French la Vie

A Hard Baguette is Rescued

 

 

How to make French bread and tomato salad.

In the land of baguettes, where a bakery is on every corner and bread is baked in a wood oven at least twice a day,

where buying a baguette is as natural as breathing, having a day-old baguette around is common.

Hence French Toast, or as they say in France, "Pain Perdu," a direct translation is "Lost Bread,"

was created as a dessert,

not for breakfast.

 

 

 

We live in a small town, where the only fast food is the bakery and take-out pizza. To say I cook often is an understatement.

Sure there are a few restaurants in town and I am, I don't like to say it, but a food snob.

I don't appreciate going out to a restaurant unless they can cook better than I can.

Don't get me wrong, cooking better than me isn't hard to do,

what I mean is, if I am going to go to a restaurant I expect it to be good which isn't hard to do in France but in our town that isn't the case.

 

 

 

 

With that said when a baguette is sitting on my kitchen counter feeling sorry for itself because it can be used as a hammer,

instead of smeared with cheese, a tomato salad comes to the rescue.

The Recipe:

Chop half of a bowl full of garden-fresh tomatoes.

Fill the other half with a dried hard baguette, in bite-size pieces. 

Add a few crushed garlic,

Two handfuls of fresh basil,

Two fresh balls of buffalo Mozzarella chopped,

Olive oil (about half a cup or more),

salt to taste,

and toss gently until evenly mixed.

Cover and set aside. 

 

 

This salad is at its best if it sets for about an hour, tossing it every now and then helps saturates the bread and flavors.

It can be kept in the refrigerator overnight and served later, toss before serving.

 

 

 

Fresh, wholesome ingredients, including a "sorry for itself" baguette, is simple fare.

A glass of rose adds the voila to the meal.

 

What is your favorite summer salad? And do you like to cook?

Summery Sunday

Gabriel Counts

Gabriel grabbed a rock to put it in his toy car

and as he did it he said, « One. »

He grabbed another rock, « Two. »

I had only heard him count to two so when he took the third rock and said, « Three. » I smiled!

When he reached for a fourth rock I wondered what he would say as he put it in the toy car he said,

“Quatre!”

Four in French.

Little bilingual boy.

Rock on!

 

 

 

 

When Will This End?

Gabriel loves babies and dolls. He is a natural little parent.

 

After reading and talking with her doctor

Chelsea six months pregnant had her first vaccine today.

The rest of us have been vaccinated since April.

Gabriel does not have a vaccine.

I am planning to visit my cousin and mom in September, but if covid picks up 

I will cancel my trip. I do not want to put anyone at risk.

 

 

Textile Thoughts

 

Love when I see someone's handiwork, handiwork from many years ago going strong.

Who nowadays if they found a hole in something would discard it? Maybe give it to recycling or

a second-hand shop...

When I do that is allows me to feel good about it, giving it away for all the wrong reasons, it is too old, I don't like it, or use it, or it has a hole,

I can afford to buy another one... but really should I do this and feel okay about it?

I am guilty of this and yet here I am admiring antique pieces that have been used, kept and repaired, and kept...

 

Awareness is key.

 

 

 

"There is evidence of fabric prints dating as far back as the 4th century BC. The first common method of textile printing originated in China, where examples of woodblock printing from 220 AD have been discovered. Both block printing and screen-printing slowly became popular throughout Asia, India and then Europe..."

 

Textile production in Europe 1600 to the 1800s

 

 

An Aubusson fragment.

When I was at an antique fair in Roundtop Texas several years ago I saw an antique dealer cutting up gorgeous antique Aubussons

after my shock and disgust I asked her why she was cutting them up as they were in flawless condition. Her reply haunts me still,

"Because I can get more money cutting them up and making pillows out of it."

When is making more money not enough?

When is making more money to have more money, not a good reason to cut up history? Or burn down forests? Or developing junk food? The list goes on ...

Says the one selling antiques.

 

 

 

 

Patchwork perfection

measured

ironed

sewn with even invisible stitches

Created out of necessity with devotion

Safeguarding that which was used and needed.

Respect.

 

 

 

 

Those beautiful handsewn hems on handwoven textiles

Fields of linen

cotton

hemp...

The massive footprint of throw-away t-shirts! 

 

 

 

Layering history -

creating harmony with it.

Embracing the differences

with understanding, forgiveness, and knowledge.

And certainly at times taking it apart and learning from the errors

with a gentle hand.

 

 

Different patterns

seeing harmony in the unexpected

Sharing what we love,

walking away

 lighter because of it. 

 

Wavelength

 

 

French Twist

1996 Memory

Sacha (five years old) and I are at the hair salon I am looking at a magazine.

Sacha is checking out his surroundings.

The women waiting, are admiring his curls and English vocabulary.

"Mommy do you know how to say, "haircut" in French?" Sacha has something up his sleeve, I can tell by that twinkle of mischief in his eye.

 

"Oh no, I don't!" I pretend.

"Do you want me to tell you how to say, haircut?"

"Yes, Sacha that would be helpful please tell me." 

He leans in closely, whispers in my ear, "Just say, rouge!"

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

Rouge, means "red" in French.

Rouge, was the "it" color to dye one's hair.

Red was Sacha's favorite color.

 

And Yet …

 

text via Sacha's instagram

 

When Your Children Are Happy and Well …

godspeedcine is the name of Sacha’s

and his friend Conrad’s business. 

Happy Saturday

Happy Saturday 

❤️

Via Adrian Michael

 

Poolside

 

summer days

warm with the constant song of the cigales

we are at our friend's Rodger and Arnelle

basking in their friendship

catching up after their long-awaited return

because covid they could not come back to France.

At the same time, we are babysitting Gabriel.

What are you doing this summer day?

 

The Beginning of a Weekend with Friends

A Happy reunion after such a long wait.

more to come…

 

10

Thank you for your messages, your thoughtfulness, the steady encouragement. I appreciate you deeply.

 

My friend Pam wrote a simple line that had a good punch of truth to it:

 

"Not every day is going to be a 10."

 

It made me think how confusing it is when others say live every day as if it is your last.

As if it has to be superbly perfect, overabundant, celebrated to the fullest

with god knows what.

I like the fact that every day might not be a 10,

and that letting that truth be told and hearing it makes everyday part of the journey 

Live in the journey live in the present 

live with the joy - the grief - the unknown - the unfairness -  the pleasure

and somehow wrapping that all up as living it as if it were your last-

"...Truly, Madly, Deeply."

 

Let it Pour Out

 

The path that feels so strong, so secure under my feet, I do not take for granted.

I know how life can change, as quickly as the crack of thunder, or the breaking of a wave.

Nobody knows the future.

Though those who have the amazing fortune of health, and well-being on their side,

seem to have an easier time balancing the thunder and waves that do come.

 

 

 

It takes courage to face the unknown.

Some have faith on their side. Some have grace. Some have family and friends.

Some have it all.

Most have sanity.

I am beginning to think that without it,

no matter what is present (faith, grace, family, or friends)

it can be a darker battleground, the thing called life. 

Even my saddest days are nothing compared to those who suffer depression, or mental anxiety.

Nevertheless, heavy days feel heavy for all of us.

Thankfully, I can put the heaviness down and stare at it, and walk away.

 

 

 

I am sorry that I am speaking of such seriousness...

for many of you, my blog is a "happy place".

I write my blog as a way to help me focus on what is good

though today and other days in the last several months 

I have had to stop what I am doing to find my balance, my "happy place"

 

Feeling aware of the fragility of life 

 is tenderly heavy to hold.

 

 

Today I felt unmotivated, off-kilter, sleepwalking

Thankfully, blogging, or keeping a journal, helps me tremendously.

 

 

 

And as it is when one can stop and be in the moment,

even forgetting that one is stopping and being in the moment,

a new rhythm gives way to our steps... call it grace, call it peace, call it a pipeline to an inner voice.

Stillness allows space

and space gives room to let it pour out.

 

Later in the day-

 

As I was sitting back on our sofa Gabriel climbed up into my lap, took my face in his hands, and kissed me, then opened my eyelids with his little chubby hands, slid down off my lap grabbed my hands, and said, "Come O E (my name has changed from I E to O E) ."

I didn't bother to ask where I just followed him to a pile of books and read stories.

 

 

Happiness is….

 

Happiness is...

Gabriel.

 

(IF you haven't read yesterday's comments, go do so now. )

 

My Legs Want to Move

 

My mother would say that hours sitting in a car made her feel exhausted.

Though gardening in the 100-degree heat did not. I never understood her logic until recently. 

 

Chelsea and Martin had a wedding to attend this weekend near Lyon a three-hour drive. They asked me 

if I would tag along to babysit they did not need to ask twice I was happy to help out.

 

 

 

After spending nearly thirteen hours  traveling due to vacation traffic over two days I can honestly say:

I get it, mom!

(I look as wiped out as I feel.)

 

Gabriel did very well considering such a long trip. 

What a trooper!

(Thanks for the comments about Goldilocks Irene and Diogenes.)

 

So tell me...

We know we are getting old when...

Putting Baby to Sleep

Reassured him over and over

that his mommy and daddy were coming home after the wedding~

and that he would see them after his sleep.

Sang “Row row row your boat…” countless times-

as he has a thing for boats.

Whispered the story of Goldilocks

more time than Row row row your boat…

I changed the storyline a bit as I couldn’t remember the ending so I simply said that when baby bear found Goldilocks in his bed he giggled and climbed in bed with his mommy and went to sleep. How does it end? I left out the broken chair too… there is a broken chair right?

Gabriel sleeps with his parents so this is a big step sleeping with me. He is a hot potato kicking off the covers. I am on the edge of the bed and he is a barnacle!

Do You Speak Another Language?

 

When I arrived in France I was thirty years old and did not speak more than three words of French.

Some of you have asked me what was that like and how long did it take me to learn to speak French.

 

1) It was hard.

Language isn't one of my natural gifts. I also do not like to study.

 

 

 

 

 

It took me a very

 l.............o.......................n.......................g  

time to learn French.

I am still learning.

I have a very thick accent that doesn't bother me in the least because I do not hear it.

 

Twenty years ago at a dinner party, a man asked me if I could read in French.

I answered that I could read basic French but not classic novels. I also admitted I could not write in French.

In which he replied (in French) "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? After all these years you haven't learned?"

I replied, "I am stupid." I thought I might as well tell him what he thought and avoid any more of his insults. 

It worked.  

The conversation about my French language skills ended, though the dinner conversation continued on lighter topics.

 

 

 

 

When French people ask me how long I have lived in France

I know in a small way they are judging my French. If I say, "Ten years," they often reply in one or two ways:

 

1) You speak well,  you have a charming accent.

 

or

 

2. You speak like this after twenty years?

 

After a while, this sort of response started bugging me. 

I thought I would change my answer so that we would all feel good.

Therefore when a French person asks me how long had I lived in France I say, "Not too long."

They respond by saying;

1) Incredible! Your French is very very good and I adore your accent.

 

They smile and I smile

everyone is happy.

 

 

 

Yes, I am bending the truth. But that is a fault I can live with.

Unless God marks all that stuff down in which case I am busted.

I probably am busted for so many other things it won't matter anyway.

and personally, I don't believe God does that, and if God does do that then I 

don't believe in God. Did I just go from talking about my French skills to

confessing? That is a fuller conversation and one I enjoy in French and in English.

 

 

I speak French.

I dream in French.

I can follow a conversation in French.

I started to speak French when I found out that I had cancer (nearly thirty years ago.)

amazing what a little fear can do to one's language skills.

 I can buy antiques in French.

I can also kiss in French,

make crepes, and I feel I have come a long way since the day I couldn't say more than oui and non.

I cannot pray in French.

Swearing in French does do it for me. But I know the swear words

I cannot tell a joke in either language.

Now that Gabriel is in my life I have another brilliant reason to speak English.

 

My Cousin Julie

 

Ah, my cousin Christine, Julie’s sister sent me this photo today.

When Yann and I were newlyweds living in Paris, Julie came to visit. She would come visit us many many times as the years came and went.

 

Julie and I were 30 years old. 

 

In this trip visiting us we went through Paris’ famous underground illegally, climbing on telephone wires with rubber boats we bought in Bon Marche for 150 Francs. It was probably the most daring, outrageous, thrilling experience I had ever had. An eye opener to a world underneath Paris.

 

Julie told Yann her favorite FRENCH words to say out loud: Poubelle, Gendarmes, Pamplemousse and Libellule. I did not know any of those words at the time. But I remember me and agree they sound pretty:

Poubelle - Garbage can

Gendarmes - Police

Pamplemousse - Grapefruit 

Libellule - Dragonfly.

 

It was the last time I had that style of haircut as nobody knew how to cut my hair like that in France.

 

In my mind’s eye this is how Julie looks, this is how she looked in my dream the other night.

My cousin, my dear cousin, resides in a rest home now as she is incapable of caring for herself. I bought an airline ticket and I will be in California in September on her birthday.

Whenever I think about her which is often, I well up. When I saw this photo I was thankful of the love we have shared, of our bond, of the numerous memories I hold.

 

 

Lavender Experience

 

 

 

 

 

Did you Know

P is for Provence

 

P    is for Provence.

 

 P   is for parking.

 

 

 

P   is for pastis.

 

 

P   is for parking in Provence with a parking sign transformed to say Pastis.

 

________________

 

Thank you for your comments regarding my selfies on my blog. Susan suggested

"Selfie on Saturday" I kinda like that. Saturday comes quickly like every day of the week. I will try. 

Since many of you asked about my shoes-

I am notorious for not spending a lot on clothes. I tend to be a replacement shopper. My shoes are about five years old they cost me ten euros. They are thrashed on the bottoms but I love them. My skirt is a hand-me-down from my friend Ching who loves to shop and when she grows tired of certain clothing she sometimes passes them on to me. I am a Lucky Duck otherwise I would be wearing god knows what. I am trying to wear colors... we will see how far that goes.

___

Have you ever had a Pastis?

Do you wear hand-me-downs?

Are you a shopper? I prefer the brocante to clothes I bet you guessed that?!

 

Photo Challenge

Photo challenge 

posting a photo of myself.

Dare me how often?

This will be a challenge that I might not meet

but I am going to do my best to post more photos of myself,

 

 

The Artist

 

Sacha's Italian Girlfriend is doing an internship in Barcelona at an art gallery. Amongst learning how to run an art gallery and sell art (every artist can relate to that) the owner of the art gallery is encouraging Elena to create as well by providing the art supplies and paper she needs to create as much art as she wants. At the same time, the gallerist will show her art and takes a small commission. It is a win-win situation, generous and supportive.

Elena, on her Instagram account, posted a video of her creating a piece of art in seven minutes.

She had a picture of The Basílica de la Sagrada Família-

("The Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia, also known as Barcelona Cathedral,

is the Gothic cathedral and seat of the Archbishop of Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain.

The cathedral was constructed from the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries, with the principal work done in the fourteenth century.")

 

 

 

 

The video is fascinating as she glanced at the photo of the gothic church while her pen dashed across the thick cotton paper.

As she drew I could see in her eye that she knew exactly where she was going, her pen moved quickly without hesitation or pause

what appeared as uneven lines and scribbles transformed in front of the viewer's eyes to a contemporary unmistakeable Basílica de la Sagrada Família-

 

 

 

Four minutes in the church that took hundreds of years to complete splashes on paper.

One vision to another.

One artist to another.

One lifetime to the next.

Elena has studied art for most of her 23 years and recently graduated from university with honor at the top of her class.

 

 

I commented on her Instagram story that what she accomplished in seven minutes comes from hours spent perfecting her craft.

As life pours through us sometimes we are able to harness it and ride the wave of something beyond us.

Long may you ride Elena, long may your heart give way to beauty.

 

What are we harnessing today to power us to our tomorrow?

 

True Beauty

 

Thank you Leigh for sharing this x

 

Worn Smooth

Certainly, a person wore this since their baptism

Because the medal has been worn

 smooth on both sides.

 

Imagine the prayers that brought confidence

because who would wear a religious medal all their life if they didn’t have a knowing in faith?

 

Blog  reader Ellen has this psalm on her FB

« … why would I fear the future

for I am being 

pursued only by your goodness 

and unfailing love. »

psalm 23:6

 ----

The newer translation sparks the psalm anew.

Maybe if I mediate that I am being pursued by goodness and unfailing love 

I would sit down and let it pour over me.

When I am in doubt I am going to try this

When I am scared I am going to try this.

and why not anytime? ok ok ok.

Imaging goodness and unfailing love pursuing me 

the challenge it on.

Are you in ?

 

 

 

 

 

Gathering Lavender

 

Gathering lavender either early in the morning or after sunset

otherwise, be prepared to be in competition with bees.

The day before I planned to harvest our two thick beautiful lavender plants

it rained steadily the day long. The lavender blossoms browned a bit but not too badly.

 

 

 

I found this old long narrow wicker basket I believe it is for collecting flowers

which was the perfect place for some of the lavender I cut.

 

 

 

 

The long narrow stick holds the lid secure.

A friend wanted me to send her some lavender this seemed like the dreamest way to do it.

Thank you wicker basket for coming along my path at the brocante the other day.

 

 

 

 

Such a curious photo-

Two women four children perfectly placed.

Their names above their heads.

The little girl has the sweetest smile amongst the serious regards of the others.

Yet the glowing baby I cannot figure it out.

I wonder if the baby was alive?

What do you think?

And just like that, I went from writing about Lavender to asking about this baby.

 

 

Monique Alphand Textile Collector

 

 

 

Imperfection Perfection

 

A year ago today I was leaving California after being there for over five months.

I went to  California because my brother was seriously ill.

Meanwhile, Covid was creating a new passage for everyone.

My time at home was an extended gift, not perfect but perfect.

A year since I have seen my family it feels so odd yet familiar.

So much more happened this year than I ever dared imagine.

 

This shattered pitcher I bought the other day at the brocante. It is from the 1700s and many many moons

ago someone glued it back together. 

Nevertheless, here it is three hundred years later

broken,

cannot hold water,

some would say useless, others would say art.

 

Of course, I want to know the back story, gee I am curious to know how it has been lucky enough never to have been discarded!

The story is in the wounds.

Imperfection perfection three hundred years later.

Passed down through time, landed unexpectedly in my care.

 

We do not know what five seconds ahead of us will bring

we cannot dwell on it either. The path is and will be uneven.

Yet, I hold on to the hidden beauty,

to believe that love strong and steady

will be there to hold us together

with compassionate glue.

 

"...We hold a treasure
Not made of gold
In earthen vessels, wealth untold..." J.Foley

 

If when we are broken the treasure does not leave.

Some would see the broken pitcher not given it a second thought,

not me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fourth of July

America

This land was made for you and Me.

 

 

 

 

 

Art at the Brocante

 

For you a bouquet

 

At the seaside

 

 

Flowers in a vase

 

Rows of lavender and wheat

Two boats in Cassis

 

Walking the trails in Saint Baume

 

 

Provencal countryside

 

A bridge over the Seine.

 

Which one do you like best?

Dinner with Mo & Mo

Last night we went to dinner at our friend's home. We hadn't seen Mo and Mo since last year -you know how

Covid makes us recalculate dates since that whole year seems to have vanished?

Mo (my friend who makes pottery and lives ten minutes away) had covid she was in bed for months and only recently has

started to feel better but her sense of smell and taste have not come back. Though that doesn't stop her from pumping out delicious dishes.

Everything she served was homegrown, homemade, and too much! From experience and memory, I knew better than to eat all-day 

so that by dinner I would be able to indulge in Mo's feast.

 

 

 

That egg might be little, though when you have as many chickens as they do it doesn't matter.

The omelet they served had plenty of these little beauties plus homegrown zucchinis and onions.

The potatoes are Mona Lisa variety and they purposefully dig them up when they are undersized

some the size of an olive.

 

 

Besides her homegrown goodness, and real McCoy farm-to-table feast Mo served dinner on her handcrafted ceramic dishware.

The wooden serving pieces had a star cut out in them. 

A true feast for the tastebuds, eyes, and hearts.

 

 

 

Roasted carrots with coarse salt, olive oil, and herbs.

 

 

Panisse (garbanzo beans patties) served with roasted red peppers, olive oil, fresh herbs, and garlic galore. 

 

 

 

Goat cheese pizza with fresh tomatoes and tapenade.

 

 

Gaspacho that was cooked and chilled, without cucumbers.

 

 

 

Rose.

I didn't take a photo of the cheese platter, nor the squid, nor the apricot tart, or the bread...

We rolled out and into bed and didn't eat today.

Feast and fast.

But above all that deliciousness HOW HAPPY I was to see my friends again!

xxx

Somehow I do not have a photo of Mo or me.

tsk tsk tsk!

Thank You

The drive home.

Safe and sound and a soft bed to fall into.

 

Yann thanks you all very much for your thoughtful messages.

 

If anything this year so far has taught me to love big and bigger and not to stop.

 

 

 

Ever Changing Light

Five hours drive 

through magnificent countryside

to an area I had never seen

Aix les Bain.

We went for one night

while there we walked by the lake

Yann told me that

during WWII a German plane crashed into it

two people drown and the other two were rescued. 
Germany in turn released four French prisoners.

Random conversation.

We came to attend Yann’s cousin’s funeral 

who died of covid… healthy, no underline conditions, loved enormously, a generous figure in the community.

Tragic.

He had his first vaccine, though a few days later he came down with covid. His wife went everyday for two months to the hospital  that was an hour and a half of an hour away to see her beloved.

Hours in a car gave plenty of room

for reflection…  the faith she mustered to endure and let go.

Returning home…

A tractor in the distance works up the ground.

My thoughts held my brother, my cousins Julie and Jeanne, my friend Cynthia who died earlier this year, my Aunt Louie…

and the baby girl who Chelsea is carrying.

 

Life 

this road

with ever changing landscape and play of light

two birds fly by

the sound of the engine like a heart beat

and Yann sitting by my side.

Adieu Eric 

 

 

 

Love Thyself

 

 

 

Breakfast at Ching’s

Breakfast at Ching's (my friend who I met on my blog ten or is it twelve years ago) in Cassis with her beautiful collection of dishes from our friend Mo.

 

 

 

The sweetest melon from the market in Cassis, croissants, pain au chocolate, fresh soft cheese, and jams.

 

 

Yes, they were buttery, flakey, fresh from the baker's oven which is directly downstairs from Ching's apartment.

Cassis market is every Tuesday and Friday mornings early until noonish.

The cheese stand a favorite and has been there for years.

 

 

 

 

 

Ching took this photo of us, sure I who rarely like to be in photos am challenging myself to be in a photo on my blog once a week.

We will see how long that lasts.

Thank you Ching for the lovely breakfast!

Eternal June

 

"I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June." —L.M. Montgomery

 

" If it could only be like this always – always summer, the fruit always ripe…" —Evelyn Waugh

 

 

 "It was June, and the world smelled of roses.

The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside." —Maud Hart Lovelace, Betsy-Tacy and Tib

 

 

When We Were Young

 

What we do when we are young and in love.

Sacha flew to visit his girlfriend in Spain he was with her for ten days after working literally non-stop for several weeks.

Tired and jetlag seem not to have the same hold on a person at that age, nor when you miss the person you love.

His flight details, crazy itinerary to have the best price ticket.

Plus he did not fly home but to Bozeman for a wedding.

He arrived Friday after midnight and the wedding was today.

Changing planes that many times adding the layovers, and extended hours is not my preferred way of traveling now, though I did that when I was young with two small children... those were the days that I am glad I do not have to repeat.

He arrived safely. 

xxx

On another note.

When we saw Sacha Chelsea remarked:

The USA is big, the cars are big, the houses are big, the furniture is big, the servings are big and now my little brother is big.

 

Drinking From a Tall Glass

 

Anticipation.

Seven-hour drive due to stops to play,

when we arrived in Barcelona

we needed a drink

and Gabriel was for it.

He wanted to sit in a big chair, so here we were waiting for our drinks to come.

 

 

These days his favorite foods are pasta, yogurt, and breastmilk-

- a drink in a Tall Glass was coming watching him discover is delightful.

 

A happy little smile

of wonder and awe.

Apple juice in a tumbler.

 

 

 

Gabriel took hold of his apple juice in the tall glass and went for it. Chelsea and Yann grabbed the glass true and went for it too.

 

 

A straw was added.

 

 

 

That is how you do it when you are two.

Barcelona in Bloom

 

 

Red Asoka-Trees were blooming in Barcelona, which I had never seen before, the ground was covered with blooms.

 

 

 

 

 

Along with red blossoms above us and at our feet the Tipu trees were in bloom as well.

 

 

 

Red, yellow and purple against striking colorful backdrops.

My neck was sore from looking up all day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This lovely is a Brazilian Rosewood.

Now, don't think I am clever knowing the names of these blooming trees I know flowers such as roses, tulips, lavender, daisies, and herbs such as 

Rosemary, thyme, sage, basil, and plantain, pine, Cyprus, and fig trees... and possibly another twenty or fifty other types of living plants and trees--

maybe-- don't hold me to it.

 

When Charland, a blog reader of mine, came on a trip to France with me

she asked me the names of every tree and plant she saw. I was uttering, 'I don't know, sorry so many times that at last, I said,

"Hey, this is a brocante trip, not a garden tour!"

We laughed and laughed, Charland replied, "Just makeup names that is all you need to do."

Now I am an app cheater using PICTURE THIS, and wow it is almost my new best friend. 

Charland, you would be impressed by me.

 

 

 

I will call these stone flowers.

How original am I right?

And these what would you name them?

 

 

Brazilain rosewood against burnt orange.

 

 

Easy to spot in bright yellow overalls.

 

 

 

xxx

Family Time in Barcelona

We went to Barcelona to meet Sacha who flew there to see his Italian Girlfriend. Barcelona is only a five-hour drive which was made extremely enjoyable with Gabriel in the car with us. No screens, barely the radio, just his antics kept us entertained, and his play breaks (who doesn't like to play on a slide at a rest stop?) were full of crumbs, drinks, and cuddles. Let me tell you when you are with a two-year-old there is no reason to go to the gym, going to Barcelona with Gabriel gave us plenty of time to be as a family and not running around trying to see everything.

 

 

We walked around the city at leisure. Talking with each other, admiring the blooming trees and architecture.

Gabriel had many arms to fit into, and hands to hold.

He is a real traveler that little Bunch of Love.

Never gave us a pickle moment. 

 

 

 

 

Sacha and Elena (the Italian Girlfriend).

We gave it a nanosecond thought that maybe we would be crashing in on his romantic week ...

But that thought was fleeting and it was Elena's and Martin's idea anyway and of course, guess who paid?

 

 

 

 

 

Take a potato,

cut it in a spiral,

deep fry it,

Yum on a stick.

The food market (s) in Barcelona is fabulous, utterly hands down mouth-watering crazy good.

Every type of potato, fruit drink (Blackberry coconut, Lemon Ginger, Mango passion fruit...), vegetable, vegan, organic, flower, fish, spice you could ever dream of having at incredible prices.  I wanted to cook right there. Instead, we tasted and sipped happily.

 

 

The white sneaker family.

 

 

 

Market place.

 

 

 

Oh yes, this was that good.

Roasted eggplant baked with basil pesto, mozzarella, and cherry tomatoes.

One of the side dishes.

If you know our family you know we are big eaters or piglets.

Martin and Elena are not vegetarian we have forgiven them, especially since Elena is a fabulous cook! And Martin is a go-getter if you need something at the last minute when cooking. Plus he makes the BEST gluten and egg-free chocolate brownie EVER which he created since he cannot have gluten nor eggs.

Cooks and those who enjoy food are some of my favorite people. Add the brocante, dancing, and spirituality into the mix you are a superstar in my book.

 

 

 

 

 

A family holiday.

Being present to the moment.

Bike racks are the new jungle gym.

 

 

Barcelona in bloom.

I will show more tomorrow.

 

 

Always running happily with his arm in the air.

Or maybe he was trying to keep up with us?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baba and Babou reading about boats.

 

 

 

The family plus one to come in October.

 

Have you been to Barcelona? If you go there before October ask Elena to give you a tour, you will not be disappointed.

 

 

Rose Ice Cream

 

 

Recipe from blog reader Sue Hofmann.

 

 

Follow any basic ice cream recipe.

When you heat the milk and cream, add two or three handfuls of rose petals.

If you know they have not been sprayed, there is no need to wash them.

Otherwise, rinse with hot water.

Follow the recipe and when done heating, remove the petals.

The scent and flavor will remain.

The taste is very faint but a little like rose water.

I like it because it seems like such a romantic thing to eat. 💕

One Day

Happy Father’s Day

Happy Father’s Day Yann 

xxx

 

 

Sacha's Birthday

 

Happy 29th Birthday, Sacha!

 

 

Barcelona Surprise

Sacha’s Italian Girlfriend is doing an internship at an art gallery in Barcelona (currently she speaks three languages fluently) Sacha flew to Spain yesterday to be with her as their birthdays are within a week of each other and for other obvious reasons. We drove to Spain to surprise him. 

The Sneak

Dinner was ready 

Chelsea had set the table

Yann was opening the wine

I turned my back to stir a pot and when I turned around

someone had gobbled up the raspberries off the melons.

Take Time All the Time

 Our friends Laurie-Annya and Ian Who moved to France three years ago just moved to a new place in Cassis- - amongst the boxes, bags and plies to put away a bouquet stood at their entrance perfectly calm, graceful, and beautiful.

I would not have thought nor taken the time to have bought flowers if I were like they were in full moving mode instead my mind would have been in get it done practical mode.

And yet their flowers spoke of honoring the moment, taking time to breath and be thankful. To let it be.

How are you under pressure ?

 

 

Happy Second Birthday Gabriel

 

(Chelsea made the cake and cookies)

 

A Pail of Water on a Hot Day

A pail of water

a toy boat

a hot day

a happy  baby.