French la Vie

The Gentle Palette of Swedish Antiques

Crystal chandeliers sparkle like stars above A. Tyner's Swedish antiques booth in Marburger.

The Antique fair in Roundtop, Texas is a sight to behold even if you don't like antiques. The amount of foreign antiques, museum like quality, history that you can touch, feel and soak in is literally mind boggling. The dealers are knowledgeable, passionate about their business and share their wealth of history freely.

Most of the items I cannot afford. But that does not stop me from going in, asking a million and one questions. Antique dealers love to talk shop... how lucky I am to gain from their wealth of experience and to stand amongst such beauty. What amazing craftmens and women walked before us, leaving such elements of a life once lived with grace and elegance, a worthy path to follow.

Angie and Rex Tyner are one of the largest importers of Swedish antiques in America. They have been in the antique business for over fifteen years. Their stand in Marburger is an incredible wealth of beauty. Painted furniture is something I adore, so stumbling into their booth felt like I had fallen into an eighteen century Swedish home finding myself happily at home.

When I dared pick myself up and back into reality, I asked if I could take a photo, I found myself happily engaged in a most interesting conversation about Swedish antiques and their antique business. Thank you Angie and Rex for your allowing me to peek into your world.

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French eighteen and nineteen century printed and embroidery silk panels.

Due to the storm last night some of the tents leaked, worse, had water running through them. Some rugs, fabric, and upholstered items were soaked.

Though most things were protected, the dealers were fretfully worried that their pieces might be ruined.

Interiors with Provenance specializes in antiques from around the world, including antique oriental carpets, textiles, furniture, decorative accessories, and fine art from purveyors, Deborah Gott and Ken March. Their booth is right behind Lynn's so I often peek inside.

Their collection of printed linen, silks, tapestries is worthy of a trip, they have something for every pocket book and are the kindest folk to talk to.

Usually these globe de mariage (Napolean the III with a glass dome and a painted black wooded base) contained a bride's wedding wreath and other marriage tokens surrounded by gold leaf styled symbols. Fete de Fleur describes it best...

Though the globes (glass domes) also were used to guard other souvenirs: Flowers, birds, butterflies and religious artifacts.

I think I might have to have a couple of those globe de mariage ... as big as a house please to store  my souvenirs of Marburger!

Tomorrow I will share the booths of my new found friends: Judy, Shelley, Teresa, Gwen, Terry, Linda, Sherrie, Kathy, Lisa, Liz.... Oh my god, make that Glass Dome the size of the earth!

Also thank you to all of you who came by to say  HELLO   What a HAPPY surprise it is to meet those of you who read my blog.

Marburger, How do you say that in French?

 Everything  IN    France

         you can find in  Texas,

even Paris.

I now know where to buy French antiques.... I have never in my life, not even in St. Ouen, in Paris seen such an array of fabulous, knock your socks off, unbelievable, make me want to cry French antiques. I am Awestruck.

    

If the Texans give up their cowboy hat for a beret.... and their boots for a bauguette...

The Eiffel Tower might be next!

Zapp Hall, Blogger Party, and the Bubble Lounge

What a day.

The cowboy flew home to go to his real job, he couldn't stay on for the "parties"... he will be missed, but before he left I teasingly whined, "Who is going to be my dance partner if you leave!?" He laughed and said, "You wouldn't want to dance with me I don't know how to dance."

Dear Cowboy you would have had a million dance partners tonight whether you could have danced or not!

After a very long, hot, humid, melt into the ground type of day, we went to the Blogger Party (Susana, Lynn and I did not have time to go back to the hotel and change, nevertheless we went sticky, hot and feeling like wilted roses...) and had a blast!

Every year at Round Top Teresa hosts a blogger party.

photo source Annie at The Bunny Bugalow.

How Teresa managed to set up her booth, decorate and prepare the food and entertain all her guests is beyond me. 

Her booth is darling, her smile generous and her heart is a warm and welcoming place.

At the blogger party I met Annie, and had a lovely conversation in the midst of the crowd gathered.

After a while we left the Blogger Party to go back home, to take a needed shower and go to bed. Though no sooner had we left we happened upon "The Bubble Lounge" next to Zapp Hall. Susana who flew in last night to help out, noticed the Bubble Lounge served French Champagne, we stopped to give a toast to Lynn.... and ended up meeting three Texans... Marissa, Lee Ann and Susan... before two shakes of a stick we were all talkin' like the best of friends.

Lissie (in the photos above) is the owner of the family run business, and was kind enough to take our photo and not mind all our chit chatting and social hour(s) in her place.

The three Texans couldn't believe Lynn, Susana and I had only just met (on my blog, a BLOG?) were far from home and drinking in a field in the middle of Texas called the Bubble Lounge.

Blogging can lead you to the most amazing places..... let alone friends.

As we sat, sipping champagne and telling stories, I saw Gwen and Barbara (two antique dealers I met the other day as I was walking around Marburger... in fact I went into their booth and asked if I could take some photos, Gwen asked who I was, and when I said my name she laughed out loud "Tongue in Cheek"!! Oh my god my sister and I read your blog! Gwen and her partner art Marburger, Barbara let me take a ton of photos of their stand, which I promise to show tomorrow.)

Anywho I saw Gwen, and Barbara, walking pass us, they were with some friends. I was so happy to see them I burst with excitement, "Come Join Us!!" and they did. 

Then it seemed out of the blue, or maybe it was due to all the girl talk that I did not hear the band start playing. 

Soon the music got under our skin and we started clapping, foot taping and soon we where out on the dance floor field dancing to good ole country music!

Oh French Husband if only you were here.... I would have danced with you honey all night long. By the way do you know how to do the country two step?

Setting up at the Antique Fair in Marburger Texas

Texas at last! We have arrived! We pulled the trailer from South Carolina, to Atlanta, to New Orleans, then to Houston were we traveled along the famous country road pass cows, voluptuous trees, rolling hills, small picturesque houses (a painter's dream) pass stands, tents, barns, houses, dance halls and fields FULL of antiques until we came to were Lynn will set up in Marburger Farm.

(You might be wondering why I took a photo of this sign on the backside. I'll give you three guesses:

• One, the clouds were prettier at this angle?
• Two, I wanted to show you that I was INSIDE!
• Three, because I see things backwards most the time.

The Antique fair at Marburger is set up in several large tents, plus in several small buildings... the rustic setting gives way to a show full of stunningly beautiful pieces. Marburger is the only place that has an admission fee. The other fairs along the route are free to the public.

A sneek peak inside. A small house STUFFED full of antique linens. 

Antiques in Marburger are in a Bingo Hall, a Blacksmith's shop, a Dance hall....

As we were one of the first to arrive I took the opportunity to take some photos before the other dealers came in and set up. The out buildings are enchantingly rustic.

The interiors are simply lovely as is. The walls in this building are lined with pressed tin. I am glad I was able to see inside most of these places before the dealers arrived and filled them up.

We unpacked. Every item was either in a box, or covered in old blankets or bubble wrap or both, or crated... the 'stuffing' (the packing material) takes up a great deal of room.  We carried each piece into the stand, then uncovered it and carried the stuffing back into the trailer.

Each tent holds about thirty or forty dealers. The fair offers walls and tables for a small price, and porters to hire. Each dealer must bring there own decor, flooring (the tents are set up in fields, as the ground is damp the furniture cannot stand directly on it or it will damage it.) hence, you need to bring ground covering, wall covering, electrical wiring, ladders, hooks, nails... well let's just say you need to bring everything to set up shop. Lynn covered her walls in Burlap.

  After several hours, we were walking dead. Luckily Lynn brought fans, it helped beat the heat.

It is an incredible sight to see hundreds of other dealers arrive from all over the country, and start the process of setting up for an antique show. The slow transformation of pastures in Texas to becoming a mecca of antiques in nothing short of a miracle. One thing in certain.... these people, these antique dealers are passionate about what they do, or they are simply crazy for hard work and old things.

Let me tell you we will sleep good tonight!

New Orleans the Pearl of Great Price....Bravo!

New Orleans at night. Music runs down Bourbon street grabs a partner swinging them to a new groove. New Orleans you little jewel thing, sparkly and smooth, grandeur swirling up with rice and beans.

New Orleans--- my mouth was dragging on the sidewalk, tease joints, moonshine, antique shops, cafe du monde, cars flashing by like stars on the go-go and it wasn't even a Saturday night. Bourbon Street and I stayed together about five minutes, but the street next over kept me for miles.

Royal Street and I felt more at home, I licked the windows declaring the inside filling delicious.

Majestic stands alongside of down to earth, New Orleans does not know a stranger. Something for everyone.

The Garden District, lovely old homes, windows that are from the floor to ceiling due to a door tax that was once imposed. Architectural Victorian detail, Greek revival and Italianate homes which was my favorite, abounds. Brick sidewalks, shady streets and wrought iron fences. A stroll was what we needed after long hours of driving.

Sucre, a taste of France Macaroons piled high. 

We were in New Orleans a mere eighteen hours, a few of them I slept. New Orleans is on my list to visit again, I wish there was a Trevi Fountain like in Rome, so I could have thrown three coins into it.

New Orleans with street names that I have only read about... Canal Street, Bourbon Street, Royal Street, Magazine street.... Magazine street while I think it should be called, "Corey's Street". I'll leave it at that and let your imagination tell you what this street holds.

We went into a few shops, PERCH was one of them. It has a mix of old and new, with a fabulous twist of style, a perfect blend of elements, clever, refreshing and unique. 

The owners of Perch and their blog.

I had wanted to see Tara Shaw's shop but time did not permit. Another reason to return... that and to have breakfast at the Cafe du Monde.

The highlight of our oh to short stay in New Orleans was the NOLA Restaurant.

A classic bistro fare, flair and fanfare; Loud, inviting, aroma...edible perfume, two levels, brick building, a gazillion people serving with catching enthusiasm... I wanted to put on an apron and be part of the team work, or at least take photos of the hardworking, creative style, all day and night long.

We had shrimp and grits. D--E--L--I--C--I--O--U--S! Why I never have had grits I do not know... Emeril's grits made with cream OH MY GOD! The maple hint spicy garlic shrimp Cajun touch?

Emeril I do not know you but I love you. Maybe we could do a little trade? I'll take some photos of you, or take you brocanting, or have you over to play cards and I won't cheat, and you can share your recipe with me? Is it a deal?

You know what.... Emeril makes me want to own a TV. I have been missing out, missing out big time.

Fig Jam, French Husband & a Special Treat

 

French Husband called to tell me he had gone to Mr. Porte's and picked figs.

"I am making fig jam," he said, "How do I know when it is done? And tell me, when to do the figs meltdown?"

I repeated the recipe, step by step, "You're making fig jam, gee honey, that is impressive! Do you have jars?" I asked because before I left for the States, I made fig jam and used every jar in the house.

"Jars?"

"Yes, jars. You know how to can the jam?"

"I knew I was forgetting something important!"

I told him to go to Annie's house; she might have jars.

Later, he called telling me he had found jars, that the fig jam beat mine, and then he put Annie on the phone.

"Oh, Cherie! You know I cannot hear," she said 'so I will do all the talking!"

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Later today, I will post about New Orleans.

 

 

The Good Thing about Road Trips

Pavement. That is what you see on a road trip and alot of it. Pavement, on and on and on. A road trip- it helps to have a comfortable car... I have the back seat of a pick up truck. Comfortable it is not. The motorcycle was better.... though I've wondered HOW did I sit on that bike for twelve hours day after day?

I'll tell you what... love and passion played a big part of it.

A road trip gives you plenty of time to think about things, or daydream or wonder what the hell one is doing.

Road trips make me wonder...about nothing and everything all at once. Thoughts float in and out, with the beat of the song on the radio, or with the constant changing sky...

The scenery, that is what a road trip has to offer... and also the crazy pleasure of trying to take photos out of a backseat window with a mile high packed pick up bed behind me.

The swamp before New Orleans really got my attention. It woke me up, drove me crazy, I wanted to bust the window, or at least slam on the brakes. But I wasn't driving. Hence memories of the motorcycle trip came flooding back.... some of my most favorite photos where the ones I could not take.

A road trip renders plenty of time to sort things out, to give different avenues, adventure in ideas and in most cases time to let thoughts just pour out, going whatever way they want... The funny thing is all I keep thinking about are the two people sitting in the front seat... the match maker in me is very curious... and I spend most my time telling her to be quiet.

A road trip unwinds the routine.

Lends direction.

Recreates past experiences.

Forges dreams.

Gives space..

Shows another path...

or it allows you time to seat on an idea.

The back seat let's me let it be... and find new positions in sitting still.

The road into New Orleans... a double bridge right on the water.

Lynn, has a fear thing about crossing over bridges. I don't, but my sleep thing freaks her out, she wouldn't dream of letting me drive across a bridge or otherwise. Usually the "Cowboy" drives...but even cowboys need a break.

Look at her holding that wheel. If only you could see the big trailer behind us!

I am certain that after this photo she is going to send me down the road talking to myself.

We arrived... New Orleans... in the middle of the night... to the Iberville Hotel... a bed never felt so good.

Steven the Storyteller and our Saviour

Lynn and I knew the moment we tried to lift some of the ten ton pieces that we needed help loading the truck and trailer. Lynn called Steven a professional packer, and her son Josh... they puzzled piece the antiques into the trailer to perfection. Everything fit. Later Steven offered to drive the low riding truck and trailer to Atlanta...Lynn ironed out the details with him, and the next thing I knew we were following Steven to Atlanta in his car.

As we followed him it was evident that he was one fast, swaying driver! To say the least Lynn was a nervous wreck and I under pressure started eating the snacks we had for the trip ahead all in one bite. As we followed him he put the pedal to the metal, ninety-five miles per hour.... something was not right.

Eureka! I knew! He was falling asleep at the wheel! We quickly and cautiously pulled up alongside of him. Sure enough his eyes were closed as he raced and weaved down the highway! We honked the horn, managing to wake him, we pulled over and had something to eat, drink and talk. Steven is a natural story teller, he has many... I asked him if I could write a part of his story for my blog. He agreed, woke right up and had us awestruck from the get go.

A Bit About My Life,  by Steven:

"There were twenty-two of us, seventeen brothers and five sisters, my mother had two out of wedlock and my daddy had three, all the rest of us came from the same momma.

My daddy was a farmer and we raised everything you could raise. We had a big house with two back to back fireplaces. My brother he slept in a little room in the back, didn’t have no heat back there. So he wrapped himself up in a blanket to warm up by the fire, but he was sitting to close and that ole blanket caught up on fire…" Steven seems to be back at the moment as he grins, slaps his knee and continues though he picks up the story a few lines later. "…you know back then how they use to cover every wall with wallpaper and poof the fire caught it."

 

"My Momma done thought that someone had grabbed my little sister from her crib…I went in twice to try to get her and when I finally got her. It looked like someone had peeled  the skin off my hands," Steven lifts up his hands looks at them shakes his head, recalling the pain, or realizing the scars are no longer there. "I’m 12 years older than her and she turned 51 last Saturday."

"My other brother use to play in the band with me, he played lead guitar until his girlfriend shot him four times, shot his bowels out.." (as we were having lunch at a fast food joint off the main highway, the people around stopped eating, stared at us…they sat silent leaning in waiting for Steven’s story…) "He beat her coming and going, came home that day and while she was in the shower he turned off the cold water…she didn’t take kindly to it- She got out of the shower, went to the bedroom and pulled his gun from underneath his pillow. Even shooting him four times... nevertheless, he came after her chased her to the fence… then he drove himself to the hospital." Our band continues without him, we play beach music."

 

Lynn shook her head, and after awhile asked about the subject of his driving, "You were all over the road, I had a hard time following you at 85, you must have been doing 90 while you were sleeping!" 

"Yeah I use to drive these ten hour drives and had to go back out again cause there was these over due shipments, it happened all the time. On September 15 that was the day, I didn’t want to go out again being that it was my birthday, but my wife said, 'get on out.' I drove up Highway 95 to 26, three miles into 26 I fell asleep putting that brand new Peterbilt upside down in the lagoon! I was upside down holding on to the steering wheel so tight it ripped the muscles in both my arms. Fell asleep I did."

I looked at Lynn, like 'you thought I was a sleepy chick driver,' I kicked her leg under the table, and said "Drove the Peterbilt into the Lagoon he did."

 "Steven!!" We both exclaimed. He laughed and we followed his lead.

"Stories are often better years later." He said....

I could listen to him all day long, he is a master storyteller, I dare say it beats my brother Mark..and for those of you who know my brother Mark you know that is a high bar to match let alone pass.

 "I fell asleep," he said, "They pulled me out of the truck and they told me to stay down. I said, "Am I dead or alive? You’re alive they said. Alive? If I am not dead I am standing up, only dead people lie down!" He laughed, "The man upstairs he was looking after me."

__________________________

Thank you Steven for letting me re-tell your story, I will never forget you and the Peterbilt you drove into the Lagoon, hopefully it will keep me awake at the wheel when I'm driving.

See you next year!

On the Road

Drove from Atlanta through Georgia, through Alabama, through "M - i - crooked letter - crooked letter - i - crooked letter- crooked letter - i - hump back - hump back - i" (that is the way my mother use to say, 'Mississippi') and arrived in New Orleans 10 hours later. Wow. The road is one straight shot, hardly a turn or a hill, land, land land (!) full of Kudzu, trees, and more trees, under an beautiful blue sky and whipped cream clouds. We are off to Bourbon Street.

Loading up and Heading on Out to Antique Ville U.S.A.

The empty trailer and a dolly.

The stuff and some card board boxes.

A man's shaving mirror and a copper milking can.

Partly packed crystal chandelier.

A woman and her measuring tape...

Hoping to God, crossing her fingers and toes that --

it will fit in the trailer with the million

of other things she has to take to Marburger..

Stacks of cardboard boxes waiting.

Bungee cords, an antique dealer's best friend when packing.

Tarp to cover the back of the truck in case it rains....

Goodbye cozy bedroom.

Large rubber band holding shut the French country door.

Cooper pot and French Dresser.

I think I would rather pack the cooper pot in the trailer, and keep the Dresser in my pocket...it needs to come back to France with me... But hence it was packed in the trailer too!

Do you think the hitch is too close to the ground?

How many pounds can a truck carry?

I think she has enough stuff to sell!

Farm table and an iron bed wait their turn to be packed into the truck.

Packing, packing, packing....

The loaded pickup truck... Beverly Hillbillies Style.

Going, going... holy cow this puppy is big! And let me tell you it is stuffed to the brim.

going, going, gone....

We are off...

Destination: Marburger, Texas.

Why: To attend, set up and sell at the thirteen mile long antique fair.

When: WERE OFF! We are headed towards the flood zone of Atlanta, (to pick up Lynn's Ex who will help drive the truck and trailer, help unload, set up and manage the electricity needed on the stand... yes I said EX... ) and if the truck doesn't become a boat we will spend the night. The next mornin' we will drive to New Orleans, listen to some jazz, have dinner on Magazine Street, then pick up and head out towards Texas to sell Lynn's wares.

... I guess you could say Thelma and Louise are picking up her the cowboy, and heading for the fair.

  

Holy Smoke! An adventure is full of surprises.

The Side Door Antiques: Heading to Marburger

Ah South Carolina... you have seduced me! Bluffton and Savannah how could you be so darn good and keep it hidden from me all these years? Charming yes, generous hospitality certainly, style... and the food have alone whet my appetite for more. But the real kicker is this, let's just say I wish I could talk like you too! I want to be called Sister, or Miss Coco or anything except late for dinner.

The reason I was utterly lucky enough to come to South Carolina is not just to eat Fried Green Tomatoes and admire the Spanish Moss. I am here to help my friend Lynn (who reads my blog, wrote me, came to France, and then invited me to South Carolina) haul her French antiques across country to Marburger fair in Texas. But first we have to:

• Pack up her mirrors, chandeliers, dressers, farm tables, iron bed, stone garden urns... nothing light, nothing small, nothing that I can stuff into a suitcase.
• Gather tarp, ropes, boxes, tape, marking pens...
• Then drive (20 HOURS LONG) Lynn's stuffed to the high heavens truck across country.
• Set up the antique stand ...in Marburger... by un loading the truck to the tent and making it look pretty.
• During the fair, there are a few parties such as a faded grandeur prom, and a blogger's feast, and a day with Mari.
• and of course there will be plenty of Tex Mex.

Susana, who also reads my blog and met me a few weeks ago in France, will meet Lynn and I in Marburger and help too.

Good friends, antiques, a road trip and Tex Mex. Sounds like a Thelma and Louise style adventure...and since I saw him once, maybe I'll see the cowboy Brad Pitt again?

___________________

Lynn King's Stand will be at Marburger, Tent B Aisle A Booth 6, starting September 29 until October 3rd.

Sweet Carolina (Added text since last night I could hardly keep my eyes open.)

There are days that come into our lives so rich, so very full that they pour out of us filling the days ahead with generous memories soft, sweet and more than anything lead us gently into the tomorrows.

Today was one of those days.

Yesterday we ventured out on May River with Lynn's good friend Julia. Julia has been going out on the river crabbing ever since she was a kid.

While riding along the river Julia shared stories of the islands we passed by, how the sand bar comes and goes with high and low tides, and all about crabbing.

How to catch crabs, clean crabs, prepare crabs and eat crabs. I only knew the eatin' part.

Julia on her boat which is called: Da Crabby Lady.

We stopped for lunch on one of the islands. Houses dotted the river banks: tin roofs, long porches with rocking chairs and streets lined with gas lanterns...

We had Fried Green Tomatoes.

I want to know how to pack an old oak tree with Spanish Moss into my suitcase.

Lynn has shared her secret on how to collect Spanish Moss. First you must pick it off the tree, and not off the ground because there are bugs galore in it. Even while picking it off the trees you might have a bug a boo bite or two. Next she puts it in the micro wave and zaps it, to kill the bugs.

South Carolina's homes DO have porches, with cozy meetin' spots! Julia asked me if I knew why they painted the porch ceilings blue... I thought it was to look like the morning sky. But I was wrong! The ceilings are painted blue to scare off the haints.

"Haints?" I quizzed... I only speak English sometimes, and then only a limited version.

The food. Can I possible go back to red wine, cheese and a baguette after fried shaved potato with creamy Parmesan sauce?

After river cruising, learning about crab catchin', packing up the store for tomorrow's grand adventure, gazing at the islands, having lunch on the porch, seeing dolphins dance along our boat, meeting Mr. Bill, we went to a party given in my honor (how generous is that!) at Babbie's. The party was as close as I am ever going to be to Scarlett in Gone with the Wind!

Thank you Babbie, Rita, Julia and Lynn.

The Southern Belle: Bluffton

I arrived in South Carolina, Lynn, who reads my blog, came to France, bought antiques and met me for drinks at a sidewalk cafe in Aix... then when she returned to South Carolina she sent me an email inviting me to go brocanting Texas style... and Texas only does BIG.

Well here I be in Bluffton, a small charming town in the Low country of South Carolina located on the banks of the May River. 

We mosied along under the giant oak trees, dripping with Spanish moss to the May River that runs a stone throw from Lynn's home and watched the sunset.

I am certain I have died and gone to heaven. Bluffton is a true Southern Belle.

Lynn took me to her favorite restaurant, May River Grill:

Fried green tomates, crab cakes, and chocolate bourbon pecan pie.

Delicious heaven in Bluffton.

 .... The sun has set, the Spanish Moss dances in the light breeze, swaying under the moonlight such a gentle welcoming, in the distance the jazz band simmers down...Lynn opens the gate to the pathway to her home.

A house full of antiques.

Burlap pillows and antique lace.

Slumber never felt so sweet.

Going Forward in every direction all at once

A stack of intriguing cards sat on Ellen's table. The simple format: black type, one sentence, on heavy white card stock grabbed my attention. My friend Ellen told me to pick one, instead I pulled them all out and read them one by one.

This one was my favorite.

I think it will become my new motto. It reminds me of the saying: "Bloom where you are planted."

Every story has two sides, and often many pages in between. But it is not always necessary to read the fine print, over and over again. Closing the book can be the best thing to do in order to move on.

Disconnect from desire....

....or at least chocolate peanut butter fudge brownie cake.

The box of cards were created by Brian Eno (a famous music producer from England in the 1970s.) They are called the:

Oblique Strategies

How often I forget that simplicity is best and to trust that.

Forgiving isn't it.

ALWAYS. Cook with handfuls, jump in without looking back, lick your fingers and if what you are creating doesn't turn out...rename it declaring it a delicious lesson.

Probably. In which case singing could bring on dancing.

This one brought back a memory of when I was learning how to drive a car...

My dad was giving me a driving lesson. We were on a back road in Willows. We were approaching a turn in the road. He told me to turn, I said I couldn't, he insisted. I said no telling him that I was afraid! He yelled, "Turn! Turn! Turn!!"

Instead I drove straight-------

through the fence,

and into the field.

My dad did not get mad at me. I was mad at myself.

Embarrassed I reversed the car and turned back on to the road. I asked my dad why he wasn't mad at me for running through the fence and scratching the car...for not listening to his advice.

My dad said, "Oh because I resemble that."

Running through a fence can be healing.

...and the last card, made me laugh out loud.... Decorate, decorate that one was made for me.

I kissed Ellen and Frank goodbye. I shed more than a few happy tears as I got on the plane, and of course I did not have a kleenex, so I had to use the back of my hand.... I am always happily amazed how true friendship extends over time, carries you on, holds you dear and lets you go forward.

I love you Ellen.

Chicklet is one of my favorite Words, so is Peanut Butter

The Language:
The minute off the plane from Europe to the USA my mother tongue licks me, engulfs me, swallows me whole, saturating my every thought, leaving me no space to think. The signs, the radio, the conversations, the people passing by, the newspapers, the magazines, the billboards, the loud speakers, waves of communication roar over me like an incoming tidal wave.
It feels odd having everyone understanding me: I do not need to repeat. I hear words that I have not used in my daily vocabulary in months. I do not need to speak slowly. I catch myself saying; Merci, Pardon, Ou? I feel like a fish out of water in my own land.

The Food:
Chocolate Cinnamon Spice Chai, with roasted strawberries drizzled with balsamic over steel cut oats mixed with Pumpkin seeds granola.

Dense chocolate fudge cream enrobed with a burnt salted chocolate glaze served with  marscapone ice cream.

Red wine soaked roasted pears laced with glazed walnuts, pomegranates seeds, on a bed of lettuce with a honey Gorgonzola dressing.

Food descriptions read like novels. Food is everywhere, anywhere, large quantities, why cook? Drinks the same size of small lakes inside a glass....ice cold.

Chocolate peanut butter ice cream sandwich served between chocolate fudge brownie cake drizzled with an caramel peanut butter cream.

Reality... I am a cultured shock chicklet in the land of plenty.

Prayers needed for my Godchild Daisy

Daisy turned one.

Such a beautiful Godchild, such a miracle!

Today, in fact just now, I heard she is in the hospital.. Her Father, my dear friend Tom wrote of his blog earlier: "Daisy came down with a fever yesterday. With our other kids, no big deal, but with Daisy I could feel that old fear welling up again. She will see the doctor today... hopefully it is just a mild infection. Just said a little prayer."

Please send Daisy your good prayers, thoughts and energy that she might heal, come though this well.

Cassilhaus a work of Art

My friends Ellen and Frank's home: Cassilhaus.

A contemporary nest in the heart of a forest.

Ellen, a longtime friend who lived with French Husband and me in Paris, is an Architect. Frank is a photographer and artist in light and sound. Together, they collect and create artful living spaces.

Their Home.

"... perched on a slope overlooking a forest has an 800-square-foot artist’s space and a 2,400-square-foot house, both with a megaphone of a view...

the 900-square-foot gallery that bridges them, connects our life and our art, in a very overt way. It’s a retreat.” excerpt taken from the New York Time's article about Cassihaus.

 a vision of their dreams.

 

   

Light, perched high, open spaces, artwork, breathing space...

 

Their collection of art photographs is stunning.

Ray Charles White: Continuum.

Four panels of water are running above the stairwell.

 

 

Sally Mann: Girl with a Candy Cigarette

 

When French Husband & I were first married, we lived in Paris in a tiny studio in the heart of Les Halles. Noisy knew no other word in the neighborhood.

As French Husband worked in an urban real estate investment company. Often, he would tell me of the places, primarily apartments he had seen. I would listen in awe. One day, he invited me to see one of the buildings the company would buy. He said, "There is an empty apartment inside; it is so typically Parisian, you gotta see it." So I went with him.

As soon as I entered inside, I started to moan. "Not fair! Why can't we live here?"

French Husband did not have to remind me that we could not afford the rent. We walked around the large apartment; it had 15-foot ceilings, which were sculpted with pomegranates and flowers, Seven sets of French doors, and a large gilded trumeau that stood on top of the marble fireplace: wooden floors and light, glorious light.

I brainstormed: What if we rented one of the two bedrooms? Then we could easily pay for the apartment! Having roommates in Paris was an unknown concept at the time. 

As I worked for the American Church in Paris, I put up an ad (before the internet, a well-known source of information in Paris, a hotspot of connection to anything under the sun, was the American Church Ad Board.) Within 24 hours, we had a roommate.

A roommate named Ellen is how we met & became friends over twenty years ago.

 

Mitch Epstein: Dad's Briefcase.

My suitcases arrived late last night under a rainstorm. Nothing lost, everything gained.

 

One suitcase found but which one?

Update:

1suitcase found, though not yet delivered.

                Which suitcase will it be?

Suitcase holding 18th century documents with five rolls of rough hemp.

                OR

Suitcase holding the one black dress, underwear, toothbrush, camera and computer gear.

The roll of the dice.... which would I miss more? French Husband was right when he said, "Corey you should safeguard your photos before you leave."

Why did I not follow his advise.

OH la la can be used as a negative.... in the is case Oh La la.....

Jet lag is holding me Hostage

I'll post as soon as I can... I arrived, though my suitcases did not... When the lost and found department asked me to describe what was inside I said, "Rolls of linen, old documents and a black dress."

They thought I was a bit goofy. If only they knew how goofy-

Off to sleep.... in this wonderfully amazing home!!

Blogging and the One Black Dress

I have been fortunate to have met many of you over the last few years. It is rather funny to explain to someone who isn't into blogging what it means to know people you don't know yet know on-line. Whew. At last I can say, my internet friends are real friends. I have met ... Allison, Ulla, Meredith, Marie- Noelle, Amber, Agnes, Tamara, Snowsparkle, Carol, Renee, Rose, Nancy, Laura, Julie, Melanie, Eva, Lieselotte, Salama, Amy, Lynn, Annie, Mary, Bob, Diane, Elaine, Donna, Leah, Nicole, Isla, Linda, Amy H., Pam, Jenny, Kellene, Jani, Brittany, Colette, Jeni, SHANNON (!!! duh, spent a two weeks with me!) and Allison W. who drove across the USA and we met in Willows... I hope I haven't forgotten anyone (I know I shouldn't have made a list... if I your name isn't here PLEASE do not take it personally, just slap me the next time you see me, but not too hard!).

Yesterday I met Susana (in the photo above). Guess what we did? Chin-ing for antiques... I bet you did not expect that?)

This blogging community has again revealed itself as a place where we can go straight to the heart, share ourselves without make-up, designer clothes, or any of the other society wraps that usual tag us before a word comes out of our mouths. Blogging allows us to read feelings, thoughts and ideas that often are not shared on a day to day base. The blogging community has many amazing avenues, like veins of life giving blood for the soul. It shows the interior life first; going from the inside-out of a person, enabling us to see the creative pulse of the spiritual being verses the exterior shell that protects it.

....and when I am fortunate to meet one of you, it seems like I have known you for a very long time. The connection, soul to soul, made evident by our knowing embrace. The voice of the person echos in my ears and floods me with a certainty that the Internet is a spiritual reality that transcends the physical world.

 

Now as I frantically run around shoving last minute things into my suitcase, then dumping them out wondering why I cannot simple pack one black dress and call it good... packing re packing I really do not like packing.

My thoughts wander off...

Who will I meet over the next month? 

Tell me if I meet you and I am wearing that one black dress, please ask me: "Is it new? I haven't seen you in it before! I really thought it was new, so French!"

--------------------------------------------------NOTE------------------

Regarding Mr. Porte. I know his wife very well, Mrs. Porte is not a mean spirited person, they love each other very much. French Husband and I visit them, help them with odd jobs from time to time, and harvest their trees. Mr. Porte and I are never alone, and that is fine. Though I wish Mrs. Porte like gardening!

P.S. Mrs. Porte loves French Husband I wonder if I should be jealous when I am away?

The Lover, the Garden, the Next Door Neighbor and Fig Jam

After the last fig jam jar was sealed I raised my gooey jam filled spoon and shouted out, "This is for you Mr. Porte!"

You see Mr. Porte was my next door neighbor, the incredible gardener, generous smile, nearly ninety year old... He taught me how to grow a garden. 

One day, late afternoon he came to my house, like he had done so many times before. I greeted him with the familiar French greeting of two kisses, opening the front door wide I asked him to come on in. As if shy he took two steps back, looking over his shoulder towards his home, "I cannot," he said.

"Of course you can!" I teased, pulling at his shirt sleeve, "What do you have something urgent to do?" He cast his eyes down, shook his head, then again stepped back. I swallowed my smile, leaned forward worried, afraid to ask why but I did anyway, "What's wrong?"

Mr. Porte blushed when he told me that his wife was jealous of me.

"Me?! What! No? Why?" I searched through the moments we had been together, was it because he helped me in the garden?

He shook his head no, then shrugged, then looked right at me with his sincere blue eyes, "She thinks we are having an affair." As he said it in French and as I did not grasp what he meant, by the French word liaison or maybe because I didn't believe my ears, I said "What?" He leaned his head towards me without moving his feet, in a near whisper translated, "My wife thinks we are lovers, and forbids me to see you alone after this conversation."

"Me? Us? Never again..." I glanced over to my neighbor's house, dumbfounded, realizing this wasn't a joke, that his wife took his strong dirty hands to mean something utterly different than working in the garden.

We stood by the garden gate... and smiled a smile that speaks volumes when only silence is needed. He said, "I know it is silly, I am sorry if I have embarrassed you, I am embarrassed," then he shook his head, and under his breath I heard him say, "As if you would have an affair with me! Aurevoir Corey." He turned to walk away.

He was hurt. Our gardening friendship was over.

I spoke up, he turned around, "Mr. Porte, if you were a little younger and if I were a little older... perhaps..." But before I could finish my sentence we started to giggle, and with that the energy changed. We knew we cared for each other and would remain friends at a distance.

Mr. Porte waved his hand at me, as he slowly walked across the street to his house.

I stopped gardening.

Though I still go over to their home to pick cherries and figs.

Mr. Porte loves home made jam. 

________________________________________________

Fig Jam

2 pounds of very ripe figs cut in fourths,

1 1/2 pounds of sugar,

Put the figs in a large heavy pan, add the sugar on top of them,

Cover the pan and let it alone for 24 hours.

Most of the sugar will have melted, turn the heat on very low,

Bring the fig-sugar mixture to a boil, stirring often, turn the heat lower,

When the fig-sugar mixture ripples off the spoon the jam is done,

Grill two handfuls of sliced almonds,

Then add the grilled sliced almonds to the jam, stir until well mixed.

Add the boiling mixture to sterile jars and can.

What Do You Do with French Linen and Hemp?

 The antique dealer was genuinely puzzled as I loaded bag after bag of his old linen and hemp towels and sheets, "What do you do with these? Do you sew?" 

I felt cheeky when I replied, "Other than wrapping it around me while walking in the garden when there is a full moon? I use it for what it was meant for bagging grains, drying dishes, covering a mattress, or bread rising, as a tablecloth, and or wrapping up a dead pig.

He laughed, "A dead pig?"

"Of course," I teased, "Back in the day they did, you know."

 

 

 

 

Ask me, go ahead, ask me how many times I folded and unfolded these to fit inside the dome.

 

Then because the linen has a mind of its own, it fell over.

The Tower of Babel heard a few new words.

 

 

I added a rusty key and velvet pin cushion apple to the linen tower. Next, I started to stuff the tower in the dome.

My original idea was to stand on the kitchen counter and put the dome over the tower.

But that wasn't going to work. You see, I don't think things through. I figure it out as I go.

 

 

 

But that damn apple pin cushion would not stay straight. Yes, I swore at that forbidden fruit, sneaky little thing!

Sure, I could have pinned it on, but hey, I didn't think of that until later.

 

 

 

Since putting the dome over the tower of linen was not a happening idea, I stuffed it instead... forgetting to put the velvet apple pin cushion in first. Ding Dong is my middle name.

 

 

At last: linen and hemp dishtowels were stuffed inside a glass dome.

Kitchen counter art and a velvet apple not to be used in a pie.

 

 

Then funny enough, I heard a knock at the front door. Turning around, I saw Madame Provencal. Holding her market basket tucked in her elbow, she said, "Tsk, tsk, tsk... linen under a glass dome... Corey, Corey, Corey, I am sooooo disappointed in you! Running around in the garden with nothing on but a linen sheet is more your style. Please do not disappoint me now."

 

I hugged her, ran outside, and frightened my neighbors with no linens in sight.

 

French Mimosa

Saturday morning, sparkling water, no champagne, fresh squeezed orange juice, chilled wine glasses, a mint leaf or two, fig jam, made pancakes, ate a few while standing at the kitchen counter flipping the other ones on to a plate. Three hungry bears, Goldie Locks, blue skies, morning yawn...

Good Morning Sunshine!

Photos of a Small French Town in Provence

My town. Can I say that, even if I was not born here? What makes a town yours? Is it by the roots that sprout forward as you water them with your steps?

My street, where I live....

The remains of a bakery sign, the center of the town has moved in the last fifty years, the center use to be located on my street. Part of our house use to be the butchery now vegetarians have transformed it into a home.
Kinda odd isn't it?

The old turn of the century mailbox. There are three left. The mailboxes, the street lamps, and benches along with other parts of history are being replaced with new things... New things that will not last half as long, and do not "speak" French to me, not that I speak French but you know what I mean.

French homes have shutters. The latches are artwork in themselves. The shutters are not just decorative, they are opened in the morning, closed if the day is very hot as a way to keep the house cool, or closed if the owners are going out as a way to protect their home from intruders, and closed before they go to bed, most French people sleep in complete darkness.
I sleep with my window open... this habit keeps me from being French... that fact and a few thousand more... like my non French name, the way I hold my fork and knife, my "tres gros" accent, my habit of walking around barefoot, ... and that I don't like coffee no matter how hard I try.

    

 

The French doorways in my town are at least two hundred years old or older. The hardware still works, the solid hard wood doors are as good as new... of course this being said by someone who sees old, peeling, somewhat broken as a piece of functional art.

 

 

The town where I live is small, it sits at the foot of the St Baume mountain and has a small river that runs through it. It is not chic nor touristic, it is simple and surrounded by vines, olive trees and red clay soil that is used for Ravel pottery. Most the families who live here can trace their family history back a thousand years. Though in the last few years many new families have moved in and built new homes in the vineyards and olive orchards.

We live in the center, in a maison du village.

 

In my town there are sixteen fountains...or there of... they run with fresh spring water this one is on our street.

What does your street look like?

French Antique Road Show

Summer was on a roll when I first met Lynn.

Lynn wrote that she was an antique dealer coming to France to buy for her shop, she asked me if we could meet for a coffee in Aix.

We hadn't even sat down at the cafe and I knew we were going to be fast friends. We spent the entire afternoon talking about those things that two women who love home, family, and antiquing could talk about, then we went shopping to a few of my favorite brocante hang outs.

Lynn bought and bought and bought... my favorite brocante hang out proved to be her lucky star, a bingo of lovely things for her shop in Georgia. As closing time approached the shop owner kept his shop opened as Lynn was far away from checking out. I stood in amazement as I watched one beauty after another being tagged for Georgia. I was envious of a shop I had never seen, from the looks of the antiques she bought I knew she had good taste, and a fortunate clientele. I wanted to hop in one of the boxes just to be able to go see.

After dinner we said our goodbyes, Lynn promised to send me a photo of her shop when she got home.... Never did I expect that she would invite me to Georgia, then on to Texas to attend the fair at Marburger.

Shamefully, I had never heard of Marburger, or Warrenton, or Roundtop. I must be living under a rock, or somewhere far far away.... but then again it explains why so many Antique dealers from Texas come to France scooping up French antiques and roping them homeward bound.

Lynn filled me in with the details: Twice a year over miles on a back road in Texas a slew of small towns become a haven for antique dealers, interior designers, architects, antique buffs and a million other people searching for home decor treasures. It is consider the largest antique show in the U.S.A.

Towns with double digit populations explode to 30,000 overnight for a two week period every April and September. The first fairs open up in the fields in Warrenton and the last fair opens at the Grand-Daddy of them all at Roundtop. Lynn is setting up in the creme de la creme in Marburger.

 

Lynn has invited me to help her drive her truck loaded with antiques from Georgia to Texas (Which is really a joke since I fall asleep at the wheel, I guess I'll serenade her with my snoring.) then help her set up her stand, and be part of the things I love best...ANTIQUES!

 

Soooooooooooo, I am leaving this Tuesday for North Carolina first to visit my dear dear friends Ellen and Frank. Then I'll go to Savannah for a few days to help Lynn prepare for Texas, then we will drive to Texas, stay in Texas for about ten days (imagine the TEX MEX I am going to pig out on!!!!), during that time I will go to Austin to see Mari, a blogging friend who has asked me to speak at her shop about none less than Antiquing in France, and then (does it ever end...) fly to Willows for my Mother's birthday. How do I pack for all that?

I will be blogging at the home of my friends,

on the road with Lynn,

then Marburger fair,

Austin, 

My childhood home... September 15th until October 14th.

French Husband and children are happy for me... I am taking suitcases of old stuff...(clothes are so overrated)... I'll be the girl with a skunk line and one black dress.

I am goofy with excitement.

SO Brother Mathew I will be blogging about Brocante Hell....and soon home to slug you for saying that!

(Lynn King's stand will be at Marburger Farms, Tent B, section 6. Lynn's stand is called: "The Side Door". September 27th until the 3rd. We will be in Texas on the 22nd to set up and check out the scene as well.)

I hope to see you somewhere along the line.

Jonchet, a French Antique Game, and Peach Crumble

Oh no! It happened! Yesterday I stumped all of you with "The French Antique Guessing Game". I cannot believe it, out of the many guessing games I have had, I did not think this one would come out being the most difficult to figure out.

It is true, I only gave you one small photo...

The French Antique Guessing Game object starts with the letter "J".

The pieces came in cranberry colored leather box with golden letters on top.

"O" is the second letter.

Yesterday, out of the 200+ comments most of you guessed: toothpicks, hat-pins, knitting needles, letter openers...

My brother Mathew could have said, "Back stabber" instead he wrote that he is tired of me writing about French Brocante. He suggested that I write two blogs. One called "Tongue in Cheek" and the other, "Brocante Hell".

Oh Mathew, Mathew, Mathew.... tsk, tsk, tsk.

How does that song go...."He ain't heavy his my brother..." Oh well at least he reads my blog and is honest.

Jonchet pieces.

 

Jonchet was a game played in France, much like pick up sticks. These pieces I found are 19th century. I do not think they are made of ivory, instead carved bone?

The box did not come with rules, and it is incomplete. When I found it at the brocante I peeked inside of the box, squealed to myself, closed the box and asked the dealer how much?

French Husband took the box from my hand, opened it, took the pieces out, exclaimed Oh la la, and asked, "What are these? They are interesting!"

I quickly grabbed the Jonchet pieces from his hand stuffed them back in the box, closed the lid and gave him the stink eye.

French Husband, ignoring my stick eye, asked me if the pieces were in ivory. Under my breath I said,"Thank God we speak English together in this French speaking place!"

Then I pulled him aside , "If you keep talkin' ivory, and Oh la la, and what are those, and... and, and, bringing attention to the contents the dealer is going to jack up the price. He doesn't know what they are so shhhhhhhhhh! Remember darling you are the T.R.A.N.S.P.O.R.T.E.R. and are to remind silent when I am trying to make a deal."

The dealer took the box, looked at French Husband and asked, "What did you find inside the box?"

I put my foot on top of F.H.'s and pressed down.

French Husband shrugged.

At that moment I wanted to kiss him, but instead I double stomped his foot just to be certain of his fidelity.

Jonchets, pick up sticks.

The pieces I have are missing the two hooks.

Due to the fact that nobody guessed them to by pick up sticks I started to doubt myself. Though that is what I have been told that they are.

They could be chess pieces, but I have never seen a complete set or I should say one with a full set of chess pieces and with a board...the ones I have seen are in similar boxes like the one I bought, with similar pieces (10 cm long) and have been told they are pick up sticks.

Nevertheless the gifts from the brocante giveaway (random draw) go to:

Linen: If Jane

Lace: Martha in Mobile

Stamps: Michele and Bebe

Marbles: Kate L.

Papers: Colette , and Mindi-

Please send me your addresses by email.

Photo by friend Joanna.

(I rather like the pumpkin look I got going on in this dress, ah if only it where burnt orange.)

Anyway, now back to my Brother Mathew, who wrote in yesterday's comment section:
".....Enough about Brocantes!...."

Dear Brother Mathew,

France is old,
it has old stuff all over the place,
& I am old.

Viva la Brocante,
Viva France
and I hope I live to see the day where my great grand child brings me something from the brocante and asks, "What was the brocante like when you were young Vavie Coco?"

In which case I will say, "Once upon a time I use to write a blog...."

Okay, I'll write about life in general...

Last night as I watched clips on You Tube of Julie Julia my peach crumble was burning in the oven.

I picked off the burnt spots, nearly half the topping, and plopped spoonfuls of creme fraiche on top, and served it for dessert.

As Julia Child's character says in the movie, "Never apologize."

Such freedom it is to be myself on my blog and in my cooking!

Love your Sister

Corey

Brocante Anonymous: Want to Join the Club?

This is the brocante explosion that has happened in our house. A small part of the stacks of things I collected over the last two weekends. A disarray affair with loose ends and loads of possibilities that need my attention.

French Husband knows he has it made because I cannot complain about his occasional pair of shoes out of place while I have a truckload of junk all over the house. I don't even know where I am going to put the stuff... it is overwhelming to say the least.

What am I doing? Why have I bought a ton of paper, linen, and other old things?

Because I am drunk on brocante.

I think I need to start my own club: Brocante Anonymous... for those with a serious addiction without a direction or a bone to chew.

I am my first member.

French Husband doesn't love me this I know... because he is co-dependent and took me to the darn source of my temptation!

 

 

This is my latest acquisition. I found it at the brocante in Leyment, under a table, before the sun had a chance to open its eyes: a lion king. A statue that looks like it is made of marble, but it is not, though it is heavy enough to be. I had to pay someone hearty to carry this puppy back to the car, a mere three mile walk.

 

 

Grain sacks, linen and hemp towels. I am a sucker for this sort of thing.

None of these have crowns on them, I guess I could stencil a crown on them, but that would not be the same as the real McCoy. Darn that Older Man who had the grain sacks with the crowns on them, for changing my perspective! I use to like plain grain sacks until he came along and introduced me to a new thrill!

 

 

 

 

Metal stars that have lost their golden sheen. These stars are about an inch wide, I have no idea what their real purpose in life is other than to tickle my heart and have French Husband scratch his head.

 

 

 

Linen of every imaginable shape and size.

 

 

Spools of ribbon, French silk ribbon, well some of them are silk, most are satin. It is this color of sea green that I love the best.

When I saw this at the brocante fair I nearly passed out with excitement. French Husband started to open it hoping to sort through the eighteen century documents. I nearly bite his hand off... Then in a flash realized that if I bite his hand I would then have to carry everything back to the car by myself... Hence I retracted my teeth saying instead that I thought the stack of documents looked like an object of art and hope to leave it as it was.
He agreed.
But ever since he said he wanted to open it I have been wondering what is inside...can you imagine a paper might be dated 1702 or signed by Marie Antoinette...
I like to dream big if you had not noticed.

 

Wrapped beeswax candle with bits of torn paper and twine, on a calling card tray.

Hand made clay marbles in a rough linen sack. Marbles use to be made with clay, dried and then painted. I haven't found this many in a long time. The colors are faded, which indicates they were played with often.

Small crosses that once adorn the rosaries belonging to priests and nuns, the ones they use to tie around their waist.

Antique playing cards.

A whole shoe box of old stamps.

I have a serious paper problem...no no no I am a serious junk collector, no no that isn't true, I am an art collector of the common things in life.

Brocante Anonymous come and get me, here I am!

Aren't these cute enough to eat!

As you can see I bought much to do about nothing, stacks of nothingness.
I asked French Husband what he thought of my buying at the brocante and he answered, "Are you happy? And when are you going to open a shop?"

"I don't want to open a shop. I want to be a buyer, buy and sell to buy again."

"So when are you going to start selling?"

"Soon."

He shook his head and said, "I dare you."

Oh no he knows I cannot resist a dare!

Which brings me back to you. Thank you for listening to my tales, for your thoughtful responses, for encouraging me to take more photos, and for coming back and reading this blog over and over again. Thank you. You have no idea how much happiness your response has brought me.

If you like linen or stamps or papers tell me so.

Since you have followed along these last two weeks,

and because I am getting ready to go to the Marburger fair in Texas,

and because I cannot leave my house in a mess,

and because I like you...

and because I want to share some of this stuff before I join my own club: Brocante Anonymous.

Please leave a comment and I'll pick a few winners, one for linen towel, another for stack of stamps, another for some papers and another for some marbles.

Remember their is a prize for the guessing game above too.

 

If you double click on this photo you will see there is a tiny hook on the chair's back, that hook was used to hang one's pocket watch. Julie got it right! Though Jeannie your response, "A place for your pet escargot to sit!" made me laugh!

Please send me your addresses and I'll mail you a gift.

 

Old French stuff, my addiction.
Brocante Anonymous I do not think I can join you just yet....

 

Afternoon Delight at Grange Rouge Brocante

Grange Rouge Brocante in Louhans.

French Husband offered to take me to the brocante in Grange Rouge. He drove the six hours trip in our very old car that recently got a new engine put into it. We did not have the heart to junk it when it died a few months ago. I am glad we did not junk it! It is such a handy old car to have. We put the back seat down and slept in the car, that is called, "The Truck."

French Husband brought an air mattress, after we pumped it full of air, we saw that it nearly reached the car's ceiling. We barely had room to squeeze in the space in between. Mummified in our sleeping bags, surrounded by the car's windows, we looked like two corpse on exposition.

I glanced over at French Husband barely able to move and said, "You know what this means don't you?"

He replied, "No fun tonight?" 

"No, silly, we are the peep show!"

"What is a peep show?" he asked?

 

The next morning at the crack of dawn we squeezed out of the car, it was cold. I wore my PJ bottoms under my dress. French Husband's hair was in competition with Bozo the clown's. Hence we are not fashionable chineurs (Chineur: A French word for people who go antiquing.) I brushed my teeth by the side of the car, while French Husband put on his rubber boots.

French Husband was the transporter. Here he is trying to figure out why I bought a chocolate silver pot with a hole in the bottom? In his other hand he has a zinc box with a lid. He liked it because it has a lock and a key. He is holding on to it like it is his baby. I reminded him that it is not his baby.

 

 

Grange Rouge sets up three times a year: the first Sunday in July, mid-August and the first Sunday in September. It takes place in the cow pastures in Louhans.

Like the fair in Leyment it starts very early and goes all day. Grange Rouge in September is the smallest of the three, there were about 800 dealers.

Vanity in the cow pasture, living each moment like a modern day Marie Antoinette... Ah! That is what it is like living in France... La vie est belle!

 

This man had to be near eighty years old, he had such class, such taste, such expensive grain sacks. I wanted them, but he would not budge on his price. He told me, "They have crowns on them, original crowns on them, did you see that? When is the last time you saw grain sacks with crowns on them?"

He was a smarty pants. I admired his gusto, his passion...but not his prices. I walked away from the grain sacks with crowns on them...and have regretted it ever since.

First lesson when brocanting (Brocanting, is my made up word for antiquing in France.)

1) Always ask for the phone number of the dealer so in case you change your mind about an item you did not buy you can call them later on.

 

Yesterday at the brocante I saw stacks of French antique clothing. Isn't this small child's velvet vest with lace cuffs adorable?

What I noticed at the brocante is that French Husband wanted to buy everything. As if we have a car loaded of money somewhere nearby... He was disappointed that I did not buy the vest, I asked him, "What am I going to do with a child's velvet vest?" He asked me, "What are you going to do with a chocolate pot with a hole in it?"

I had to remind him that he was the transporter and the driver.

What I love most about the French brocante is discovering old things. Duh! Like why would I drive six hours and sleep with my body pressed against the car's ceiling, freezing cold and wake up at the crack of dawn if I did not?

We came across a stack of sixteenth and seventeenth century letters, right there in the middle of the cow pasture. We talked to the dealer about them, and read a few. Of course I wanted to buy them, not just one but the whole box full.... five hundred euro worth, or the equivalent of the food budget for the month.

We walked away thinking how those letters were worth more than pasta, tofu, vegetables, olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

French words to know while Antiquing in France:

Chineur: A person who goes antiquing.

Combien: How much? A key word to know.

Brocante: An up scale flea market.

Marche aux Puces: Flea market

Antiqobrocante: (See the word on the truck? The sliding van's door covered half of the word "antique".) I think this is going to be my new favorite word Antiqobrocante: a mixture of the two, rare and cool antique finds with prices leaning towards brocante.

 

What you can find at any French brocante:

Silverware,

Wine glasses,

Cork screws,

Dishes,

Linens...

The French and their love affair with food, it shows at the brocante.

 

That man again and his grain sacks.

The French Husband transporter admiring bicyclettes in his rubber boots.

 

Three little chairs, one without a seat.

Do you know what they were used for?

I do.

Three bears...no.

Doll house furniture...no.

Furniture samples...no.

If you know and what to take a stab at it write it down in the comment section. I'll send the first one who gets it a prize.

 

This baby doll's buggy, with the wide eyed doll and her one eye dog stole my heart. So cute! Look how the little paw is hanging photogenically outside the buggy. I think this dog was a famous model in his hey day.

French Husband admiring the worn love evident on its patchy fur gave me that look like aren't you gonna buy it?

To calm his heart I told him that old worn toys are highly collectible which means they are often expensive.

The fetching price: One eyed dog 200 euro.

French Husband in defense said it wouldn't cost much to feed it.

A dog's leg, and a few Doll's dressed up with shoes and socks.

 

A small biscuit statue amongst liquor decanters.

 

 

A child's miniature dish set in its original case.

French Husband the transporter doing his job with style.

Carrying boxes for his chocolate pot.

(I'll show you what we bought in tomorrow's post.)

No place like home, unless it is the Brocante

French Husband is driving me to my favorite brocante in all of France! Chapelle Naude, or Grange Rouge, the brocante in a cow pasture. Boots are a must.

I never ever thought I would give away this secret of mine... see what having good friends can do to you!

If ever you are in France and near Beaune on the first Sunday of July, or on the first Sunday of September, and if you love old brocante things...think no more, and head over to Grange Rouge! You will not be disappointed.

French Husband asked me if this brocante was worthy of the six hour drive?

"Duh!"

He has no idea how much fun he is going to have, no idea! But tonight in the back of the car I will make sure he doesn't regret it and I betcha he'll want to come with me to all the brocantes after that.

Like I said he has no idea how much fun he is going to have, no idea!

How to eat cookie dough and not feel guilty about it.

Oh the joy of chocolate chip cookies.... oops I mean white chocolate chip cookies.

Chelsea often makes chocolate chips cookies, well that is when we have chocolate chips to make them. Buying a chocolate bar and cutting it up in bite size pieces works, but the chocolate chip (or I should say chunks) cookies do not taste the same. Good, real good in fact, but not the same.

The chocolate chips cookies that Chelsea makes are about caressing the memories of home in the States. When Sacha came back from California he remembered to bring chocolate chips. Thanks to him we have a healthy year's supply of Toll House chocolate chips in our kitchen armoire.

This year he also brought back white chocolate chips... What the heck? That is a new twist to tradition. Sacha is like that full of twist and turns and yet right on track.

Chelsea got right down to task. The recipe is on the Toll House package. Dark cocoa powder is used to make the dough chocolate-y.

Wow were they good, the dough was delicious! Yes I eat cookie dough.

Chelsea is a very practical baker. She follows recipes, she measures the ingredients, she uses two spoons (since we do not have a small scooper) to scoop out the cookie dough. Chelsea would never use her finger to scoop out the dough, nor roll it gently into a little ball, like I do. No she is not a touchy-feely person, even as a child she would not finger painting! She is mathematical, she bakes like a scientist... and the chocolate chip cookies she makes are deliciously perfect.

Not at all like mine... which are hit and miss, and often mistaken for rocks. I cook instead of bake, it is much more forgiving.

You see I am more of a flaky person who cannot make a flaky pie crust.

Rich thick chocolate fudge like dough. God was it good. I scooped one finger full after another and ate it when Chelsea wasn't looking. Sacha sneaks snatches too, but he is not as clever as me and gets caught in the act.

I tell you what I have a thing for Cookie Dough. I rarely make cookies because I eat the dough.... gee...OH... a light bulb just went on in my head... Eating cookie dough is like reading the last page of a book, or the last paragraph of a letter, before you reach the end... I am a-jump-in-and-do-it-kind-a-person, please do not say I am into instant gratification. Maybe we could call it, "living the moment" and leave it at that.

Oh no.

Chelsea is a lot like her father. He never liked to finger paint either and he certainly would never eat raw cookie dough.

They are organized which stabilizes my chaos. 

I never have to worry about where they are, or what they are doing, they are straight arrows that aim for the mark.

And Sacha? Well... let's just say we dance to the same drum, and often dance when there isn't a drum.

....I will never stop licking the spoons and my fingers too, unless Sacha beats me to it.

Please tell me that I am not that much different from you?

Do you follow recipes or not?
Do you lick the bowl?
Did you like finger painting?

How do you eat cookie dough and not feel guilty about it.

WWII Love Letters found at the Brocante

The other day at the brocante I found a stack of letters written during World War Two (WWII) between a husband and his wife. At first I was drawn to them because of how they were worn, and stacked in perfect order. You might say the "art factor" attracted me. Then the dealer seeing that I didn't get the letters real significance told me they were written during WWII.

I asked him how much he wanted for them.

He wanted half of France, or close to it, he wanted more than I wanted to pay that much is true.

I told him that I did not read French very well, and that I wanted them because they looked attractive, a conversational piece of art, a living coffee tabletop book, but letters instead. He shook his head, "You don't understand their worth."

"I'll give you five euro." I might as well have stabbed him in the heart, he looked so shocked. Then I mentioned that my son liked history and he would read them to me, and I batted my eyes and said, "Pretty please with sugar on it." (or at least that is what I thought I was saying in French.)

Flirting works. Sorry but it does. I got the letters for five euro.

Later while Nathalie waited for me as I carried rolls of linen to the car, she started to read the letters. When I came back she had tears in her eyes, "These letters are incredible, they are full of emotion."

At that point I felt terrible that I had bartered for history with flirtation.

When I got home I put the letters on the kitchen table.

The next day after breakfast, French Husband and Sacha carefully opened them. The letters had a hypnotic power, they read in complete silence. Every now and then they would look up at each other share a line or two then bury their heads back into a time long ago.

Annie, my ninety year old, dear friend has shared her stories of WWII with me. When she talks about her past her eyes glaze over and I see her go back to when she was a young girl by her parent's side.

One of the things Annie has shared is that when the Americans arrived they had "chewing gum" and "chocolate." The American soldiers gave it to the children whenever they entered a town.

Later the troop heard that Annie's mother had the best home made soup, soup made with vegetables from her garden! They traded chewing gum and chocolate for bowls of soup.

Most of Annie's stories are not as dark as the ones written in the letters.

The letters are written are from Lyon, where the war raged bitterly.

The letters always start with, "My big love". Rarely do they mention any names, instead they refer to people they know as "The one who worked at the bakery" or "The one who use to live underneath us." They never say the enemies name, for fear that the letters might be opened and used against them, or worse destroyed.

The letters talk about how the enemy gathered the children, using them as human shields as they maneuvered from town to town. How farms where ram shacked they burned to the ground. "The Wife" mentions how she felt safer in the city that is being bombed everyday than in the country.

Later she talks about a butter factory that was raided and the butter burned. Just to belittle, to taunt us in the face of slow starvation.

She goes on to mention a small village of thirty-five residents, where she had thought to live safely, though over half where murdered in one day. "Whenever we hear a gunshot, we know someone is dieing. Many are dieing."

They write, in details, often coded, evident of fear, out of anguish and love for one another.

Sacha and French Husband read ever so slowly a few letters, often stopping... casting a distant look out the window, in deep thought, then continuing without a word.

The handwriting is exceptionally small. French Husband told me that is because paper was scarce, and to post a letter during that time one was expensive... in more ways than one.

Often the letters were written on mix match pieces of scrap paper. Their need to "talk" to one another, to share what they were witnessing, to be present to each other through the details of how they were surviving. They found paper and a mail carrier, out of their healing balm for one another.

I kept thinking how much they loved each other: Image walking to the post office, or a drop off zone to mail a letter in a battle zone? That is commitment.

"I do not know if I could have done that...." I said to the men in my life engrossed with reading. Nonetheless, French Husband looked up at me with sad eyes.

"Love motivates, but gee so does fear!" I said in defense.

XOXO in French "Gros Bisous".

Sacha pointed to the curled back envelope, "Look Mom," he said. He knows I love random, unplanned, spirit of love moving in the unconscious hand of time, sort of thing.

Food for thought.
French Husband says he will read the letters slowly. He is methodical like that, and it teaches me to harbor my excitement and not open all of the letters just to pick them apart for a quick fix.

I hope to post bit by bit as French Husband and Sacha read them to me. I wanted to read the last letter, but the two of them would not have it, I guess I am out-numbered and on the wrong side of the fence on this matter.

What side of the fence are you on?

.........and the Winners of the French Guessing Game are:

The small wooden boxes with red wax seals where used to transport gold.
People would buy gold (as a way to secure their paper money) and it was sent by mail in these wooden boxes. Also they were used to send gold to a jeweler to have a piece of jewelery made or restored. The jeweler would send back the jewelry to the owner in boxes such as these. Gold coins and other highly valuable small items where also sent in these sort of boxes, but mainly gold.

It is possible a false gold tooth could have been sent.
Or ashes of a beloved or any other of your amazing guesses, but that was not the main purpose of these little boxes.

Your comments where very realistic I would have guessed tea, tobacco, a solider's medals, spices, love notes, dog biscuits (nobody guessed that but I might have,) pharmaceutical items such as vials of blood, scented soap, truffles, seeds... condoms, yes many of you said condoms!

I found Jend'isere comment timely, she wrote:

"Today's news happen to feature a man in northern France who dared to open a metal tin found in a dumpster. It was filled with an address and neatly arranged bills worth 100,000 Euros. He returned the life savings to the aged owners, whose children had hastily discarded the unopened box while clearing out their appartment. Aren't boxes made to be opened?"

Diogenes came close with: "Perhaps they were for mailing money? Like an early Western Union and that's why they are sealed?" Kel's response was very close as well: "Used for shipping diamonds and other jewels." I thought that I might have to declare you both the winners...but earlier this morning came the closest answer, it was from Jenny Mch.

The correct answer from Jenny Mch:
"My guess is a shipment of gold coins, hence the wax seals to be sure no one had opened the box."

Creative answers included: a piece of wedding cake, vials of holy water from Rome, fancy booze, soon to be stinky cheese, chocolate sardines (they are sent on the first of April!) silk stockings...

Kas wrote and won with:
"Unknown to most, there is a tiny village near the coast of France where dear, sweet, kindred spirits live and work. People from all over the world package up their broken hearts, unfilled dreams, and deepest wishes in small wooden boxes sealed with red wax and ship them to this little village. The kindred spirits reverently whisper prayers of encouragement to the boxes' contents. They hold the sealed boxes lovingly in their hands and sincerely imagine the owner and hold deep and good thoughts for him or her. Once the village has completed their prayerful worship over the boxes they send them back to the owner unopened. When the owner receives their box back the true test begins. Will they leave the beautifully blessed box on the shelf or will they open it and live? Corey, if the boxes you found where unsealed and opened and there was nothing in them, then we have our answer! We know the owner, in great anticipation opened the box and lived all the days left before them in awe and wonder and joy."

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Thank you for playing and I hope I can stump all of you the next time!

Tomorrow I will post the letters I found between a husband and wife regarding their eye witness accounts during WWII.

________________Post Script______________

Laurie sent this in the comment section after I had posted, it is so very clever and original I just had to add it!!

"Monsieur Camembert de Normandie, being a bit soft in the head, tried to Munster up the courage to declare his love to Mimolette. She was a little moon-faced ball of orange delight.
But alas, Neufchatel, one of the oldest families in France had sent her his heart in a box, sealing the deal with a kiss of wax."

French Antique Guessing Game

Small paper boxes have a way with my heart. Old ones, that are battered with labels, ones like in yesterday's post that have memories tucked inside such as baby teeth, lockets, of hair, hooks and eyes... Little old boxes that fortunately did not get thrown away a hundred years ago. How lucky I am that someone tucked them inside their undergarment drawer instead of the trash can.

Such is life each of us seek and find our way to splurge of small joys, some people like to go to the spa, or have their nails done, and some like to play tennis or go to the gym with a new pair of sports shoes. As for me I like to go to hot dusty brocantes and look for old paper boxes.

I have a thing for paper boxes, especially if the packaging is intact.

This one is one of my favorites. It has seen better days you might say, and it has. The labels are intact and inside the box is full of candles.

Quit shaken your head at me, I already know... I am kinda nutty.

Nineteen century pure wax candles. I am going to wrap old hand written music paper around them, then with a piece of twine attach a religious medal as a final touch. I'll put them in a jar to look pretty on the container. Not practical but appealing to the eye. Well my eye that is.

Hand wrapped boxes are certainly meant to hold something special.

Small blue boxes are a dead give away of jewelry.

The hand wrapped box had a bunch of tin religious medals. I will use them when wrapping the candles. I wonder if they belonged to a nun? Was she going to give them away at first communion?

Paper pharmacy box... it is all in the labeling. I so dig the labeling.

Hook and eyes, and bobby pins, made in Paris and still around to talk about it.
I do not know what they are talking about, but they are talking.

When I see boxes such as these I know I am going to stop and open each one. It is one of my obsessions. My name is Nut-case and I like to open boxes, and if they do not cost more than a dollar I usually buy them. And if you want one I have a special price just for you... $100,000,000.

I take my boxes seriously. Just as seriously as someone who has broken one of their fake nails.

Tin boxes are highly collectible, they cost much more too, I rarely buy them.

I understand why they are more sought after than paper boxes: Their labels are brighter, they are purposeful, they can survive fire, and even rain. But it is for the opposite reason that I love paper boxes-- in their tender state they have withstood time.

Being frail is not always a weakness.

As you can see I love paper boxes.

Last weekend at the brocante I found two hand-made wooden boxes. Intriguing aren't they? I had never seen wooden boxes like this before and bought the two of them for the guessing game. I am loyal to my readers, and finding tricky French antiques for the guessing games is how I show you that you are never far from my mind.

The small wooden boxes have a red wax seal on each side. They use to be tied with string, then sealed and mailed.
The address was written with black ink often right on the box.

The ones I found are empty.

When I came home French Husband explained what they were used for. Holy cow was I surprised!

Do you know what they use to contain?

Take a nab at it. Trying guessing.

The first person who leaves the correct answer in the comment section will win a small antique token from France.
And the one who gives the most creative, original answer will antique token as well.

The contest ends tomorrow at nine in the morning my time.

___________Note_______________

Many of you asked what I was going to do with all that hemp and linen. I am taking it to Marburger Fair that is what I am going to do with it.

A Man with a Doll, An Umbrella and Frog Legs...some of the things I found at the Brocante in Leyment

The man with a doll.

I saw this man and his son several times throughout the day and each and every time I saw them he had this over-sized stuffed doll in his arms...Pebbles was her name. Curiosity had my imagination going...Maybe it was his lucky charm? Sure people collect dolls, but he carried it most of the day... mile after dusty mile!

I asked Nathalie if she had seen the man with the doll? Nathalie's response reminded me why she is a better chineur (antique hunter) than I am, "I don't notice the people around when I am chining (Yet another Franglais word I use often it means to go antiquing.)"

So while I was looking at the man with his Pebbles over-sized doll, Mrs. Queen of Chining Nathalie was nabbing yet another thing that I wanted to call my own.

The girl with an umbrella.

As the day was hot, keeping cool was of vital importance. Several years ago while at Leyment it was unbearably hot, the glaring sun was frying my mood at the fair, and bringing the brocante to a near stand still. In my desperation I bought a white cotton nightgown (the classic chemise de nuit) and a straw hat. Then I went behind one of the parked trucks, stripped, stuffed my clothes under the truck (I came back for them later) and put the chemise de nuit on, it saved me from melting into the pavement.

 

Frog legs for Lunch.

If you are a vegetarian it is slim pickin' at the brocante in Leyment.

Frog legs a bucket for 10 euro. There was also mussels, and paella, grilled sausages, French fries and crepes.

Crepes with Nutella and a cold beer, such a feast!

Finding anything at the brocante is a miracle when the whole world seems to be looking at the same thing I want. I thought about blind folding everybody but then I reminded myself that thoughts like this are not healthy and to cut it out. Ah the trials of trying to be a good person.

Yes, I looked in everyone of those little boxes. I do not know what I expected to find. Certainly not anything valuable like rubies or diamonds. Nonetheless the pleasure of seeing what someone saved and consider valuable brings the hidden story of a life long ago alive.

I found baby teeth.
Hooks and eyes,
Stamps,
Sewing needles,
A locket of hair....

It was the baby teeth that made me laugh out loud.

The green bottle had my initials on it, but it was more than my budget and I had to walk away. Though I did tell the dealer that my name was carved on that bottle and I thought he should give it to me for less. He didn't budge.

So not fun!

When buying anything at Leyment you must consider how far you will have to carry it and if it can fit in your car.

There were two men and a mirror in this tiny sports car.

The guy on the other side was not smiling. I don't know how the driver was going to shift.

A baby stroller comes in handy.

While I was taking photos of a dog in a stroller, frog legs, and boxes with baby teeth, Nathalie was doing the thing we were set out to do... antiquing.

I have a photo of a dog and she has this 19th century hand made quilt. I wanted to bark, "Not fair!"

But hey that is how it is when one is distracted and another one is focused. The distracted gets baby teeth.

 

(Three photos above are by Nathalie.)

 Nathalie also found a Charles the Tenth tea pot, a set of four 18th century paperback books and a stack of documents. Honestly I think it might be better to go chining with someone who doesn't like what I like. That way when we return to the car and show our finds of the day I would not grow green with envy. Instead I would say:

"Oh you found a Pebbles doll, how cute. Lucky lucky you!"

 

 

 

 

While looking for linens, which means digging through trunks straight out of attics, I found a packet of letters between a wife and her husband during WWII. Heart breaking! (I'll share about the letters later this week.)

 

Hemp dish towels and grain sacks.

 

Five rolls of antique hemp and a stack of linen towels (not shown).

At the end of the day, after walking around the brocante for several hours, after having carried purchase after purchase back to the van and then going back at it again, not giving a second thought to how many miles I had covered. I came across a field I had not discovered earlier. It was by far the best of the lot. I looked up to heaven whispering loud enough so they could hear upstairs, "I did not blind fold anyone and this is how you reward me?" Then I quickly covered my mouth with my hand and repented, "I am sorry, I am here, thank you..." but the child in me had to sneak in a little dig, "Better late than never."

It was there that I found rolls of antique hemp fabric and linen that I had spent hours trying to find. When I saw the rolls of antique fabric it was then that the reality of distance and my energy level came to mind. The stand was light years away from the van and the fabric weighed more than my little arms could manage in one haul!

Desire is an amazing force isn't it?

The rolls of fabric cost me the soreness I have in my muscles today.

 

This chair looks like how I felt after carrying the five rolls of fabric back to the van.

 

Now, if you are still with me after this marathon of a brocante adventure-- then you are a true brocante fan and deserve to have some fun other than just seeing what the French brocante has to offer! Tomorrow I will post a guessing game and maybe offer fried frog legs on the side.

____________Note______________

Thank you for correcting me I have changed Bam-Bam the doll to the correct name of Pebbles.