French antique guessing game, I do not know how many I have had over the years. But I do know that some were easier than others. The correct answer has always been guessed, though sometimes it took a few days to come up with the answer. Most of the French Antique Guessing Games that I have had on my blog, I have known the answer. But today's stumped me big time, and I think it will stump you too.
What are these things?
Most of them are between an inch or two long.
Some have a screw on the end, though others have a peg like base.
They are made of porcelain, and are about a hundred years old.
They are curvy, curly.
I would bet you won't know what these are. But, over the years of having these guessing games I have come to see that the things I think are easy to guess aren't, and the things I think will stump you, you guess correctly in a matter of seconds.
You probably will know what these are... smarty pants!
How to play:
Write your guess in the comment section or on my FaceBook Page, or send me an email.
The first person with the correct answer will win one of them.
Write your creative response in the comment section or on my FaceBook Page, or send me an email. The one I find the most original and or creative I will send one as well.
The French Antique Guessing Game ends tomorrow or the next day.
Every Saturday I focus on a different artist that I admire. From potters to painters, chefs to collectors, seamstress to songwriters, lifestyle to lovers... anyone who set the paintbrush, pastry brush, hands and heart on fire to create.
Those who inspire art to flow where it may.
Nearly seven years ago I met Nicol Sayre. She was ever so delightful in person as her hand made dolls, and delicate charming art had led me to believe.
Nicol has been to France a few times since then, but unfortunately we were never able to connect until this year. Nicol and her husband Phil, will be staying with us this weekend. Of course we plan to go to the brocante in search of the old worn beautiful textiles and embellishments that she will use in her craft.
"Nicol has a passion for antique dolls, toys and sewing and household implements. It is from these collections that she draws her inspiration.
The mid-1800's is Nicol's favorite time period and her dolls reflect the styles and colors of this era.
Each doll is handmade. Nicol uses only antique materials to create each one of a kind doll."
"The handwork in Nicol's art is intentionally evident, from handstitched hems to a thumbprint in a sculpted figure. She likes to imagine the pioneers who may have admired dolls and toys in shop windows."
Nicol creates Christmas and Halloween theme dolls.
I asked Nicol if she would like to create a class for my blog readers, more an artistic way, here in France. I know it would be inspiring to be with her, going to the brocante and exploring France through her eyes and design.
Hand painted faces. Simply stated with such elegance. I love how Nicol captures that long ago look in her creations. Nicol's look is well defined, yet each doll has its own personality as well.
Those dotted eyes and kissable little lips.
Nicol wrote about this doll that she sold, "Lola is papier mache, with glass eyes. She has a leather body and a very aged lace skirt. She wears a tiny antique tintype around her neck and carries a folded paper heart."
Also her reproductions can be found at Bayberry Cove, and
Every doll is unique,
hand-sculpted of papier mache
on a cloth body and costumed in antique fabrics.
I wonder what lovely little bits she is going to find today in France!
When friends come to visit, the talk is non stop late until the night.
They come bearing gifts from afar.
The wonder, when they bring chocolates from their stop in Marseille, not just any shop but the oldest in the city...1760. How did they know?
Funny name for amazing chocolates.
Nicol Sayre and her husband Phil are with us for a few days!
Dinner is still going on downstairs though, I jumped up saying, "Oh my God I haven't written my blog yet... excuse me!"
And ran upstairs.
Meanwhile Phil and Nicol have a cuddle.
They are also happily having Chateauneuf du Papes...
I brought my glass with me.
Conversation flowing sweeter than wine, yes.
But Johnson's baby powder, my guilty simple pleasure.
Gentle passage of time.
Giving sweet notes to lead the way.
Perfumed bells that cannot be denied.
May 1st. Lily of the Valley, other names include May lily, May bells, lily constancy, ladder-to-heaven, and muguet (French).
In France on May 1st, vendors line the street and back roads selling Muguet. It is customary to give a sprig of muguet to the members of your family and closest friends.
Yesterday morning, as tradition would have it, French Husband brought me muguet. The wonder of a small flower with a big punch of fragrance. Since muguet is such a delicate flower I wanted to find an appropriate vase. One were it show cased the single strands.
An old bottle, perfect with its narrow neck.
The old label reads: Teniture de condurango (tincture) which is used to aid digestion.
Lily of the valley, or muguet, symbolizes the return of happiness, since it is one of the first flowers to bloom in spring..
Return of happiness...spring.
Spring: Morning light, the flowering almond and cherry trees, awakening color, the roses growing over my bedroom window, birds song- especially the evening owls singing their mating song that I love so much...
Spring leaving the window open at night, listening to the thundershowers.
Spring stepping out.
Chelsea is home, spring break.
In a few weeks she will start an internship in Paris that will last six months. The last leg before having her masters... stepping out into her new life.
Oh happiness, oh grown up, oh.
Muguet under lace,
Emotion close to surface,
Pulling back winter's blanket,
What would be your teinture-tincture for Spring?
A drop of sunshine,
a sprig of thyme,
a blush of pink by pinching a baby's cheek...
a note of Pomp and Circumstance as the graduates march.
Wednesday's Word back in 1996-
Sacha and I were at the hairdresser's. I was looking at a magazine. Sacha was checking out his surroundings. The women waiting, were admiring Sacha's curls and his English vocabulary.
"Mommy, do you know how to say, "haircut" in French?" Sacha had something up his sleeve, I could tell by the twinkle of mischief in his eye.
"Oh no, I don't. What am I going to do when it is my turn?" I lied.
"Do you want me to tell you how to say, haircut in French?"
"Please, Sacha you are so helpful." I couldn't wait to hear his reply.
He leaned in closely, whispered in my ear, "Just say, rouge!"
Rouge, means Red in French. Rouge, was the "in" color to dye ones hair. Red is still Sacha's favorite color. 1996
Yesterday morning, I was longing for some Americana in my adoptive homeland. I wanted my mom, and family, I wanted to compare my long hair with my nieces, I wanted to be home in Willows.
Anniversaries are for sharing. Yesterday I was home alone with a rain storm causing havoc to the roses longing to bloom.
I could feel the hand of "you-are-going-to-have-a-bad-day" tapping on my shoulder. I refused to tango with that creep.
Food, yes comfort food was in order. I had already painted two rooms and wall papered a wall just to stay a float, and talked with my mom who was preparing an ice cream party for the grandchildren that evening.
Popover Pancake to the rescue (or puff pancake). A recipe my mother makes for me whenever I came home for a visit.
Pop over to Willows was exactly what I wanted to do. Pop over in my mind with my taste-buds to take me there.
In a cast iron skillet or a pyrex baking dish add four tablespoons of butter. Put the baking dish in the oven on high 400.
My mother uses a cast iron skillet. Which I don't have. I know I should bring one when I come back from the States, but those puppies are heavy, and other things take preference in my suitcase.
A pyrex works equally as well.
While the butter is melting in the oven,
in a bowl whip:
1/2 of a cup of flour,
1/2 of a cup of milk,
a fourth of a teaspoon of nutmeg.
Then take the sizzling butter in the hot dish out of the oven,
Add the egg mixture to it.
Put the dish back into the oven.
Let it pop up, usually about ten minutes.
Keep a close eye on it. With the pyrex it POPPED UP sooner than I expected!
I don't use a timer instead I sense when things are done. Another reason why I could never write a cookbook, unless it was called, "Spontaneous Cooking: On a Whim Without a Timer."
As I expected it to take longer I was surprised when I "sensed" it was burning. I peeked into the oven and saw Mt Everest rising to kiss the grill. Gleefully, I jumped up and down like a crazy cat seeing a fat mouse. I ran upstairs to grab my camera, all the while praying, "Please-please-please, don't let Mt Everest poop out and pop down before I get a photo of it!"
Isn't that the cutest little tin shaker!? I covered it with bits and pieces of old French paper. I love the top of it, doesn't it look like a big old shower head? I love using pretty thing for everyday purposes.
Anyway, my prayer was answered, the Popover Pancake did not fall.
My mother has tried many sweet toppings over the years, but the best by far is lemon and sugar. Just like the classic French crepe, Citron et Sucre (sugar and lemon).
Squeeze half of a lemon onto the hot popover pancake, then sprinkle powered sugar over it.
I think it is plenty for two. But my mother always says, "No."
And yesterday when I saw the Mt. Everest popover pancake I said, "This is plenty of two!" And then I heard my mom behind me say, "No. You have to eat all of it." And right then and there I burst out laughing.
Warm, tender sweetness, with a lemon peck on the cheek.
A smile to the heavens.
The song continued to play, the words carried me back,
I am standing by his side...
Death cannot rob the memory that feels so real.
Five years ago my dad died. At that time I couldn't imagine a day, let alone five years later.
Grief had its own map, and it took time to walk along the unknown path it put before me. Walking, running, or standing still... the view remained the same, the rhythm played on. I felt its strangeness, the sudden urge to run or cry or wrap myself up a blanket and hide. But grief did not let me go.
It does not matter if the person you loved died young, old, after a long illness, or suddenly, or if you got to say goodbye...death stings and mourning has a song all its own.
As the floodgate opened memories swirl around me, I would hear a sad song...and dare not move-
Each step forward was one further away from the moment of when my father was alive. Days passed, weeks went, years marched on.
It was a new world with a melody that had me somewhat off balance. As each day unfolded I would pray,
"Sing softly I am listening."
Five years ago. Thank you Dad for your undying love that sustains me even now.
Brocantes are Sundays. All day. Many of them.
Except if it rains. Today it poured non stop.
What happened to Provence?
No brocante is brutal for those who have the brocante bug.
French Husband, I mean Yann, goes mad when it rains. No because
he has the brocante bug. Though it is as if something is torturing him...
As for me, no brocante one would think I would be the one going mad!
Instead I decided to paint our bedroom. The can of paint has been by
my bedside for nearly six months.
Since I am spontaneous to a fault, I grabbed a paint brush and started painting.
I thought Yann was going to pull off his skin, he went on and on how I was painting
everything except the walls. Well not really though I did have paint in my hair,
and on my clothes (that I should have changed)...
The walls are a greyish/greenish color called, "Lapin" (Rabbit in French) though they
appear to look more like cement than a rabbit.
A few months ago I bought an extremely large antique map of Paris.
I wall papered it to one of the walls in our bedroom.
Today while painting, I wished I had painted the walls before I wall papered that map!
But that is one of the negative side effects of being spontaneous.
As I painted and painted and painted, and nearly passed out from the fumes,
it dawned on me (I use to say it DONG-ed on me) that I hadn't written my blog.
So with paint on my hands, fumes going to my head, Yann in a grump mood,
I thought I better blog.
Finished product tomorrow.
What did you do today?