French la Vie

The Gift of Life Unexpectedly

 

Nearly, eight years ago Justin a good friend and "like a brother to my brothers" died in a tragic motorcycle accident. Today on Justin's mother's FB page she posted this article and I wanted to share it with you:

 

 

 

Text and photo courtesy Eric Kurhi S.J. Mercury News

 

 

"I saw this picture in the San Jose Mercury News.
Let's just say there’s a LOT more to this picture than meets the eye."

"In the middle is Arthur Reyes from Fairfield. 
He’s 28. And he’s VERY lucky to be alive.
Three years ago his heart gave out. 
What saved him was a heart transplant. 

On the right is Mary Knauer. 
It was her son who died.
It is her son’s heart that is now beating inside Reyes.
This was the first time they met.

"I feel so blessed to meet them. To say thank you in person, to put a face to them. It made everything so real. My heart is still pounding."

 Mary Knauer’s son Justin was a corrections officer from Willows in Northern California. He was 40 years old when he was killed in a motorcycle crash.

Reyes says:
"His selflessness changed my life 180degrees. Because of his choice, I was able to do so much more in life."

I remember many years ago I interviewed a woman who had a heart transplant. 

He had to keep a beeper on her at all times waiting for the call.
When it finally came he was taken to the hospital and prepped for the operation.

I asked her if he remembered her last thought before going into surgery.

He said the last thing he remembered thinking was, “Am I going to wake up, or is this operating room the last thing I'm going to see.”

Can you imagine being wheeled into an operating room knowing that someone is about to remove your heart? My god that must be frightening. Then again you also know it’s your only hope to survive.

I thought it was pretty cool what Reyes said a few days after the transplant as he was lying in bed. 

"I could hear it -- it was so loud. I forgot what it was like to have a healthy heart. I could finally rest without worrying."

The one thing that always gets me about transplants is the extreme emotion on both sides.
Someone has to die, for another person to live. 

Mary Knauer lost her son. 
I hope she is very proud of the fact that because he decided to be an organ donor, he saved Arthur Reyes life. "

Bonbon "Candy" Boxes for your Sweet Tooth

 

A French nineteen-century fabric covered candy box.

They are not made like this anymore unless they are for bonbons that cost a small fortune, or in cardboard with pretty labels.

 

 

 

 

 

A blue grey paper candy box with gold lettering.

Chocolate covered chestnuts from Ardeche.

 

 

 

 

A French baptismal candy box. In France, the tradition has it that Jordan almonds are given by the Godfather.

 

 

 

A round candy box with embossed siding, personage scene on top and a ribbon around the edge.
Who needs the chocolates with a box like this? 

 

 

 

 

 

An individual antique candy box (Aren't they all individual?) dated 1893.

 

 

 

 

Candy tins from Carpentras and Ventoux, for hard mint flavor, candy drops.

 

 

 

Baby blue, candy favor boxes. Imagine a wide satin ribbon attached and tied with a bow on top.

These boxes were for wedding favors.

 

 

 

A pink antique candy bag.

Did you know that a seventeen ounce bag of M&Ms cost 9 Euros in France around the same price as artisanal chocolates.

 

 

 

 

I prefer these old "bonbons fins" fine candy bags to the newer ones and I prefer candy with names such as Chocolate Kisses and Big Hunk is it just me or do those candies have sexy names? Bonbon fins is right!

(I haven't had chocolate in three years and showing these boxes has reminded me what I have been missing. But I won't crack for chocolate, migraines are not worth it. But antique chocolate boxes that is a happy addiction I can partake in.)

 

 

Romance in Venice, captured on a candy box lid.

"Darling?"
"Yes Princess?"
"I love the pink curtains and your white socks."
"Thank you My Princess."
"Darling?"
"Yes my Princess?"
"Cut the Princess stuff,  a chocolate will do."

 

 

 

What is your favorite candy?

 

I prefer licorice these days.

Antique Clothing

 

 

 

 

 

Watching this video I could imagine where the clothing and textile fragments I have found at the brocantes belonged and where or how they were used such as the pockets, or buckles, aprons, pins, corset vials ...

The Angel Traveled

 

My Grandmother Frances came to America from the Azores. Her trunk was filled with simple necessities: A linen towel, a few chemises, a hairbrush, a dress in cotton for Spring, and another in wool, probably an apron, certainly a rosary, and a porcelain angel holy water font.

 

 

As a child, I would secretly climb onto my Grandparent's bed, reach my hand into the small shell that the angel held to touch the holy water that she carried. I would bless myself, as my Grandparents did every evening before they went to bed.

 

 

 

When I left America to come to live in France, my Grandmother gave me her angel.

 

 

 

When I left California to come to live in France I sold or gave away my belongs and brought one suitcase. In it were some clothes, my pillow, a photo of my family, a potholder my mother made when she was a child, a Joy of Cooking cookbook, a salad spinner, the angel font my grandmother gave me and a journal.

 

  

What would you bring if you went to live on the other side of the world?

 

As a child, I would secretly climb onto my Grandparent's bed, reach my hand into the small shell that the angel held to touch the holy water that she carried. I would bless myself, as my Grandparents did every evening before they went to bed.

 

 

 

When I left America to come to live in France, my Grandmother gave me her angel.

 

 

 

When I left California to come to live in France I sold or gave away my belongs and brought one suitcase. In it were some clothes, my pillow, a photo of my family, a potholder my mother made when she was a child, a Joy of Cooking cookbook, a salad spinner, the angel font my grandmother gave me and a journal.

 

  

What would you bring if you went to live on the other side of the world?

 

As a child, I would secretly climb onto my Grandparent's bed, reach my hand into the small shell that the angel held to touch the holy water that she carried. I would bless myself, as my Grandparents did every evening before they went to bed.

 

 

 

When I left America to come to live in France, my Grandmother gave me her angel.

 

 

 

When I left California to come to live in France I sold or gave away my belongs and brought one suitcase. In it were some clothes, my pillow, a photo of my family, a potholder my mother made when she was a child, a Joy of Cooking cookbook, a salad spinner, the angel font my grandmother gave me and a journal.

 

  

What would you bring if you went to live on the other side of the world?

Porch Chair

 

                   

 

The porch door was open,

inviting the early autumn leaves a place to rest. 

A few gathered taking solace by the old porch chair,

tattered worn and barely standing,

but as Autumn leaves who were they to judge.

Together they shared their stories with the words that were written on them.  Words that had become the fabric of their being.

And in sharing those stories, their souls were revealed-

True colors that only eyes that listen could hear.

_____

 

Thank you for your votes yesterday. I loved reading your comments and think Royal-Ette was the winner. I was cheering Miss Down and Out. Thank you for reading my blog and being part of this blog community.

xxxx

French Armchair Contest

 

Before the French Armchair Beauty Contest began, the French Armchairs quickly glanced over their shoulders to see who was who and who was wearing what. As the curtain rose the French Armchairs straighten their backs, tucked in their tummies, lift their chins, strutting their stuff in front of the adoring audience of Sofas and Tables hoping to find a clever match.

 

 

Miss Smooth Velvet-

 

She thought she stood a chance as monochrome colors were in. Though her bone structure was not as classy as Miss Eighteen Century, and her bottom wasn't as pumped up as should be in these type of shows. That is why she wore velvet...thinking chic covered sins.

 

 

Miss Sunshine-

 

Felt like crying. She got the dance routine wrong and ended up facing the wrong way. How she wished she could do a solo routine. Certainly, the dance steps would be easier. "Groups" or the French Armchair Beauty Contest like to call it: "Teamwork", threatened her.

 

 

 

Miss Checker Board-

 

Loved to play the field, and waited happily to make her mark, "Chest!"

She laughed looking at her own, she loved the play on words

 

 

 

Ms. Lone Runner-

 

Wasn't an Armchair, but a chair nevertheless. She stood her ground declaring that the French Armchair Beauty Contest was prejudice and politically incorrect.

 

 

 

Miss Royal-Ette-

Elegantly dressed in Aubusson knew that she stood a chance. Though why did her parents give her such an upper-class snobby name, gee that might as well named her Princess.

 

 

 

Miss One and Miss Another-

 

The twins wanted to enter as a pair. They did everything together, and in this case, it upped their chances of winning, well at least they thought so. The judges threw their pencils in the air, "Enough is enough, this is a single ladies French Armchair Beauty Contest. One or Another has to go.

They both left as they could not bear to be alone.

 

 

Miss Down and Out-

 

Shook her head when she saw the other contestants especially when she saw Miss Royal-Ette. She heard the judges liked shabby chic and she had such good bone structure. How she wished she had more time, more money at least she could reapply for the upcoming year.

 

 

 

Miss Louisette the Sixteenth-

 

Knew what side was her best, and flaunted it as often as possible. A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Winning was her goal.

 

 

Miss Champagne Bottle Top Holder-

 

Knew her name was far far too long. But that was the least of her problems.

She wondered if she had enough time to make some arms if Miss Lone Runner didn't convince the judges to accept her.

 

 

 

 

Miss Pink-

 

Original was her real name. Pink was her cover. Seduction was her game. She played to win.

 

 

 

 

Miss Cain-

 

 

Threw a fit when she heard props were not allowed. Funny how she did not believe she was better without a prop.

 

 

 

 

 

I do not know where this is going. I like armchairs. Just thought I would let you know that about me.

The photo above is of Annie years ago.

Do you have a favorite place to sit? Since I am not very tall often my feet do not touch the ground when I sit in a chair. Therefore my favorite place to sit is to pull a leg up but that isn't very classy.

When I first arrived in France (thirty years ago) French Husband took me to an office party. He said it was a casual-after-work-have-a-drink-sorta-thing. It was at an office friend's nutshell apartment.

I wore casual. Everyone stood around looking uncomfortable, there weren't enough chairs to go around so I thought I would sit on the floor next to the crowded sofa hoping to give a lead-in for people to relax, talk in a group, and get cozy.

Wow was that a faux pas! The instant I sat down I knew I was doing a big no-no. I could hear a silence fill the space between them and me. How I wished I could have disappeared. I sat still turning every shade of red. Then I stood up and went to the bathroom. To this day I wonder what was so bad about sitting on the floor.

Though I have never seen anyone sit on the floor since.

Silly rules.

Who has your vote for the armchair contest?

 

Fruit Rouge Mousse (Three Berry Mousse)

 

 

Claire who spent a few nights with us made Fruit Rouge Mousse for dessert last night.

It was well worth the six bowls used to make it. 

 

 

 

Happy guests indeed considering I am not a dessert maker. I know how to but it isn't my favorite thing to do for a dinner party and not my favorite part of a meal, (unless of course, it is as delicious as homemade by someone) so often I just buy something at the bakery. But since our three bakeries closed down, for no apparent reason and put the town into a pickle, not having a bakery in any French town is almost taboo, a scandal and has had our village a buzz for over a month. No bakery in town reminds me of a Marcel Pagnol movie of Manon of the Source, though instead of no water, there isn't bread...    and in my world cakes. Nothing as tragic as Manon of the Source, but has the village wondering where they will have their croissant, and more so our daily bread.

Luckily Claire filled in and saved the evening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The chocolate lovers did not complain and licked their dishes clean.

 

Recipe found in Anne Willian's Desserts

 

Storyteller

 

Come sit down cozy up in my arms

let me tell you a story and weave dreams around us.

I am certain that if this chair could talk it would 

take days of listening to hear the depths of its stories.

 

When Bloggers Meet

 

Some of you have been following my blog since the beginning, thirteen years ago and those of you who have left comments during that time and still now I feel I know you and there is an undeniable relationship between us. And now after all these years, I am meeting your children!

Today I had the great pleasure of meeting Miss Claire Di is Claire's mom. Di homeschooled her five children, Clair has a captivating rock star personality bright and fun or as Yann teased, "Amusant". Late this afternoon she whipped up a stovetop lavender potpourri.

We posted a video on my Instagram stories.

 

 

 

An antique copper pot is how it all started. I had this tiny copper pot hanging with my kitchen utensils that Claire found adorable and started to share how she likes to make Christmas stovetop potpourri. I said I wish we could make some but I did not have most of the ingredients that she used so I asked if she knew how to make lavender stovetop potpourri and she said no but let's give it a try. I love a let's do it spontaneous soul.

We went to my courtyard and cut twenty or so dried lavender heads with their leaves and arranged them in the pan, then we covered the lavender with water and brought it to a boil for a few minutes. Then we added half a teaspoon of vanilla and let it simmered for a few hours. Natural lavender scent.

Oh my, our home smelled like a refreshing scent straight from of a summer day.

 

 

 

 

Dear Di,

Your daughter is delightful and I am going to keep her.

Thank you,

C

XXX

 

 

 

 

The Unbreakable Bond of Love

 

 

Saturday afternoon Chelsea came over for lunch and to catch up. She sat on the kitchen counter as I leaned against the kitchen sink. Hours later we were caught up, tummies full, adventures planned, happiness assured, married life bliss, mother proud.

Even though Chelsea is 28 and Sacha 26 it is hard to believe at times that they are young adults living their lives away from our own. Yann and I have talked about the empty nest, that happened years ago, but there is something else that happens with the empty nest, layers. The first layer is when they left for University they left home but they still depended on us and came home for breaks and summer. Then the second layer they started their jobs, moved away and were independent and there was such joy and gratefulness that they were well and independent. Then the third layer was realizing that they are on their way and will never live at home again. Incredible how Yann and I dreamed of having a family, then those little birds hatched, grew, spread their wings and now have created their own nests. 

Parenthood is an extraordinary adventure.

Even though our children live far away the bond is ever as strong. As my friend said regarding her daughter who lives far away from home, "... we are not physically close, but we are very close." It was exactly what I needed to hear. 

 

 

Look What We Found on the Street in Paris

Of course, it came home with us.

 

Sacha Celebrates One Year in Seattle

That Favorite Thing of Mine

 

 

French Ephemera.

I have a thing for it.

Crazy truth.

Whenever I see old French paper I have to stop to check it out.

 

 

 

 

Name cards, invitations, announcements...

Bits of a history of a story once lived.

 

 

 

 

Menus from weddings, birthdays, baptisms, anniversaries...

 

 

 

Handwritten music.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stacks that appear as artwork to me.

 

 

Photo via Lorna.

 

The amazing book I bought from the man I have called, "The Paper Guy" for years.

Once upon a time I found ... dated 1739 from King Louis the 13th. It was one of the best things I have ever found. 

 

 

 

 

Books without covers, exposing a certain je ne sais quoi?

I told you...

Please tell me you flipped about something not human too?

 

 

 

 

 

Shelves, boxes, baskets, drawers FULL.

I doubt you can retire from that sort of passionate drive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Come to France and Let me Share my World with You

 

 

French la Vie, a new old direction gathering what I love and taking you along by leading journeys in Provence, and Bretagne, re-starting in 2019. The groups will be small (4 maximum). I have been exploring Bretagne these last few days with Francoise (My friend for over thirty years and how I came to know my French Husband) and can see that it will be more about landscapes, culture, history, visiting artisans and of course, food and the brocante. Whereas Provence will do that too but visiting more antiques and artisans both following the path to inspiring our creative soul.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Those of you who have been following me know I have a crazy passion for antiques and that which circles it: Antiquing in villages which takes me to interesting places such as Lorgues, Villecroze, Carpentras, St Cannat, Gardanne, Peypin... to the people I meet and then become friends with (Odile who I met 25 years ago and was one of the first persons I ever met antiquing with her daughter the ultra-talented artistic Aurelie, Kristen who can weave magic with the everyday beauty and charm with her abundant imaginations, Mo whose hands and spirit create beautiful pottery, Nelly in the old abandoned Chateau...) Which led me to start a blog about it over 13 years ago. None of this is new to those of you who have become my friends over these last 13 years, and who have encouraged me to take this journey with you. 

And the cherry on top of the cake in the French la Vie life of mine is being married to Yann and raising our children Chelsea and Sacha, living in France these last thirty years has given me a few stories to share.

 

Let's go.

 

 

 

We will discover France through different lenses, taking you to the heart and soul of Provence and/or Brittany. Villages such as Aix en Provence, Cassis, Lourmarin St. Malo, Dinard, Rennes, Saint Michel... Baguettes, wine, cheese, crepes, calvados, galettes... Gilders, painters, basket weavers... Antique collectors, textiles, potters... Markets, brocantes, Islands off the coast of Brittany... private home shops, castles, ruins, seaside views... Sharing stories, gathering memories, planting dreams.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dates available French la Vie Journeys in Provence:

 

April 16th to the 23rd, 2019, Two places remain.

April 25th to May 2nd, 2019, One place remains.

May 21 to May 28th, 2019, SOLD OUT

June 25th to July 2nd, 2019, Three places remain.

September 6th to the 9th, 2019, SOLD OUT

September 12th to 19th, 2019, SOLD OUT

October 7th to the 14th, 2019 Four places remain

 

..............................

 

 

Dates Available for French la Vie Journeys in Bretagne:

 

June 11th to 18th, 2019, Four places remain

October 3rd to October 10th, 2019, Four places remain

 

2020 dates to be announced they will be from May until October.

 

 

 

 

If you would like to come on another date, I can arrange that if you have three other people who would like to join you, or if you would like to do a Private Journey that can be arranged too.

 

In Provence, we will be staying in my home in Saint Zacharie. 

In Bretagne, we will be staying in the area of the Emerald Coast in Plouer sur Rance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Each group is a maximum of four people to assure a personal, intimate, well-tailored journey. I will send out a questionnaire to know you better so that I can create a journey with your suggestions and desires in mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Cost:

 

Provence and Brittany:

 

3500 Euros per person for the French la Vie's one week journey

which includes transportation, lodging, meals, and drinks.

Air transportation to and from France, personal expenses, and travel insurance are not included.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The French la Vie Journeys are handcrafted to each group that comes. If you like antiques we will visit markets and have personal entrance to little shops in private homes. If you want to find places to soak in daily life for inspiration we will wander through villages, peeking around corners and discovering history by seeing. If you want to visit craftsman's studios: painters, potters, cooks, winemakers, the cornucopia of food, and or simply learn about the French lifestyle by being immersed into the "real" Provence and the Enchanting Brittany the Emerald Coast, then this is for you. 

 

 

 

On the French la Vie Journey the meals are all included you will dine in simply enchanting off the beaten path restaurants, have elegant picnics and sit around my table while I prepare French with an international twist organic meals. 

Wine will flow as well.

 

 There it is the richness in the everyday lifestyle of France.

Farm to table freshly picked and served, grapes, figs, almonds, olives... the multitude of cheeses and baguettes with conversation flowing as easily as the wine, arms ready to pat on the back, laughter as music and a generous table that welcomes anyone who pops in. Provence and Bretagne are laid back, with a vast landscape that runs to the sea and let's not forget that painter's trekked here to capture the light to share the story on canvas, while poet told its tales.

 

 

 

When is the best time to come to France?

Today, tomorrow any moment you can.

 

 

 Cheerful, gay, poppies waves and the sun warms our backs May is such a lovely time in Provence. But then when isn't a good time in Provence? Some mark months by holidays, birthdays, anniversaries and so do I, but I also I include-- May for Poppies and Cherries, July for Lavender, August for late night dinners outside, September for grape harvest, for children going back to school and the villages returning from summer vacation filled with their chatter....

In Bretagne, you must know that it is green for a reason. The sky gives contrast and depth to the varied landscape that Bretagne is famous for, those rugged cliffs, the lush green that nourishes the dairies providing butter and cheese. The endless coastline trails where fortresses, castles, and ruins remain you of another time. With that said June through early October promise days with more sunshine than liquid sunshine.

 

 

 

 

We will visit a variety of creative artists and their studios.

  

 

 

 

Another question I am often asked is:

If I am not a "big" shopper is this journey for me?

Provence has more brocantes than Bretagne, but you do not need to be a big shopper to go on either.

Nevertheless, whatever you purchase on the French la Vie Journey I can provide a variety of options for shipping, be it a by mail or a container.

 

Both journeys are about discovery and inspiration.

 

 

Thank you for your generous friendship and steadfast support.

I hope to meet you one day.

xxx

For more information contact me at:

coreyamaro@aol.com

and to see more follow me on 

Instagram.

 

 

Dinner for Four

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We met with the Newlyweds for dinner.

Delightful.

Happiness overflowed.

The joy of seeing your children happy, well, and in love.

They invited French Husband and me to dinner for Yann's birthday.

 

Bells and a Bumblebee

 

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bumblebee and bells

A post shared by Corey Amaro (@coreyamaro) on Sep 10, 2018 at 1:39pm PDT

Brittany's Emerald Coast

 

Planning a journey for the French la Vie through Brittany has been an incredible pleasure. Being with my good friend Francoise is equal to being with a sister that I never had but longed for, I admire how she can do anything (sculpting, weaving, rushing, sewing, knitting, painting, gardening... plus how she knows Brittany like the back of her hand. She zips around the small back roads, leads along coastal trails, and then whips up amazing meals seemingly without effort.

 

Brittany is beautiful, the landscape is intense, rich, with a rugged coastline that remains often of Northern California. 

I asked Yann how he could have ever left and he replied,

"Tell me why the sky is blue?"

A question for a question is not an answer and neither is "I do not know".

 

 

 

Fortresses, castles, and ruins dot the endless coastline, plus there are trails that run all along the Emerald Coast.

Beautiful trails with breathtaking views.

The weather has been utterly flawless which has made the experience even more glorious.

Brittany is showing me all the stops.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh and the tides! How they go out for miles and then come back in five or six hours later. And while they are out you can walk to islands with other ruins on them. Or go Peche a Pied, which we plan to do.

 

 

 

 

 

 

France you never cease to amaze me.

 

 

Saturday Sunflowers

Brittany, The Tempting Landscape

 

 

My French Husband grew up in Brittany. The beautiful landscape makes me wonder how he ever could leave it.

As you know we live in Provence which is not bad at all. But Brittany is tempting me, it is stealing my heart if the blue skies continue and if find my brocante bug drug of antiquing I might have to move here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

French la Vie in Brittany

Heading to Brittany by train to plan thr French la Vie Journey. 

Two dates, both a week long will be offered in June 2019.

If you are interested in discovering Brittany with Francoise my long time 

friend and me, let me know and I will send you the information.

 

 

Francoise is French and grew up in Brittany, she also is a sculpter. Francoise lived in San Francisco years ago with her husband. It is because of Francoise thatI met Yann. 

Follow me on Instagram to see more photos and videos as Francoise and I go galavanting these next few days through the countryside.

 

 

Wall of Dishes

 

A wall of dishes in our apartment in Paris.

Do you think I need more?

(Clue: The only answer is yes.)

What do you collect?

Birthday Boy

Brocante Treasure Chest

 

 

 

 

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is in your treasure chest?

Be it not jewels, nor money, nor a person, place or thing.

What do you hold sacred?

The brocante treasure chest holds things, some have stories, some tell stories, the stories are the treasures.

 

The Brocante

 

We got up earlier than usual today to go to a brocante that we had never been to before. The brocante surrounded an enormous pond or miniature lake which thankfully made the miserable brocante worth the drive and lost hours of sleep. Luckily there were plenty of brocantes today, we headed back to our faithful ones and forgot about the "bad" brocante in the pretty spot.

How was your Sunday?

The Colors of Living Abroad

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rich is the flavor that has touched my life in France.

Every sense has been saturated, from taste to touch, sight to sound, sweetly combine with sound.

If I could change one thing about living in France it would be that my family lived next door. I will always miss them, and only a spiritual love can make up for that sense of loss.

With Sacha living in Seattle, I am reminded of the distance even more, and it was already enough. Also the other day a young man from my hometown came to live in France. A few years ago he met a French woman who was living in California, they fell in love and she wanted to return to France, so he followed her. He does not speak French, though is in the process of learning. We have many similarities, and they came to the surface when I met him in Cassis with his Mom who came to visit him. His Mom (someone I went to high school with) spoke the same things my Mom use to speak when I first left that I am speaking now that Sacha has left: Sadness, happiness, emptiness, fullness the gamut that families feel when they are separated.

Rich is the flavor that has touched my life in France: Sweet, sensual, solid, with a few lumps that add to the texture that comes with daily life. But as in everything in life, it comes with a price.

Thankfully, love the big spoon of giving and receiving stirs it gently.

Stirring gently these days.

_ _ _

What is stirring you these days?

 

The Louvre: Playing with Time

 

The Louvre is a monster in the heart of Paris, beating to the sound of over 30,000 pieces of art. Over 30,000 pieces of art. That means if I spent one mere second looking at each of the 30,000 pieces, it would take me eight hours to see all of them. Eight hours. For fun I looked at each thing for one second. Robotic craziness. Sore eyes that took training not to look longer, nor look at something again. Some things, most things I wanted to stare at forever. Oh but wait I forgot to count walking. 

 

"Duh Corey the 30,000 plus pieces of art are not lined up in a pretty row."

 

 

 

 

 

Walking through its 1,600,000 square feet. Do you know how many miles that is?

I cannot imagine how many brooms have been worn out sweeping.

Then there are the ceilings. No a single simple flat white ceiling in the place.

Between taking one second to look at each thing, plus walking 1,600,000 square feet, plus looking up at the ceilings, and paying attention not to trip...

Days, literally days.

When I was in Paris with my nieces we went to the Louvre, we spent three hours and walked over three miles.  

 

 

 

 

I forgot to add reading the descriptions. Absorbing the facts...

1528 - The Cupid boy at the bottom of the painting is a modern day bomber, 

well, that is what I translated from Allegri's Allegorie des Vices.

 

I smiled for several seconds at my own ding dong joke. Losing time, or I should keep the clock ticking.

 

When going to the Louvre or any museum with Yann, add another ten years of looking to each object. The first time I went to a museum with Yann I was at the exit door and he hadn't even view the first room.

Let's just say he takes a lifetime his time in a museum.

 

 

 

 

But then again I am easily distracted, often carried away seeing reflections...

 

 

 

 

 

 

and then taking photos of reflections, then comparing faux painted marble to real marble, then looking at the detail of the frames, and imaging my hand painting by seeing their brushstrokes, then looking at the scale of the museum, then rearranging the artwork, followed by picking my favorite, and of course looking for the signatures.

Yann studies symbolic meaning, reads the descriptions, looks things up in the guidebooks or online. Educating himself.  

We are on different pages when we go to a museum.

 

 

 

Anyway, going to a museum especially the Louvre takes time.

Add paying attention to the perspective, the balance of the grandiose size of the Louvre and the objects and then, doing it all over again.

 

 

 

Add several more hours. Seriously, how could I look at each thing for a second? That idea lasted a split second.

 

 

 

The details grab me. Hold me. Make me gasp. 

The incredible inspiration that takes time to absorb.

 

 

 

Saint Sebastian, the large wooden frame.

Oh, the frames! My oh my the frames.

 

 

 

The frames alone would are worthy of a museum.

 

 

 

435 rooms, 8 corridors, numerous windows to look out.

Let me just say that there is no way you can see it all in a day or a week.

 

I have been to the Louvre twenty times or more, and it always feels like the first time:

Amazement.

 

 

 

 

Two children stood by a painting and played I spied. I overheard one of them say,

"I spy an angel in a tree."

Now I want to go back, to the monster Louvre, and play I spy in the 435 rooms.

 

How are you in a museum?

Lessons about Antiquing

 

 

One of my favorite antiquing experience was over ten years ago, I went to visit an antique dealer's attic. It was a dream come true. Attics are usually dark, this one was no exception. In my excitement to get there, I parked my car in a haste and ran to her home. When we went into the attic I realized I had my prescription sunglasses on, and that I had left my glasses in the car several thousand blocks away. Never mind I can see I said.

 

First lesson when buying antiques:

See with your heart. Because at the end of the day the piece you buy share who you are, and either will create the ambiance of your home or tell your clients about your aesthetics.

 

 

 

 

 

Boxes upon boxes, stacks of stuff, cramped everywhere. I nearly peed my pants I was that giddy. "Is this the stairway to heaven?" I asked. The dealer was very kind she said, "Take your time, open any box you want. I'll be downstairs." 

I pinched myself really hard to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Then I said to her that I that I might end up living in her attic. She said, in that case, she would make some tea. 

Lesson number two:

Most people will tell you to hide your feelings. To stay neutral so that you can have more leverage in negotiating a better price. Most people will tell you to point out the flaws in the object, to act like it is too expensive, to pretend you are not that interested.

And that can be true. 

And other times, such as this time

it is best to blow those lessons out the nonexisting attic window.

 

 

 

 

The cardboard treasure boxes held many styles, most of the pieces dated around 1880-1930s. The craftsmanship of many creative hands, that had labored lovingly at their art, started to form mountains around me. Baptismal gowns, table clothes, lace panel curtains, mixed match napkins with monograms, bundles of lace...

Lesson number three:

Buying all of it versus picking out piece by piece usually offers a better deal.

 

 

 

 

 

Then in the bottom of one of the boxes, I saw two brown paper parcels. I asked the antique dealer what was inside of them. She said they were books.

"Do you like old books?"

I told her I "liked" everything except anchovies and oysters.

 

Lesson number four:

Ask questions. Look inside boxes, under the table, and up above. Often the best finds are waiting for you to find them.

Don't be afraid to ask for what you want, and when it comes to you embrace it with open arms.

 

What lessons do you have to share about antiquing?

Simple Moments

         

 

Simple moments,

that come without expectation,

and root within 

painting the heart a deeper color red.

Something noticed which is usually overlooked,

a flower growing in the sidewalk crack,

the changing season,

the evening song that sings one to sleep.

Gifts with unmeasured meaning,

as simple as a bow.

Marseille o

 

A spotted this beautiful photograph of Marseille in Alres. I wish I knew the 

Photographer. The image catches emotion and the layers of Marseille.

 

To Be Poetry

 


 

 

When we find a place that calls our name like poetry where the lines become arrows piercing our very being. Where doubt cannot come, and freedom to be who we extend us a hand as if to say, "Come sit down be yourself with me." When we find a place where our voice echoes back a song that we know, a song the sings deeper and higher than we have ever dreamed possible, the song that chants our name.

When we find a place that knows us before we knew it, a place that says "You are loved!" We are set free to be content because everything within us finds a place and breathes.

Let us live our poem.

What is a word that in your Poem?

 

French la Vie, Taking a Bath

                   

 

 

Carry the tub outside.

Under my arm, I will hold the champagne.

Along the way wildflowers gathered,

tossing them in the tub.

Oh, those wisps of delight.

Fill the tub with the garden hose 

Gunna, let it overflow to water the garden at the same time.

Take clothes off,

then toss them far out of sight.

Dip a toe, doesn't matter if it is hot or cold, dive in.

Drink straight from the bottle,

Turn up nature's radio listen:

To the owl's hoot and the shooting stars.

With a watery wildflower wreath, I am going to run and jump in bed wrapping the sheet around me

like a butterfly cocoon.

 

Why do I do the same thing, the same way, each day? 

A Project I Meant to Do

Take a photo of an image you love.

Print it out on transparent paper that is adhesive on the backside.

Then apply it to a clear vase.

Add flowers and call it artwork.

Photo example: A vase with transparent adhesive paper, and flowers from my cousin Julie's home.

French la Vie the Journey and Journeys

 

 

 

 

 

What is up with the brocante? Oh, a lot. Always a lot, which is a good thing, I could never say, "Been there done that." Which is, by the way, something I can hardly stand hearing. I guess I never grow tired of being at the brocante, seeing the old stuff being unpacked, hearing the chatter in the background:

"What did you find?" "How much did you pay?" "Are you going to sell it?" "How much?" "Can you do a better price?"

Because in an odd way it is a French heartbeat. When I go to the brocante I see old things that have a history of the land, a lifestyle, stories unfold with conversations with the antique dealers, at the brocante I have discovered many off the beaten track villages, have met people and have picked up tons of French vocabulary. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How charming it is to see France by brocant-ing?

VERY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is true, you know, what they say, the best way to learn a foreign language is to fall in love. That is how I learned to speak French... at the brocante in France. And while learning French I learned a few more French things: History, culture and occasionally about wine, and flirting. Brocanteurs love to flirt. Harmless, entertaining pass time while seeking out old stuff. I suppose being amongst so many beautiful antiques, pieces from all over France, pieces that connect memories and moments does that, it makes you remember, it makes you share stories and it makes you smile while listening to others sharing their stories about their lives uncannily early in the morning standing in an old village.

 

 

 

 

Vertical garden wall.

While at the brocante,

The distraction of the charming French villages.

Happens.

Often.

 

 

 

 

 

The French brocante has everything, literally, everything and some brocantes have better antiques than others. On any given weekend there are several brocantes within an hour or so from where I live. Though there are many brocantes where I live they are not created equal: Some brocantes are expensive, others are more like a flea market with clothes, books, toys and occasionally something incredible shows up for fifty cents. Each brocante has its personality, so knowing which ones to go to is important. For example, if you come to France on a holiday and want to go to a brocante you might not want to go to one that sells clothing, books, toys with the hope that something incredible shows up for fifty cents. You might want to go to a brocante where you will desire more than your suitcase can carry while wondering if you could wear the tureen as a hat, and use the nightstand as a carry-on. 

In the thirty years I have lived in France I could talk for hours about brocante tales; Creative overstuffed suitcases, deals made and lost, one of a kind pieces found, negotiating clues, marble tops breaking, paintings found in chicken pens, families selling heirlooms for a song, overpriced items that foreigners thought were real, spotting Catherine Deneuve, Keira Knightly, Hugh Grant, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, going to the dump and finding a treasure, going to a brocante in a castle and finding nothing...

 

 

 

 

After thirty years of living in France, furnishing four homes, selling countless antiques will the French brocante ever became blasé for me?

Seriously I doubt it.

I have had this passion since I was 14 when I went antiquing with my mom and Aunt Marie.

Drug of choice.

 Antiques are the true coquetry teasing me constantly:

"Look closely, come closer, touch me... here I take hold!"

teasing...

"Don't you want me?"

And then those words in French. God French is sexy, isn't it? Even if it is talking about brocante (I was going to say junk, but thought I better not... sniff.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Though most of all it is how the brocante pieces mingle and are spilled with other antique pieces create an undeniable atmosphere. Inspiration galore, creating an urge to gather it all for safe keeping.

If you are ever in France (I am warning you) the stuff is addicting and you might want to move in just to snuggle up to the bits and pieces of happiness.

For those who have been reading my blog you know I am crazy for antiques, that I love France and that I want to meet every single one of you. Each time I have met someone from my blog (I have met hundreds of readers so far...) it feels like we have been friends for years, and we have.

Brocante and blogging have been a great gift...  antiques took me online, and being online I have connected with you. How happy that has made me.

 

 

 

When are you coming? Why wait? Come now!

 

Or at least as soon as you can. If you want to join me here are some dates when I am planning to explore Provence and Brittany:

 

French la Vie Journeys in Provence

 

April 16th to the 23rd, 2019,   Two places remain

April 25th to May 2nd, 2019,  Two places remain

May 21 to May 28th, 2019, Poppy Fields included, Two places remain

June 27th to July the 4th, 2019, Lavender Fields included, Three places available

September 6th to the 9th, 2019, One place available.

Other dates to be announced.

 

***

 

French la Vie Brittany 

 

June 4th to 11th, 2019, Four places available

June 18th to the 25th, 2019, Four Places available

Other dates to be announced.

 

If you would like to join me at another time or

create your own group other then the dates mention above let me know.

 

Love Letters from WWII

As yesterday's post struck a cord for many of you, I thought I would repost a post of mine from 2009.

 

 

The other day at the brocante I found a stack of letters written during 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. The antique dealer seeing that I didn't get the letters real significance told me they were a collection of love letters written during WWII. I had to buy them.

 

 

 

 

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 artful, a conversational piece, a 'real' coffee table book. 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 at the French brocante. I got the letters for five euros.

 

Later at the brocante, my friend Nathalie waited for me in the car as I went around gathering the things I bought, 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, 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 homemade 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, and the surrounding area.

 

 

 

 

The letters always started 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 gutted then burned to the ground. "The Wife" mentions how she felt safer in the city that was being bombed every day 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 were murdered in one day. "Whenever we hear a gunshot, we know someone is dying. Many are dying."

 

 

 

 

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.

 

It will take awhile before all the letters are read. 

 

Books to read about WWII:

All that Light You Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

The Nightengale by Kristin Hannah

Sarah's Keys by Tatiana de Rosnay

The Lost Letters by Jillian Cantor

Please tell me of others that you know...

 

 

 

 

 

August 22nd Liberation Day in Saint Zacharie

When France was occupied by the Nazis during World War II, they set up their headquarters in certain large often beautiful French homes throughout France. My Belle Mere's (Mother-in-Law's) parents' home in Rennes was chosen for such a purpose. My Belle Mere was sixteen at the time, she and her family were allowed to live in the basement while the Nazis took over their home.

 

At the same time, my Belle Mere's family who lived in Paris were afraid that Paris would be destroyed came to Rennes because they thought they would be safer, they moved in with my Belle Mere and her family, forty-five of them lived in the basement.

 

My Belle Mere's Father was active in the French Resistance. Living underneath them in the basement provided a sneaky eye's view on what was going on. It also proved a place easy to eavesdrop on the Nazi officers' conversations. He was allowed to ride his bicycle into the countryside to collect fresh produce and dairy products, a note or two was often slipped into the potato sack. Certainly, he feared for his life and the life of his family. But "...to sit and do nothing was like death itself." he later said.

My French family has many stories about life with the Nazi officers, oddly none of them are brutal nor ugly, seemingly surreal. The head Nazi officer was a family man and his wife like my Belle Mere's mother was pregnant. When my Belle Mere's mother went into labor, the head officer took her to the hospital and made sure that she had everything she needed.

I often wonder how it was to live like that? How it must have felt to be treated with an odd respect, yet knowing a violent war surrounded them. To see the enemy as human, to see their lives similar and intertwine. It was as if the Nazi officers in their home were not part of the war. The twisted twist of being involved and yet not wanting to be.

As horrendous and evil as that war was, it seemed some small acts of kindness sipped out of such ugliness. Often at night, the Nazi officers played the piano, and the music seemed to settle their frayed nerves. Though my Belle Mere's family never once let down their guard and knew that death was as close as their doorstep. The expression, "killing with kindness," seemed to hold a raw meaning for them in times like this.

A family in my village (whose home was also occupied during WWII) told me that their Great grandmother was told after celebrating Christmas with the Nazi officers that occupied their home, "We have had a wonderful Christmas celebrating with you, we have enjoyed our evening together but if tonight we receive orders to kill you, we will." He said as he smiled and went upstairs to bed.

 

Photo: A French food ration chart from WWII that I found years ago at the brocante. The food chart lists the food items available, the cost and how much per person. Fresh fruits, vegetables, milk, and meat are not on the list. 

The WWII food ration chart is hand-printed on canvas and hangs in our kitchen.

 

Today August 22nd, our town in Provence celebrates the day it was liberated, as it does every 22nd of August, with a parade celebrating the American and British soldiers, a moment of silence, then a party in the streets. I will post videos to my stories on Instagram.

 

On this day over twenty years ago I met Annie when she came to my door and said, "I didn't know an American to thank at the end of the war, and since I heard you are American I came to say thank you to you."

 

 

Burning Passion

 

 

Catching the light

holding it

reflecting a fire above

flames burn

crystal clear

you have rendered me speechless,

causing my heart to sing.

 

Summer Cherry

 

Our Canadian friends Denise and Vlad are back! They come every summer for two months or more, as they have an apartment in Cotignac. I met Denise through blogging about eight or nine years ago, I have never been good at remembering dates. As soon as they arrive Yann and I say it is then we feel summer is here, I guess you could say they are the cherry on top.

Many of you have met my friend, Denise, as she is an excellent cook, a great joke teller, a fantastic enabler... and whenever we have guests Denise invites everyone over (hint another good reason to come to France!)

Vlad took this photo of us and two seconds later Denise was dancing with Yann, I wish I had that video.

 

 

Bon Appetit

 

It starts with a baguette and wine, then depending on the season the flavors unfold the meal,

cheese comes waltzing in towards the end, and lastly with fanfare a dessert with or without coffee.

What part is your favorite?

I prefer salty anything to anything sweet.

Bon appetit?? Did you know ...

 

 

Lunch in Provence

 

Lined up along the entrance of the Mas in Provence the Plaintain have stood for over a hundred years, giving shade in the warm summer days and a stage for the cicadas to sing. This afternoon I had the pleasure of meeting new friends and sharing lunch in their beautiful spot.

 

 

 

 

 

The road leading to the Mas is surrounded by sunflower fields, when I arrived I felt that this place was literally a slice of heaven.

 

 

 

Blue and yellow, the heart of Provence during summer time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish I could share every inch, detail, whimsy, elegance, corner, nook, and soul of this incredible place. As it is private I cannot, but how I wish I could.

Instead, close your eyes and imagine the heart of Provence the warm summer days, the striking blue sky that has lured painters to speak about the light with their paintbrushes. Imagine fields as far as you can see with sunflowers bowing their heads, and the majestic Plantain leaves fanning you to sleep. In your dreams go back in time as you enter the Mas surrender to the beauty, history, and art leading you deeper into a graceful way of living.

I was overtaken by its spirit.

 

 

Thank you J. and D.

 

Evening Comes

 

 

 

The sun sends forth the last rays of light, it pours through my kitchen

window and spreads across the table, 

I smile as I witness the simple beauty of the moment.

the surrendering of the day.

Shadows arrive,

hush tones fill the air and in the near distance a silence rings out,

the mood changes as gracefully as the curtain falls.

   

What is your favorite time of the day?

 

Colors of a Lifetime

                        

 

 

A green milk bucket of zinnias from my Mother's garden

sat on the yellow kitchen table a few summers ago and often many summers growing up.

Memories flood my mind whenever I see them. Childhood, my mother, and her garden, us kids riding our bikes down the lane, ice cream, cousins, summer... a strong colorful sensation of love.

What reminds you of your childhood home?

Silent Song

                                 

I am spoiled. I have a good life. I have a family who loves me, food to eat, a roof over my head. I am healthy and in no pain. I have running water, more than enough to water the flowers in my garden. I am safe, bombs are not falling from the sky. Decisions are easy- what should I make for dinner? Do you want me to take that to the post office? Would you like sugar in your tea?

 

When I had ovarian cancer, I was still spoiled, I lived. There was medicine readily available. I had a soft bed, a toilet to throw up in and someone to hold my hand. I had more prayers offered for me than all the prayers ever said at Notre Dame. My daughter who was three at the time told me, "there are angels dancing above your head" I had faith to believe her.

 

The hardest question to answer: Why me? Why am I generously spoiled while most of the world suffers beyond belief. The biggest challenge is to remember to live the gift of my life, every day as lovingly as possible. Is that too hard to do? To pick up my harp, and play knowing others cannot.

 

 

Pie is Tarte in French

My mother makes pies ten times a day. The moment my mom reads this she is going to say, "Oh that Corey, I certainly do not."

Okay then, at least once a week, usually on a Monday for the family dinner. One thing is certain, my mom is known for her flaky, buttery pie crust. Banana cream, coconut cream, lemon meringue, chocolate, blackberry, apple, apricot... to name a few of the fillings.

In France, a pie is called a tarte with an "e" at the end. 

There is a bakery in Cassis, called the "La Tarte Tropezienne"

by far the best bakery in town.

Their desserts are pieces of artwork plus they are as delicious as they look. I could dive into them head first!

Have you ever been in a pie eating contest? I have I think I was in the eighth grade or maybe the seventh grade. I do not remember who won, but I do remember the pies were chocolate with a mountain high of whip cream and that is was crazy fun. Come to think of it was I the only girl in the contest? I know Mitchell was in the contest too. 

Anyway, in case you are ever in a pie eating contest (you never know), I am going to give you a big hint about how to win:

Dive in head first

turn your head around and around 

so that most of it remains on your face

Which makes for less to eat.

Wear a shower cap.

(P.S. I would never think to enter a pie eating contest with a tarte as beautiful as the one above, nor one of my mother's pie. They are worth savoring every bit, let alone my mother's reaction which would not be pleasant. Gee, she points a finger if I sneak a spoonful of uncooked cookie dough!)

A Change is Coming

 

 

After years literally of saying that I wanted to change my blog's name,

After writing and posting every day since 2005 to this blog of mine,

I am changing the name of my blog Tongue in Cheek.  Though the blog won't change, just the name.

Because I am hopeless how to come up with a name that would represent what my blog is about and dragged my feet trying to figure something out, I asked French Husband what I should do. He said right off the tip of his tongue, "Corey you share what you love, you share your life our lives, your stories about living in France... French La Vie could be the name of your blog, The French Life."

I smiled a mile long, hugged him then online to see if the name was available and it was and I bought the domain.

Soon I will change the address, though my blog will continue coming to you as it has been.

I will fill you in as I set it up.

French La Vie

Stories collected while living in France.

 

(Photo via Mari) 

 

Sunday without Brocante

 

 

 

 

Sunday without brocante, though there were plenty going on. Yann and I went kayaking in Cassis, I held paddles, splashed around but Yann’s effort took us out and about.

Shutters half closed we took a nap, or I should say Yann did. 

Flowers on Friday

Postcards From a Village Next to Where We Live

                              

   Walking along the streets of the neighboring village,

I was happily surprised to find the olive tree surrounded by pansies.

The pink backdrop adds perfection.

 

 

 

 

                              

   Midday and the shutter is half closed.

Basil ready for pesto.

 

 

                                

The hike up to the clock tower gave me this perspective.

In France, the center of town is often, if not always, a maze of tiny streets mounting in a circle with the church in the middle.

 

 

 

 

 

                                 ..."ERIE" is on the end of many French words. Do you know what this sign says?

As soon as someone says, "Cremerie" I am going to say, "Voila!"

 

 

 

                               

  Up above the city, from one church tower overlooking another.

 

If you want to see the backroads of France, then go on the back roads. 

If you want to see how the French live, then visit a non-touristic village and stay there 

for a week or so and immersing yourself in the daily life of a small town.

 

 

 

The foothills of Provence. Garlaban in the distance.

 

 

                                

 

 

 

                                 I wanted to ask him if he sold wine. But then thought he might think I was flirting and ask me up.

As I walked away, I thought I should have asked him certainly, he had wine for sale.

 

 

 

 

 

Looking up at the clock tower.

 

 

                                

A facade next to the town hall, called "Hotel de Ville".

 

 

 

                                

 

The massive, century old, olive pot, now used as a plant holder.

 

 

                                

 

Thought you might enjoy a few postcards, from the village next door to where I live.

I Follow You Deep Sea Baby

 

 

A storm is brewing in Cassis.

Thunder sets the tone, rain followed and the beach emptied within seconds.

French Husband went sailing the other day with a friend, and the friend brought along two teenage boys and a big dog.

The bunch of would-be sailors are out depending on French Husband. 

When I heard about the dog I thought, "I am so glad I did not go with them."

I am not worried, though I did walk out to the beach last night thinking, "I hope you don't sail in a storm."

 

Life

Ebb and flow,

Give and take,

Love may it come steadily upon your shore,

Soft, smooth, even...

And then when it goes back to the deep profound sea may it sing.

 

....

 

By two in the afternoon the sky clears, the sea reflects its color,

the beach bathers have returned.

And I am certain French Husband did not even blink an eye.

 

Would You Swim in a Sea that Called Your Name?

 

Late this evening I walked from our apartment to the seaside, it took me three minutes.

Taking my sandals off I stepped into the sea the water wrapped around my legs which felt like a needed hug, the water was warmer than I have ever felt.

Delicious and inviting.

Very few people were around, a few were swimming, it was 11pm.

I took off my dress, threw it behind me and went on in.

Pure bliss.

Later I stepped out, put my dress back on and walked home to write this post.

 

 

 

 

 

Jeans and a Tee Shirt

 

French Husband hates shopping.

Any type of shopping:

Food,

Furniture,

Paint,

Light bobs (as he calls them, and I never want him to stop calling them 'light bobs')

Clothes, especially clothes.

He shops for buildings and I buy his clothes.

For Chelsea's wedding if I hadn't pulled him to the shops he probably would have shown up in his stans, jeans, and a well-worn tee shirt. By the reactions of our friends, I think they were surprised he didn't.

As shopping for clothes is one of French Husband's biggest pet peeves, he dares not to complain about what I bring home for him to wear.

Flowered shirts,
Pink sweaters,
Long overcoats,
Pastel scarves,
Polka dotted underwear,
Black socks (some things must remain basic),
Red patent shoes...

Wear it or go naked is the underline thought.

Though...

Naked might not be a bad option. 

 

Do you like to shop? 

I prefer to shop for others than for myself.