living" in France.
Any flower will do, I like them all don't you? I wonder if I brought a pumpkin as a hostess gift if the French would find that insulting?
Pumpkin on Penne Pasta
Cut the pumpkin into cubes and steam until nearly cooked, firm but tender.
Slice and saute (in olive oil) three or four cloves of garlic, add pine nuts and saute until lightly golden brown.
Blend (do not puree) the sauteed garlic, pine nuts with Parmesan cheese and fresh cilantro.
In the same pan that you sauteed the garlic, saute until tender the steam pumpkin (add olive oil if needed.)
Turn the burner off, then add the garlic pine nut mixture to the pumpkin. Stir until well mixed.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Serve on al dente penne pasta.
We can lose our words, our hearts, our minds, our car keys, our senses, those we love, our appetite, our sense of purpose and our way.
Sacha found a watch chain amongst the many brocante things I have, on it was a little key. He wrapped the watch chain around his wrist and wears it as a bracelet. The little key dangles, he asked me what does it open? I responded, "Something you haven't yet found."
What key do you hold?
Winners of an old key...please send me your address by email:
"France a couple of years ago...misplaced my heart
...found it in our vacation photos."
"...Keys, worn by time, some new, some old, unused, but kept close like old friends. I hope they are only misplaced, that they will show up smooth and worn in my pocket again."
"Well, when my Grandma died my mom gave me her beautiful gold locket from England with a diamond in it. When we went on vacation I wadded it up in foil and put it in the freezer safe from robbers or fire.(??) The day we got home my husband cleaned the freezer and trashed it. (unknowingly.) I was so sad that he went to the dump and tried to find our garbage. Lost cause. I will always feel bad about it. He smelled like a garbage truck when he got home :)"
My husband and I took our first trip to New York in our mid 20's. Of course we had to go to Tiffany's. We decided to buy me a tiny gold whistle on a thin little chain. (It was the least expense thing we could find). It came in a tiny velvet bag. Years later, I was wearing it shopping. I wasn't feeling well but decided to trying on something anyway. I must have pulled off the necklace as I changed the shirt. I didn't miss it at the time and it was gone when I return. I'm still sad about it but I still have the little bag."
All Photos Via Sacha
Photos by Sacha
Looking through his photos he said, "Oh this is a you shot."
Maybe he thought it was a shot I would take, but the sun peeking through the trees I would not have caught so well.
Photos by Sacha
This one made me gasp. The golden hues the first chill of fall.
Changing colors in the vineyards.
Luckily Sacha told me I could put his photos on my blog.
If you would like to see more of Sacha's photos you can follow him on INSTAGRAM
Photo by Sacha
Anyone who knows Sacha knows that this is 100 percent Sacha style.
Add to that this, "...after I took the photo I put the escargot back in the field, back on green."
Oh yeah that is Sacha.
The heavens ready to burst just like me with love for my boy.
Raindrops gathered on red leaves.
Sunset in Provence.
Light on stone.
Tomorrow I will pick more than one for a key, too many wonderful friends and responses.
Thank you Sacha for letting me show you off.
The front door to our apartment in Paris has a grill with an angel carrying the key. Looking at that I thought, "Yeah that will do, no need for a wallet, a purse or a pocket."
French Husband could be that angel... little does he know he already is, even when he is being all French and everything.
Also if you are on Facebook can you go "LIKE" our homepage for the French Muse where we put up daily doses of French brocante info, links, sites, how to, where to and etc.
Please leave a comment so I can pick one of you to send a little antique key.
Here is the question:
When is the last time you misplaced something importanat? Did you find it? And please do not tell me you lost it okay :)
A very small stone figurine stands in one of the many displays in the Louvre. It appears to be of a woman flexing her muscles, her expression: Joyful pride.
Most likely she was holding something above her head, as her fisted hands are a result of being broken. It is dated 400 B.C.
Yesterday I wrote about misplacing my coat which in its pocket was my credit card. French Husband was flipping out that my credit card could be stolen, and that he was going to cancel my card since in his mind I had lost it.
All this craziness about coat and credit card.
This morning I checked the closet, where I hang my coat 99 percent of the time, it wasn't there. So I went into the kitchen opened the pantry door where I hang my coat 1 percent of the time and there it was with my credit card in the pocket.
You see if it were a snake it would have bit French Husband several times as he opened that pantry door at least that many times over the last three days...
Coat in closet, wallet in pocket, French Husband happy, all is good.
And to think that statue without coat, credit card, a French Husband, or a cold has survived since 400 BC. Rock on.
When you are married to a French Man and if you are not French, the first thing you must understand about the French is that everything must have a reason or a purpose. It simply cannot be... just because.
Anyway as most of you know I have been out of it with a cold. This morning when I woke up I did not feel myself but far better than the days before, I was happy-ready to jump out of bed and get going.
Then the Bad Nurse (French Husband's newest name) came in, and one thing lead to another, which reminded me that I have misplaced one of my coats which has my visa card in its pocket...
The Bad Nurse started going on about how putting important things in your pocket is not a good ideas. Pockets are not made for important things, and how could I have lost my coat!
Oh that poor French Soul, that poor Bad Nurse, that poor French Husband...
First pockets have a purpose, and a reason.
Second I like pockets.
Third purses are a pain and I do not like them, cute yes, carrying them no.
Fourth things can be misplaced and not lost, Misplaced does not mean lost.
Fifth just because I misplaced something does not mean I have to find it the second I cannot remember where I put it.
The Bad Nurse rolled his eyes, then looked at me without any understanding as to what I was talking about. In his world:
Misplaced is lost.
Lost is lost.
And lost means find it now.
Made feeling sick yesterday seem like a holiday.
The end of the day nears, and I haven't thought of my coat nor visa card. I trust it is somewhere where I have yet to look.
Feeling better but not really.
Slept until 2 so that says things are not normal.
Decided to re-watch Downton Abbey, it is a wonder that I am not speaking with an accent.
Binge watching I gather is the term.
What TV show would or have you binge watched?
I streamed Downton Abbey on my computer.
Tomorrow I am counting on feeling better... French Husband says he thinks he is catching my cold. Poor darling I will try not to be the nurse that he wasn't, oh revenge is hard to resist.
Most of the day I slept, and the rare moment where I wasn't sleeping sniffling, coughing, drippy eyes and fever sat by my side.
My goal is three days, this is day two.
Sunday, tomorrow is the brocante... that is the real goal. If the brocante cannot get me out of bed... though it doesn't seem likely I'll be going. Ugh.
My bedroom that French Husband came in with a kleenex over his face, "I don't want to get sick."
Do you have a spouse of friend who goes overboard with loving care when you are sick? Send him over. Of course I kind of like to be left alone don't you?
That is where I usually sit to blog, though today I am in bed.
My little bedroom that I love.
This is as close as you get to seeing me actually in bed, Red Nose and not even Christmas! Sounds from the comments yesterday we either are sharing being sick or you are just getting over being sick, or your lucky and not sick!
I cracked up when I read: Shelley's comment
You know you are hip cool when you go shopping and your daughter and friend Alice ask to try on the new clothes you bought.
That happened after dinner last night.
As my head hit the pillow my reveling thoughts of "Gee I must be hip!" turned to, "Oh no I am not getting a cold am I?"
The feeling was slight so I brushed it off and did not think about it until I got on the train togo back home...
As soon as sat down my nose was a faucet, my eyes waterfalls, I sneezed in sets of six... I felt terrible for the people sitting next to me until I realized we were a symphony of germs: The four of us, what are the chances? It was a weird relief...
Off to bed with a bowl of soup and a roll of toilet paper.
...Sure I will show you what I bought, but not until my nose stops running 'cause I do not want you-know-what on my new clothes.
When is the last time you had a cold? (I love your comments, thank you for them!)
Came to Paris to arrange the apartment for some friends who are coming to stay tomorrow. Later I made dinner for Chelsea, Mr. Espresso, Alice and Sacha. A wonderful evening, one I wish would never end...
As I came to type my blog this evening I realized I had not taken a single photo... if only I could capture one of the images I have in my mind: Steady smiles, cozy happiness, pasta delight, sitting around the coffee table so-not-French-nor-us... but we have been doing so as it reminds us of when we were renovating the apartment and sat on big paint buckets and had a board on another for a table... Now the coffee table is the hip place.
The empty nest becomes birds of a feather flock together.
What did you do today?
a woman pushing a bicycle.
Red lipstick and cigarettes in her younger days.
Nowadays: a quick race to the market to prepare lunch.
Without fail: Baguette, cheese and wine,
a dog at home named Fifi.
Cobblestones, metro stop, cafe et sucre.
Oh la la
Two kisses now be gone.
What says French to you?
An old medal worn smooth.
Given shortly after birth,
worn since baptism.
On that day surrounded by family, love, happiness, faith and prayers for a long beautiful life.
This medal is of the sacred heart of Jesus.
On the other side of the medal mother and child.
smiling without smiles,
both sides worn smooth,
rubbing against a warm body, close to heart, ever present, listening.
Listening without saying a word.
A symbolic presence of love and prayer,
Reach up to, touch, recalling baptism...
a trace of what cannot be denied
Since starting the French Muse Experience with Ruth, we have had many adventures, and they keep on coming. Neither of us mind, we are brocante (antique) addicts so the more adventures in brocanting (antiquing) the better.
We had another "Brocante Home" in my house.
So much fun having kindred antique addicts come over, listening to their stories, sharing ideas and secrets of the trade, plus setting up a brocante... and it gives me a good reason to spruce up the house.
The Red Shed Antique Gals came over around ten...
We had croissants, pain au chocolates, pastries and Kir Royals.
Sacha asked if it was too early to be drinking... I laughed at my age time doesn't matter.
The backdrop of the day: Sunshine!
Yesterday the brocantes in the area were rained out, so having a sunshine day for our brocante was a real treat.
Thanking the sun for shining.
Sipping Kir Royals.
Living our passion for antiquing.
If you ever give me a reason (or not) I will talk endlessly.
You have to put tape on my mouth to get me to stop.
And if you ask me to talk brocante...
you will have to move in, and wear earplugs.
It looks like I am explaining rules for a scavenger hunt. Oh there is an idea, for the next group that comes over!
In the kitchen...
Everyone is nibbling and drinking
and I am
Though I think Sacha took photos of me talking to tease me.
Brocante Home in action.
Everyone found something.
Ruth and I found new friends.
Kir Royal, old linens, basket with crumbs.
If ever you are in Provence...
I hope you will join us!
Thank you Valarie for sharing the morning with us.
Thank you Sacha for taking the photos and helping Ruth and I.
Sacha who has teased me about having a home full of old thinks is starting to look very 19th century-ish. He has a moustache that curls at the ends... yes it is very vogue now, I get it... though he fits that look, and fits very nicely at home with the old things from that belle-epoque, I like to tease.
I asked if wanted to wear one of my 19th century linen shirts, he didn't say no.
A few weeks ago when Sacha was home between classes he said,
"Mom you know how I have teased you about our home, how we have mirrors you cannot see in, chairs that do not sit comfortably, keys instead of handles... Well actually I do not mind. I have been in many homes over the last few years, and even though those homes are comfortable, nice and all, you mom are creative and your style is very appealing, I love how our home looks."
Dang if he had asked me for a car I would have given him one.
Who needs anything when you have someone who "gets" you and says so? It is like love on a platter with a big spoon.
Oh that Must Dash, my Boylo, is quite a dashing Franco-Americain!