French la Vie

My Cousin Julie

 

Yesterday, I received again devastating news about my cousin Julie, Sacha's Buddhamere.

If I wasn't so sad I would have had time to feel downright mad at the God I call Love.

I know Love has no bounds and that God can take my anger with a grain of salt.

Some hit pillows I have a good go at God, it helps to be able to dump it somewhere and not be judged but restored.

My cousin suffered several subarachnoid hemorrhages. The outlook wasn't promising she was incubated. The thought was

to prepare for the worse. 

Then a miracle.

My cousin sat up! Was breathing on her own, recognized people, could speak, moved her limbs... ate a yogurt.

The doctor declared,

« It is a miracle! » 

and that is not usually what doctors say unless they mean it.

Yesterday morning I was devastated, stunned but by late last night a complete change to Julie’s story.
I spoke with her I said,

»You are an f-ing miracle! » she laughed a weak laugh, "Yeah," she said. then I added, « You are like Jesus reincarnated! » 

Life is one big adventure we’re wonders never cease.

Yesterday was my father’s birthday. 

May this incredible joy continue bringing my cousin Julie healing,

wholeness, and strength!

And may it bring you to hope in what you are longing for.

 

The last conversation I had with her was a day or two ago and she said, she was looking for adventure...

 

Julie has a big adventure ahead of her, I pray it goes as well as this moment appears.

I pray it is one long beautiful rich miracle ride,

I pray that I might see her again so I can hit her, and then hug her for a long time.

 

Thank you again and again for the love you bring and the kindness you afford me.

It has been an emotionally overloaded year ...

so dear God, slow it down, let's have some boring

uneventful, twiddle my thumbs, and plenty of time to be with Gabriel.

 

 

 

 

Miracles Happen

Miracles Happen

and when they do

there is a joyous elation of life, love, and a boost to faith.

Whether the miracle is big or small

and for however long 

 

Loving Kindness

 

My mother always said, "When someone dies everyone is very present to the loved ones for the first few weeks, which is good and needed. But do not forget in six months, or even a year after that those who have lost someone still need loving attention, maybe even more so as the weeks turn into months as life goes on for those who haven't suffered, but those who have suffered, suffer long after."

 

Sometimes it is difficult to know what to say, or how to say it, or if it should be said...

 

 

 

No words are needed to show love.

nor to be loving-kindness.

 

 

Wherever we are there is something to share.

 

 

 

 

 

To be present to silence.

 

 

 

 

A gentle smile.

 

 

 

Tears are okay.

 

 

 

 

Tears make room

 

 

 

 

Gentle bloom.

 

 

 

 

Petal by petal,

rain or shine.

 

 

 

 

 

Standing alone if need be.

 

 

 

 

Adding light to the darkness.

 

 

 

Side by side.

 

 

 

 

Gentleness.

 

 

 

 

Togetherness.

 

 

 

A place to exhale.

 

 

 

 

An open invitation to be there.

Plant Love and Share it as Much as You Can

 

Thank you for all your loving attention and kindness.

Haven't we all had a complicated ongoing year plus, and for some it has been terribly hard.

Thank you for your love sent to Pam, she is in need of every ounce of healing.

 

With Cynthia's passing so many memories have been stirred up. I hope to share some as time goes on.

 

As Annie said, "It takes courage to grow old." I see more and more what she meant by that.

 

 

 

 

Please Send Your Loving Healing Everything to My Friend Pam

 

Pam a longtime reader of my blog who has become a friend of mine

is in the hospital with pneumonia and is intubated.

Her husband Rick has asked me to pray and I am asking you to join with me to

ask for healing grace and gentleness to surround her. 

 

 

 

Paris 1989 (repost from 2006)

 

Once upon a time and one time only,

did French Husband help deliver a wedding cake for our dear American friend Cynthia, who had an American bakery in Paris.

Cynthia who introduced chocolate chip cookies, brownies, cheesecake, bear claws, and muffins to the Parisians back in 1988, decided to try her hand with wedding cakes, à la Américain style. French wedding cakes are little cream puffs stacked like a Christmas tree...

Not at all the same thing.

The first order came, the cake was baked, decorated, and ready to go.

Cynthia delivered her cookies, brownies, and other baked goods with a bicyclette that had an over-sized-basket-like-thing attached to the back.

I called it the "coffin-on-wheels"... imagine riding that thing in Paris.

 

There was no way that this wedding cake could ride in the back... alone... safely. 

Cynthia called a taxi.

The taxi driver looked at the cake and shook his head, "Pas possible!"

The wedding bells were ringing, the three-tier wedding cake with its fresh cream frosting had to be delivered.

The cake was the size of America.

"How am I going to get this wedding cake to the reception?" fretted Cynthia who hopelessly looked at me

who had her own little America, an eight-month bun in the oven.

 

French Husband, who would do anything for 10 grams of chocolate, accepted the deal:

Two dozen brownies - if he would sit in the back of the coffin-on wheels,

while another guy peddled clear across Paris to deliver the wedding cake.   

 

Imagine the bride and groom's surprise when they saw their wedding cake arrive,

barely in one piece, straddled between the legs of a Frenchman.

Oh la la.

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

In loving, sweet, funny memories of my dear friend Cynthia who died today.

Oh Cynthia! What memories you gave us when we first arrived in Paris. I smile through the tears just recalling them!

Godspeed dear sweet baker! 

Turkey story (Cynthia was one of our friends who took home Turkey. She wanted the turkey and could not bake it in her shop ovens as she was baking pecan and pumpkin pies for the Americans in Paris that Thanksgiving.

 

Cynthia's cheesecake

 

All that Love

(Quote from Instagram. The antique santon belongs to Dorlis a wonderful artist and curator of beautiful things. The crown of thorns was made by my friend Philippe. The two of them had a stunning exposition for Holy Week.)

 

 

When Things Take on New Meaning

Not a Happy Bunny

Where the Children Sleep

 

 

All Text and Photos by Mangus Wennam 2016

 

 

 

“For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.

 

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’

 

 

“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’”

 

 

Photo and Text Magnus Wennman

 Mahdi, 1½, in Horgos, Serbia

 

Mahdi is 1½ years old. He has only experienced war and flight. He sleeps deeply despite the hundreds of refugees climbing around him. They are protesting against not being able to travel further through Hungary. On the other side of the border, hundreds of police are standing. They have orders from the prime minister, Viktor Orban, to protect the border at all costs. The situation is becoming more desperate, and the day after the photo is taken, the police use tear gas and water cannons on the refugees.

 

Photo and Text Magnus Wennman

 

 

Fatima, 9, in Norberg, Sweden

Every night Fatima dreams that she’s falling from a ship. Together with her mother, Malaki, and her two siblings Fatima fled from the city of Idlib when the Syrian national army senselessly slaughtered civilians in the city. After two years in a refugee camp in Lebanon, the situation became unbearable and they made it to Libya, where they boarded an overcrowded boat. On the deck of the boat, a very pregnant woman gave birth to her baby after 12 hours in the scorching sun. The baby was a stillbirth and was thrown overboard. Fatima saw everything. When the refugee’s boat started to take on the water they were picked up by the Italian coast guard.

 

 

 

Since 2011, more than 4 million Syrians have been forced from their homes in the face of the ongoing war in the country. Roughly half of them are children.

 

Photo and text Magnus Wennman

 

Swedish photographer and twice-winner of the World Press Photo awards Magnus Wennman has been photographing Syrian refugees in refugee camps across the Middle East and on journeys across Europe as they flee a conflict that shows no signs of stopping. His photo project Where the Children Sleep captures the suffering that hundreds of thousands of children caught in bloody war have been subjected to. 

 

 

Photo and text Magnus Wennman

 

 

Fara, 2, loves soccer. Her dad tries to make balls for her by crumpling up anything he can find, but they don’t last long. Every night he says goodnight to Fara and her big sister Tisam, 9, in the hope that tomorrow will bring them a proper ball to play with. All other dreams seem to be beyond his reach,

but he is not giving up on this one...

 

Magnus Wennam: Where the Children Sleep 2016

Good Friday

There is a beginning to every end.

There is light in darkness.

There is forgiveness

and suffering.

Prayer doesn’t always bring you what you want

nor what you need.

it is okay to doubt, to be mad and

not want to hear someone tell you how to be better.

 

Food for Thought

 

What are some of your reflections after this year living with Covid?

(photo and text via my friend Rachel Baker’s Instagram.)

I have various covid reflections rambling around in me but what strikes me most is the daily conversation about this subject the actual living through it each step and wondering will it ever end if we do not help the less fortunate receive a vaccine?

 

Nursery School

 

Gabriel's daycare was short-lived.

He started last week. Since September I had been going to and from Paris every week to watch him.

I was sad to give up my role but happy too to have my days back at home.

And happy that he could play with other children, which he hasn't been able to most of his little life.

 

Tonight France goes into deeper lockdown. All schools will close down for one month.

Daycare included (there are far more restrictions put into place but mainly we

have been semi-lockdown since October.

Martin, Chelsea, and Gabriel arrive tonight to stay with us.

As they both have been working from home 

for over a year due to Covid. 

 

The silver lining: I have my babysitting role back!

Spring with a toddler makes for happier days.

Brocante takes the back burner.

 

 

What is Perfection?

 

 

 

What is perfection?

What is loved-

What is created for someone-

and cherished-

even when it is worn true.

what is perfection?

a loaf of bread, a lily and contentment in the simple things that nourish us and bring beauty.

 

 

Simplicity

 When you have only two pennies left in the world,

buy a loaf of bread with one,

and a lily with the other.

 

~Chinese Proverb

(thank you Jeanne for sharing this quote with me)

 

Live it Well

 

I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and for you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

The colors of the rainbow
So pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces
Of people going by

I see friends shaking hands
Saying, "How do you do?"
They're really saying
"I love you"

I hear babies cry
I watch them grow
They'll learn much more
Then I'll ever know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

 

Louis Armstrong

 

The Challenge of Being Fortunate

                                 

 

I am fortunate.

I have a good life.

I have a family who loves me, food to eat, a roof over my head. I am healthy and in no pain.

I have running water, more than enough to water the flowers in my garden and easily it turns hot.

I am safe, bombs are not falling from the sky.

Decisions are easy, what should I make for dinner? They are easy to ask too: "Would you like sugar in your coffee?"

I have time to blog. I have a computer and two hands.

When I had ovarian cancer, I was still fortunate I lived.

There was medicine readily available.

I had a soft bed, a toilet to throw up in and someone to hold my hand.

I had more prayers offered for me than all the prayers ever said at Notre Dame.

Chelsea who was three at the time told me, "...there are angels dancing above your head"

I had faith to believe her.

The hardest question to answer:

Why me?

Why am I generously fortunate while most of the world suffers beyond belief?

The biggest challenge is to live the gift of life, every day as lovingly as possible.

Is that too hard to do?

To pick up my harp, and play knowing others cannot?

What will I do today to share my fortune?

 

Standing Amongst the Roses

 

 

 

I remember the day like it was yesterday, though it was over twenty years ago.

I went up the hill to visit my friend Annie.

She invited me, saying to come mid-morning to help her pick the roses.

 

 

 

 

Annie was an American by birth.

Soon after she was born her parents returned to their homeland in Greece.

A few years later, Turkey invaded the part of Greece where they lived.

Her parents and three sisters barely escaped death.

Annie tells the story, of their leaving everything behind, except her mother's sewing machine and the family's icon.

They sailed across the sea to another part of Greece.

Years later they moved to France, Annie was a young girl.

 

 

 

 

The first time I heard "her story" was on the day I went up the hill, to help her pick the roses, to make rose jam.

As she recounted the details of her amazing voyage to France, I cut the old roses from the rosebush that her mother had planted years ago.

In telling her story her eyes often got that glazed look of a person who reliving the moment in their mind's eye.

Her story melted over me like honey, and I am sure the swarm of bees flying around grew confused.

That day roses seemed to bloom with each word out of Annie's mouth. 

 

 

                                                             

 

 

Annie's story took me far away from what I was doing. Absent-mindedly, I started to clip the tiny rosebuds that had barely opened,

(instead of the mature roses which were the ones needed for the jam,) and slipped them under my blouse and into my bra.

The coolness of the rosebuds tingled against my skin.

Clipping a few more, Annie stopped in mid-sentence, pointed her clipper at my blouse, then asked me what I was doing with the rosebuds.

Her sweet smile told me she was curious.

 

 

                                                          

 

 

I told her how I had loved a young man years ago before I met my French Husband.

I told her of my love for John and how he had died. But before her feelings could carry her towards the sadness I had shared,

I clipped a rosebud and said, "Often John would bring me rosebuds, and slip them into my bra. He said that way I would feel his love for me throughout the day. That the scent of the tiny rosebuds would bloom from the warmth of my skin, that I would breathe in their perfumed notes,

and at the end of the day, when I took off my clothes, the tiny rosebuds would fall at my feet."

I held the tiny rosebud, Annie saw my eyes glaze over.

 

Spontaneously, Annie pulled the neckline of her blouse down, leaned over, and asked me to put some rosebuds in her bra too.

At that moment time stood still.

An intimacy that was far deeper than the rose's roots that laid beneath us.

We looked at each other: She with her bosom ripe with age, and me with a rosebud in hand.

I planted the seed of our friendship within her bra, close to her heart.

We giggled like young girls do when feeling something sensual transpire between them.

We stood in her garden and blushed rose.

 

 

Where Love Finds a Way

 

When you cannot be together 

because your countries are in lockdown to each other

and your hearts are longing.

 

Love finds a way.

 

 

Paradise found.

The Lollipop Lesson

The Little Squirt pointed to the canister on his parent's dresser that held phone-chargers, plugs, a hair clip or two, some receipts, and a few lollipops.

"Gabriel, I don't think the lollipop is the answer."

You see the handlebar to his pushbike was up too high and I could not lower it no matter how hard I tried. When I told him I couldn't budge it he pointed to the canister on his parent's dresser then in his nonverbal but highly effective way I knew he was telling me the lollipop was the answer to our woe.

Now I know Chelsea and Martin do not give sugary things to Gabriel as most things in their kitchen are non sweeten. I texted Chelsea, "Gabriel is telling me that the lollipops in the canister are meant as a tool for his pushbike? Please advise? Or am I missing something?"

Chelsea responded, "Hi Mom, yeah we used the lollipop stick to push the button on the bottom as it jams."

Gabriel looked at me as I put my phone down, "Aren't you a clever, observant little Squirt! You are right the lollipop is a tool."

I gave him the lollipop and he proceeded to show me where the minuscule button was that I needed to push.

Children believe what they see ... a lollipop is a tool.

 

 

Quiet Paris

Paris and several other regions went into a stricter lockdown

than what all of France has been experiencing since October.

Parts of Palais Royal where Gabriel and I go to hang out were completely closed off.

Nevertheless, we had a good time. 

Now that the weather is nice the parks are packed.

Everyone wears a mask.

 

 

 

All restaurants, bars, and cafes have been closed since October

and will be into April and maybe longer.

I just heard bars will open in July.

I might start drinking by then.

It will be a welcome relief to go into a bar have a juice and then use the toilet.

When everything is closed going out can be a stretch without a place to sit, have a breather and use the loo.

 

 

 

Rue de Rivoli is blocked off to most vehicles...

only bicyclists and pedestrians can use it freely.

And babies in strollers.

So weird and wonderful seeing Paris this empty 

during the middle of the day.

 

The museums are closed. 

The Louvre is desserted.

Though Paris is hauntingly beautiful 

Give Love Daily

 

my friend Pam sent this to me. It says a lot about living with grief and not holding back about living and loving.

Live love abundantly.

What Are You Waiting For?

 

That is the question.

What am I waiting for and why am I waiting?

Does time take the lead?

Or is procrastination the culprit?

What am I longing for?

SPRING.

Renewal.

Covid to end.

...and you?

Lace Therapy

 

 

It is that lace thing again, every now and then I must show it.

The funny thing about this lace attraction of mine is I do not use it. I do not sew it on my sheets, towels, 

or pillowcases.

I don't create with lace or attach it to my clothing.

Nor do I doll-up a doll with lace.

Nope, none of it. So why am I attracted to it?

 

 

 

 

 

It never fails, I spot it at each and every flea market.

I tell myself, "Walk on by... keep going... don't stop..."

But it is pointless, the directives I give to myself are not followed.

How many times do I find myself stooped over a box, digging through lace, ribbons, and linens?

It is a weird obsession.

 

                                                                       

 

Obsession yes but not to this point.

This Chick-a-Dee likes her lace.

 

(My nephew Warren 14 years ago)

 

Years ago I was happy with my lace obsession when I found this full lace, 1880 baptismal gown, and cape for my baby nephew's baptism.

Happy because he looked like a doll baby in it, and because I had seen enough lace to pick out the old stuff versus

the newer stuff. If ever you need antiquing baby clothing let me know.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lace has such a feminine, bohemian, sweet summer feel to it.

Lace invites the desire to touch, to feel. I guess that is why it adorns undergarments it is sensual.

Sweet sexy?

How silly of me not to have some  antique lacy undergarments to show you or do I?

I don't. They never are my size and I cannot stand still long enough to try them on at a brocante.

 

                                  

 

Antique lacy nightgowns, but not very sexy but perfect for summer evening bed wear and pulling weeds in the garden.

I work outside in these night/underdresses. 

 

 

 

I knew I could find a photo of lacy undergarments.

Sorry, they are not antique.

Can you imagine paying 37 euros for a string of course that doesn't sound crazy expensive unless

you are crazy about spending your money on other things like antiques instead? French Husband I bet would rather I spent 37 euros on a string

instead of old lace that sits in a box under my bed.

Boy, how did I go from talking about my obsession with lace to talking about what my French Husband thinks?

My mind is like that... it wanders. Okay, I gotta get back on track French antique lace and why I collect it and don't use it.

 

 

Maybe I'll forego my oversized, antique nightgowns that look like parachutes and dream up something different with lace.

I gotta stop now maybe my obsession with lace is a hidden desire (!!)

I always knew my blog was my therapist but hey Corey there are others sitting around this couch listening.

 

Are you into lace?

 

Flower Girl

 

 

1800s tinted engraving on a young maiden with flowers in her hair.

Wildflowers from my walk today.

Spring come, come as soon as you can!

 

xxx

Thank You

 

Thank you for your response regarding if and how you saw my blog.

For some unknown reason it was not appearing on the 16th to most of you,

then popped up twice, then not at all, then come up late on the 17th.

I have no idea why. But it is working now so all is good.

Wish I knew more about why my blog acts bizarrely sometimes 

I hope it isn't imitating me.

 

 

 

Golden Light

A light at the end of the tunnel,

a burst a of spring in front of the last winter branches.

Two realities

the end of winter, the beginning of spring.

 

 

 

Blog Post

 

My blog appears not to be posting

trying to see if this works.

If you can see this please can you send a comment or an email.

Please tell me if you see this on your email subscription and or through your browser?

Thank you.

 

Almost Spring

Photo via Permillion

 

(Permillion has a beautiful beautiful account on Instagram. She takes photos of books with flowers.)

Thank you for all of your wonderful book selections for Gabriel! 

Today would have been my brother Marty's 61st birthday.

I found Permillion's quote tender,

it is almost spring.

Almost

Grief is a passage of time,

the loss, the sadness will become part of us and blending into our being,

it will find its place

Each season has its purpose,

which helps, guides, and is needed to go on to the next.

 

 

 

BookWorms

 

Please can you suggest some favorite books of yours.

we have Good Night Moon, which is a classic and I have plenty of books from when Chelsea and Sacha were little too

but I am curious to know of more since we do not live in the States I am not aware of all the titles.

Chelsea and I are speaking English to Gabriel, Yann and Martin speak English but their mother tongue is French of course.

I thought I would ask you what are some of your favorite books for children?

 

 

Not the Same

For over a year I faithfully walked five miles or more every day as a prayer for my brother.

I walked in rain, heat, at night, early in the morning, during curfew in a circle in our courtyard...

I did it no matter what and in the back of my mind, I would think if my brother has to suffer for no reason every day with terminal cancer

I certainly can walk every day as a prayer.

 

But since his parting, I have felt a change in my steps

Not as fast

nor determine

less mindful

each step is just another step-

blah

I walk but it doesn't feel the same

and I am not motivated.

Grief hits in unexpected places.

I was walking for my brother and I could be walking for him now but it isn't with the same intention.

And it doesn't feel right to have another intention just yet.

So I walk and one day the grief will trail behind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tulips and Rain

 
Tulips that I stood by

outside a flower shop

under a canopy in the rain

 

Wind whirled

the sidewalk glistened 

with the changing sky

 

I thought about my umbrella back home

... the cut flowers in their buckets

brought me joy

remained as they were

brave delicate blooms

Reminding me nature’s elements

make them who they are

Things with Wheels

 

 

 

 

Reading to a baby

one page half-read

turning 

two pages back,

then upside down 

followed with

words in a row interrupted by sounds and 

lots of facial expressions.

And when the pictures become real

on the life stage...

We spend much time admiring trucks, garbage trucks, and backhoes in the public gardens

but the biggest burst of joy was when I took Gabriel to the train station and we watched trains coming and going. 

 

 

Hanging Out of a Helicopter

 

 

 

 

 

Need a cameraman?

Need a daredevil?

Need an artist?

Need a perfectionist?

Need anything to do with filming?

I know just the person.

so happy for Sacha but I must admit when he told me about this gig I said,

”You’ll be harnessed and safely attached right?”

Then I spent the entire time turning worry into prayer and feeling scared into abundant joy.

Sacha is doing what he loves what a gift!

A Story My Brother Marty Told Me

 

My brother Marty said that friends and family changed the way they talked to him when they heard he was seriously ill with cancer. Their tone was different their concern and sorrow showed and he longed for everyone to talk to him like they did before; to shoot the breeze, talk about their days, their dreams, their lives as they did before they knew he was dying- to tease him, to treat him like the Marty they knew and not the Marty he had become. He said, "Corey it makes me feel defeated to hear that tone of sorrow and to see that look in their eyes. I don't like who they think I have become. I get everyone cares and is sad, but I want to be treated as I was."

That was not easy to do. But I tried when I called him to be as natural as I could to be "normal", and to listen to what he was sharing without reacting with sadness to be with Marty the courageous and not the Marty who suffered like hell. My brother would lead the way after sharing how he felt and what procedures he was facing he would ask ever so graciously and full of curiosity ask, "Tell me about Gabriel?" and I would and we would laugh. My brother loved children. He had a nickname for most of his nieces and nephews; Sacha was Curly.

In recent years my brother Marty took up bicycling riding with my brother Mathew. He got into fixing up vintage bikes and riding in tours around Chico. He enjoyed it. He sent me a few photos along the way. After a few months of taking Chemo, his doctors were surprised that his muscles hadn't completely atrophy as they expected they would. My brother said he couldn't run and he had trouble with his hands but he still could ride a bike, "My goal is to ride twenty miles the other day was my best day so I might reach it." Though weeks later it wasn't to be he said that he had been riding and stopped at a bridge that he liked and was snacking on some raisins, "I was sweaty and exhausted when a man drove by, then stopped, he got out of his car and asked, "Is that a vintage bike? I have a few myself." While their conversation weaved around bike riding, Marty said he thought to himself, "Wow this is great! This guy doesn't know me, doesn't know my story and we are having a normal easy-going conversation about riding old bikes. We really connected." Marty went on, "I was happy, I felt in the brief moment far from cancer, far from who I had become and what was happening. though right at the end of our conversation, the stranger asked me, "So how far did you ride today?"

My brother had the best dry humor, he was a master storyteller though I often missed his punchlines because they were subtle. "When that guy asked me, "How far did I ride today?" I wanted to take back everything I said to you earlier about wanting to be treated normally, and not branded with cancer I wanted to say to him, "HEY, I have terminal cancer It is f-cking amazing that I am even riding this bike let alone standing here eating raisins on a bridge."

Instead, I said, "Five miles."

The guy looked at me differently like I was a joke of a bike rider like I was a wannabe. He smiled that smile that says "Oh I see" and waved his hand and got back in his car.

Cancer sucks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Listening

 

 Listening

to my breathing,

trusting its message.

 

 

 

 

That Cutie

Thank you for enjoying the photo of G,

I still crack up

when I see that

photo of Gabriel.

just too cute...

those rolls

that expression

and his tum tummy.

 

I am in Paris babysitting.

We went to the park 

I sat in a toy house while we 

pretended to eat pasta.

Then we watch a young couple

practice acrobatic moves

impressive until. Gabriel wanted to 

stand on my shoulders.

Another Grandmother brought water to mix with the dirt

so her two grandchildren could make mud pies.

Hence cool when you are three-ish

but messy when you are younger.

 

Do You Think He Likes the Swimming Cap?

To Be the Person

 

 

I Wonder Who He Learned From ...

French Husband found this at a brocante and rushed over to me exclaiming he found something he knew I would love.

I loved that he was so happy.

He gets the imperfection perfection concept.

 

The Tender Dance

 

The tender dance of grieving

two steps forward one step back

 

In grief, loving hurts

then it heals

 

in a tempo with uneven steps

 

until the rhythm

becomes fluid

with heart and mind

 

with the delicate steps 

of sweet sorrow

slowly becomes 

soften edges.

 

 

 

 

All Day Long

As today was a glorious warm spring day one like we haven’t seen in while I packed the stroller with what we might need to spend the entire day outside. As you probably know when you are with a baby be it with a stroller, a car, or on a plane it seems like everything in the house tags along: A change of clothes, diapers, diaper wipes, water, food, toys, a blanket, hand sanitizer... the stroller was loaded and I was glad it could support the load. We went to Luxembourg garden a few miles from Chelsea’s apartment for six hours. I thought I had taken more photos but actually my eye was on Gabriel that I assumed from the strong mental note that I took photos.

I only have one.

but the memory is rich.

In Paris with this Little Beau

 

Gabriel wore his apple hat from V

We had the best day

hanging out with the columns

at the Palais Royal.

 

After a Lifetime of Uncomfortable Antique Sofas

 

We finally or I should say I finally gave in to comfort and pleasing my children and son in law.

Gabriel calls the new sofa a boat “bateau” and he has it right. 
We can sail away in it!

 

Unafraid

 

 

Evening falls,

the sky grows dark,

the moon comes up,

and stars bloom like flowers.

 a constant change

earth and sky

subtle and strong

the water flows

 

Down below in the silence,

in the stillness, in the darkness...

the garden grows unafraid.

Thoughts Are Energy Spend Them Well

 

 
Look who climbed up on the chair.

 

In Lieu of Flowers

 

In lieu of flowers, 

I would wish for you to flower. 

I would wish for you to blossom, to open, to be beautiful…

I would wish for you to align your soul,

for a time, with flowers.

~ Shawna Lemay

My Brother Marty

A lovely video about my brother Marty.

 

Yesterday Marty's body was laid to rest

My family had a private mass in our hometown

Sacha was one of the pallbearers along with other nieces and nephews.

A graveside service followed and cousins and friends were there.

My cousin Julie (Sacha's Godmother) had me on video so I could be there in spirit.

 

You can imagine our sadness, the grief, the tender goodbye, and also the love that holds us.

 

 

Angel Wings Disguised as Twigs

At first glance I thought the oil painting I found at the brocante  was of an Angel sleeping but after a closer look it is of a young man who has taken off his clothes for a swim, and later resting while using a bunch of twigs as a head rest which at a glance look like Angel wings.

Or maybe it is an earthly Angel in disguise. 

 

 

Serotonin Day

A poem by my friend Claire.

Follow her in Instagram 

clairedelune96