French la Vie

Habits to Aim For

Spring Cometh

with so much going on the year has started out

on an uneven path

my family in the States has had its fill

dark tragedy beyond measure 

The words I recently read capture the depths

such painful loss such great love

no words just holding sorrow and praying

that time brings healing.

we are this world waiting

for the universal symbolic spring

where that which is

good

holy

pure

life-giving

comes into focus

reassuring us that love never ends.

 

——

my brother starts chemotherapy again after several painful weeks in the hospital.

The other news I cannot share but I trust you understand and I pray for you who are battling your own dark corners.

 

 

There Will be Light

There will be light

there always is

even in unexpected places.

 

Breathe

     

 

There is Room for You...

Facing Fire

Yesterday was not a surprise

the match was lit years ago

with bragging words

fake power

and falsehoods of faith 

in god, country, and people

slowly stirring a pot that had been smoldering 

by those wearing Teflon 

 it was pitiful to watch unfold

shameful behavior 

sadness to see how we have failed

if this were anywhere else

if ivory was ebony

if the truth stood bravely

if...

meanwhile in the same breath of time

-over 8000 Americans died of covid 19 in two days,

-the auctioning of the arctic to oil drilling companies

-the death penalty marches on

-the sun came up and burned across the sky

here we are facing the fire

let us be

please let us be

 a Phoenix rising.

 

 

 

"Phoenix represents rebirth, renewal, safety, transformation, permanence, inventiveness, and the sacredness of life. No matter the setting the story of the Phoenix has a distinctive theme. It begins with lifting from darkness into light; this is a complete life cycle and also a symbol of our immortal soul." via google.

 

(Rarely, do I speak about politics though after the events that have happened I could not be silent.)

 

 

 

Yogurt Cake Recipe

Yogurt Cake

Repost of a Favorite:

My niece Juliette was fourteen when she shared the French's most treasured secret cake recipe with me.

She told me that she was going to teach me a classic French cake recipe then asked if I had some yogurt.

Looking at her oddly I asked if we were making a French classic cake or had I misunderstood.

Misunderstanding for me in those days was as common as breathing.

 

I can still see her opening a pot of yogurt, reassuring me that it was going to be the best cake ever.

"All French people know how to make yogurt cake Auntie," she went on to say,

"We learned this recipe in Maternelle (kindergarten)."

With that note, I said out loud, "Are you sure it is not mud-pie or patti-cakes?"

She waved her hand at me not listening instead she was measuring

everything with the yogurt jar instead of a measuring cup.

Juliette poured one pot of yogurt

(not non-fat, nor less fat, or zero fat but one pure creamy heavenly full-fat yogurt) into a bowl.

Then with the same little yogurt pot, she measured:

 

-Three yogurt pots of flour,

-Two yogurt pots of sugar,

-1/2 a yogurt pot of sunflower oil,

-Two eggs,

-A teaspoon and a half of baking soda,

-A teaspoon of vanilla,

-A pinch of salt,

-and the juice of one lemon.

 

It was that simple. Yet ever so remarkable. 

My niece was right.

Every French person I know knows the Yogurt Cake recipe.

It never fails at a birthday party or a gathering of French friends

that a cake will be served and someone will ask, "Is this the Yogurt Cake?"

Then there is a choir of chatter about the beauty of that

simple delightful entertaining French classic secret cake.

Yogurt Cake with apples,

Yogurt Cake with bananas,

Yogurt Cake with chocolate,

Yogurt Cake with roasted almonds.

Yogurt Cake with whatever you almost want.

Yogurt Cake with banana

The yogurt cake dressed up or down is all around my gal. 

So ladies and gents there you have it one of the

French's most guarded secrets

the Yogurt Cake.

Added Notes:

Dear Readers,

Regarding the size of the yogurt pot:

"The best thing about it is, no matter what size yogurt container you use (5, 6, 8oz)

it still comes out great because the ingredient portions are the same."

Thank you Nancy that is the perfect answer.

 

Regarding Temperature:

 

200 Celsius, or 400 Fahrenheit, or 6 for Gas.

 

Regarding adding fruit or almonds or chocolate etc:

 

Measure one yogurt pot, per cake.

 

Regarding can the cake be double:

 

Yes.

 

Regarding can you use flavored yogurt:

 

Yesterday I made the yogurt cake with coconut yogurt.

I doubled the recipe, used a bundt pan, and added bananas (two yogurt pots)

and toasted almonds (half a yogurt pot).

 

Regarding cooking time:

 

Eight inch baking pan 20 to 25 minutes.

Bundt pan baking time 35 to 40 minutes (add tin foil to the top of the cake after 15 to 20 minutes)

 

Regarding do I want to print out/write a cookbook:

 

If you will be the editor, proofreader, taster, housekeeper, and hold my hand why not.

 

Regarding the size of the pan:

 

I have used a bundt pan (double recipe) and added a piece of tin foil to the top of the cake.

You can use an 8-inch cake pan. I have used glass and metal.

 

 Please send me a picture of you and your Yogurt Cake or

Bread (yesterday's post and I will add it to my blog.

 

No Knead You Need Bread

Whole wheat (épeautre) bread using

flour milled at the farm up the road.

 

Have you ever been intrigued by a recipe? Before the internet age often my bedtime reading included reading recipes as it was up there with literature as it had artistic merit which generated my imagination beyond the table and chair and or bed which I sit licking my lips. 

As the years have gone by I find myself watching cooking videos versus reading cookbooks a few days ago I came across "Jenny Can Cook" & her straightforward recipes, her humor, and a bread recipe that made me question my wildest memories of baking ... no kneading?
I had to give it a try. 

My earliest bread making days were when I was in my early twenties living in a monastery. During the times when I wasn't praying or in meditation, or sleeping I was assigned to work in the kitchen with Jack the monk although he looked more like Jack the Giant with a full head of hair. Jack and I saw cooking on different levels, he was pragmatic and ran the kitchen like a business, I was a kid who was let into a candy shop but who was a strict vegetarian, with an Abbot who ate raw hamburger with an uncooked egg on top. I read recipes to be inspired but never followed them, and then prayed my strongest prayers that what I was making would turn out. It never occurred to me that if what I made flopped sixty-plus faithful people in my ability to cook might go hungry. The funny thing is when the Abbot asked me if I could cook I said yes, first non-truth told the second was when he asked who could cut hair and I raised my hand and was assigned as the monastery's hairdresser too. Monastic life is based on love and forgiveness, I certainly put that to the test.

Following Jenny’s No knead bread exactly.

One of my favorite things to do in the monastery's kitchen was to make was bread and cinnamon rolls while pretending in my head that I was Julia Childs in front of a TV camera, in the monastery we only watched the news in the evening, so this was my form of entertainment and yet I do not remember Julia ever praying to God that what she was making would turn out. I swear I would hear God say to me, "Corey, focus, write what you are doing so that the next time you bake your Hail Mary Bread you do not need to call on me."

How dare that upstairs person!

Nothing ever flopped, the bread rose, the cinnamon rolls made mouths water and I miraculously stayed out of trouble serving tofu.

Anyway, Jenny Can Cook’s homemade bread is an answer to anyone who finds making bread daunting no matter how many prayers or glasses of wine one needs to consume.

Jenny’s no knead bread is flawless 

s i m p l e

to make is

is an understatement.

 

A gluten-free bread made with chestnut, quinoa, and buckwheat tastes very earthy.

I used Jenny's recipe only I used one teaspoon of yeast since the flour on both of these was heavier.

Jenny Can Cook recipe and videos below.

No-Knead Bread

Jenny Can Cook

Ingredients:

• 3 cups (360-390 g /12 3/4 ounces) all-purpose or bread flour (aerate flour before measuring - See How)
• 1/4 teaspoon yeast, active dry or instant (1 g)
• 1 teaspoon salt (6 g)
• 1 1/2 cups hot water, not boiling (354 mL) - I use hot tap water - about 125-130° F
• (about 2 Tablespoons extra flour for shaping)

Instructions:

1. Combine flour, yeast, and salt in a large bowl. Stir in water until it’s well combined.
2. Cover with plastic wrap and let stand at room temperature for 3 hours.
3. After 3 hours dough will become puffy and dotted with bubbles. Transfer it to a well-floured surface and sprinkle dough with a little flour. Using a scraper fold dough over 10-12 times & shape it into a rough ball.
4. Place in a parchment paper-lined bowl (not wax paper) and cover with a towel. Let stand on countertop for about 35 minutes.
5. Meantime place Dutch oven with lid in a cold oven and preheat to 450° F. My oven takes 35 minutes to reach 450°.
6. When the oven reaches 450° carefully, using oven gloves, lift the parchment paper and dough from the bowl and place gently into the hot pot. (parchment paper goes in the pot too) Cover and bake for 30 minutes.
7. After 30 minutes, remove the lid and parchment paper. Return, uncovered, to oven, and bake 10 - 15 more minutes. Let it cool for at least 15 minutes before slicing.

METRIC: The standard for weighing flour is 1 cup = 120 grams. But when I weigh one cup I get 125-130 grams. Please decide what works for you.

No Dutch Oven? Didn't Turn Out? Other Questions? Click here.

Want It Faster? Click here for my 2-HOUR No-Knead Bread.

Aerating and Sifting is Not The Same: Click here to learn more.

 

Thank you Jenny! 

 

PS Do not ask me for the recipe of the Hail Mary Bread/ cinnamon rolls as it is one of the sacred mysteries that  remains buried within me bringing me faith when I am in doubt. How did I ever dare to bake cinnamon rolls for breakfast for a retreat of over a hundred people? I am not even a morning person... and I lived in a monastery that woke up with bells calling us to prayer. 

 

 

 

French la Vie Journey's 2021

 

Thank you for your comments and emails the other day,

that affirmed what I have been thinking

that international travel most likely will not happen until possibly this 

fall or probably later... and even if the borders open to international travel the possible 

restrictions such as curfews, masks, and or limits to how many in a restaurant is not

a pleasant carefree journey to hope for.

 

 

Therefore due to Covid 19 the events for French la Vie 2021

April through August, all six wonderfully inspiring groups are canceled.

Disappointing as it was to accept this reality

the goal is to stay safe and to have you visit Provence without worry. 

Also not to make arrangements or preparations for the 

French la Vie

only to have them postponed again.

 

Possibly I will set dates for October 2021 in May

if it appears that international travel resumes and if it is safe without worry, 

to travel as we did in 2019.

There will hopefully be two French la Vie Journeys

 in October 2021.

 

Though with that said I seriously have doubts this will happen,

 I will make a decision in May 2021 regarding the fall.

Spaces are limited as guests who had reservations postponed in 2020

have the first choice.

If you are interested in knowing more please contact me at

coreyamaro@aol.com

 

Fingers crossed that healing will come steadily, equally, and for all.

Sunday Afternoon

Words From a Wanderer

A friend on Instagram posted these quotes from Alex Elle,
her books are plentiful. 

Happy New Year

This Year

 

This year

this extraordinary

Unfathomable

year

were days passed

with a tempo

not accustomed 

to our daily rhythmic

beat

where

a deeper

mindful

longing 

beckoned

us to look at

the stark changes

that creeped upon us

 which cracked open

what was essential

on what matters

of how we depend and need one another

the janitor

the nurse

the factory worker

the farmer

the teacher 

the essences of all things

big and small

 

This year

this slow moving 

year

where many died

alone

to an illness that many 

did not and still don’t believe

and countries rich and poor

and in between

locked down to 

give space
to humanity 

 

This year

the unexpected gift 

that gave me 

five months alone 

with my loved mother 

a blessing

that made this 

year 

holy 

even in its darkness

even at the hand 

dealt to my brother

who wrestles cancer bravely

in this f-cling hellish year.

This year

as it

bleeds into the next

I pray that

the universal

metronome 

can

set us in pace with one another 

indefinitely

lovingly

with grace

compassion

and courage 

to see the world as one.

this year may harmony 

strike a cord.

 

 

 

 

French la Vie Retreats in 2021

 

The internal debate goes on and on will I be able to conduct

French la Vie retreats in 2021?

I need to make a decision as soon as possible for Spring.

To either go ahead and project the future outings and details of a week retreat or

to postpone the French la Vie until September.

I would like to believe that I am wrong in thinking that it won't happen.

That Covid will have us still restricted.

Even with vaccination at hand, I do not think we will

be ready to travel. The idea of planning and have guests sign up

only to have to cancel the trip is not something I want to do.

Hopes dashed.

What do you think? Will safe travel happen by April 2021?

by May? ...

And if the borders opened would you feel safe?

Daily Dose D282

 

 

 

 

Back in March when Covid 19

was the main topic on the world’s stage 

and we approached the unknown depth 

of reality, we were facing

I decided to post daily a photo

of a flower 🌸 on my

Facebook page to

symbolize hope and to share 

a bit of beauty in the uncertainty.

As of today, I have posted

282 

photos of flowers 

💐 

My Facebook page looks

like a florist shop 

and not a brocanteur.

who knew I had so many flower photos

in my archives?

This is not to say 

"oh look at me"

But to say 

Stay safe, find peace, look for beauty,

share faith and cry if need be.

The journey towards healing takes a village

we are in this together

All people all nations

one world.

Let us help one another heal.

 

Sunday Afternoon Promenade

 

 

walking with a toddler

did I just refer to Gabriel as a toddler?

oh, no baby.

walking with Gabriel on a Sunday afternoon 

one step forward 

twenty minutes sitting on the ground
playing with rocks 

meanwhile the view.

 

 

 

Two steps forward

thirty-three minutes picking up pine cones 

then trying to put them on the 

"Christmas tree"

which

led to singing 

"up on the housetop..."

 

 

 

Three steps forward

then we stood until the sun almost set-

we rubbed our hands with

rosemary

thyme

Lavender

and pine

breathing in the Mediterranean 

with the 
Provençal boy 

as he ran giggling

Da da da

 

 

A very chilly Sunday afternoon

when going for a walk with a toddler

you must put your expectations

on the word 

toddler

and not on a walk.

A few steps, 

a couple of tumbles,

sitting on the ground

strong backs

uneven steps

repetition of words and sounds

most of all admiration and delight

watching a little person discover 

the world at large. 

Plus you might want to bring a van of supplies

the parents had a backpack well equipped.

 

Several steps later

we came to the port in Cassis

He saw boats

delightful exclamations could be heard 

Bateau

Bateau

Bateau.

we stayed there for a while 

letting admiration take over.

 

 

The Transition to White Hair

 

I was born with brown hair. As the years went by my hair went utterly gray 

as if a thunderstorm landed on my head which happened

after experiencing ovarian cancer with chemotherapy

cocktails. I was rendered menopause at thirty-five, I never took HRT.

I started dying my hair when I was in my forties, every three weeks

as my hair grows fast and my skunk line wasn't attractive.

 

When I thought about transitioning

from dyed hair to my natural color. I could see that my skunk line was truly white which

made me think that it wouldn't look that different.

Though it did.

So in August 2019, I did not dye my hair instead I had some highlights added to

break the defined line. I did that two more times.

Going from dyed blonde to my natural color wasn't that shocking.

BUT

At times I wanted to dye it back to blond.

but Covid came, lockdown happened, I was in the States, and the ball

was rolling towards white hair.

I had my long hair cut above my shoulders three times to eliminate the blonde. 

The process from dyed hair to my natural hair color took sixteen months.

My Family at Christmas

 

 

Merry Christmas

Barely out of bed

onesie unsnapped

Santa comes singing ho ho ho

Baby knows those words

looks at the man in red

with a cap on his head

beard of white...

and says

Ho ho ho in return.

 

My Favorite Christmas Song

O Come, O Come Emmanuel 

 O come, O come, Immanuel,
and ransom captive Israel
that mourns in lonely exile here
until the Son of God appears.

Refrain:
Rejoice! Rejoice! Immanuel
shall come to you, O Israel.

O come, O Wisdom from on high,
who ordered all things mightily;
to us the path of knowledge show
and teach us in its ways to go. Refrain

 O come, O come, great Lord of might,
who to your tribes on Sinai's height
in ancient times did give the law
in cloud and majesty and awe. Refrain

 O come, O Branch of Jesse's stem,
unto your own and rescue them!
From depths of hell your people save
and give them victory o'er the grave. Refrain

 O come, O Key of David, come
and open wide our heavenly home.
Make safe for us the heavenward road
and bar the way to death's abode. Refrain

 O come, O Bright and Morning Star,
and bring us comfort from afar!
Dispel the shadows of the night
and turn our darkness into light. Refrain

 O come, O King of nations, bind
In one, the hearts of all mankind.
Bid all our sad divisions cease
and be yourself our King of Peace. Refrain 

Psalter Hymnal (Gray)

 

Do you have a favorite?

 

Another one of mine, a favorite from when Chelsea and Sacha were children:

 

 

 

On Christmas Morning

 

Waiting throughout the year
For Christmas morning to be here
And counting how many days
Till Christmas morning, drawing near

On Christmas morning I'll wake up bright and early
Be the first one out of bed
With the mistletoe above my head

On Christmas morning we can sing and celebrate
And make the feeling stay
All through the day

Presents under the tree
There's one from me to you and you to me
Family and friends are here
On the very best morning of the year

On Christmas morning I'll wake up bright and early
Be the first one out of bed
With the mistletoe above my head

On Christmas morning we can sing…

Raffi

 

A Favorite Christmas Story

                         "...and a little child shall lead them."

                Isaiah 11:6

 

When I was fourteen my Mother had her fifth and last child,

a boy that my Father named Zane.

My other three brothers and I were excited to tell our baby brother about Baby Jesus.

We repeatedly told him the Christmas story,

telling him that on Christmas morning he would be the one to put the "baby Jesus" in the manger.

 

Of course on Christmas morning we jumped out of bed bright and early,

what child doesn't believe in Santa?

Zane seemed to be a bit lackadaisical about the whole thing,

and that struck us as odd. But hey he was only a little tot

so we figured maybe he didn't really get it yet.

My brothers and I raced into the kitchen,

each one of us wanted to be the first one to give baby Jesus to our baby brother Zane.

But to our surprise, we could not find it.

We searched and searched for baby Jesus.

Where had he gone? What happened?

Hadn't we put him in the kitchen junk drawer?

 

Who saw him last?

After what seemed an eternity looking for the main nativity character,

we noticed Zane crying.

Gee, maybe he did get it after all.

We felt bad for him, poor little guy.

We told him not to cry that Jesus lives in our hearts

and that the missing plastic baby Jesus was not the real thing,

and that Christmas would go on.

 

Zane looked up to us with his big brown eyes and said,

"I threw the baby Jesus in the fire.

He was getting too much attention."

 

We were dumbfounded.

We have never let Zane forget his Jesus toss.

 

Do you have a favorite Christmas tale to tell?

The Question of Miracles

“I have been finding treasures in places

I did not want to search.

I have been hearing wisdom from tongues

I did not want to listen.

I have been finding beauty where I did not want to look.

And I have learned so much from journeys

I did not want to take.

Forgive me, O Gracious One;

for I have been closing my ears and eyes for too long.

I have learned that miracles are only called miracles

because they are often witnessed by only those who

can see through all of life's illusions.

I am ready to see what really exists on the other side,

what exists behind the blinds,

and taste all the ugly fruit

instead of all that looks right, plump and ripe.”

― Suzy Kassem

 

A child was born in a stable

 

 

Guest Post: Barbara

Hi, Everyone. 

My name is Barbara

I am happy to introduce myself to you

and show you a few of the projects I enjoy.

 

  

One of the rare pics of myself

and my eldest granddaughter Luna.

I feel that I am a less likely guest poster since I have read and been impressed by many of your grand adventures and unique lives. I have loved my life enjoyed it immensely, but it is far from glamourous. It is to me however interesting and quirky.

I grew up in very poor circumstances in numerous small and large towns in Texas. I learned to make my own entertainment by drawing and sewing, taught by incredibly talented and resourceful women of the family. I earned scholarships for college but opted for the hippie vagabond life. 

It was the sixties after all. 

Met my husband, Curt, in San Francisco and we just recently celebrated our fiftieth anniversary.  

I’m the short one in the center, with friend Jennifer, and my husband Curt in Long Beach, WA.

We have four wonderful sons, six treasured grandchildren-

Luna, Josephine, Marion, Elam, Eamon, and Maggie...

scattered between Oregon, Nevada, Connecticut, and New Hampshire. 

We look so forward to seeing them all again post-Covid.

I have done a variety of jobs mingled within the years of rearing our four sons. 

I’ve been a school custodian, sewing factory laborer, and finally a health unit coordinator in a neonatal unit. 

I returned to college when I was fifty and working full-time night shift at the hospital. 

I received my degree in psych/neuroscience to demonstrate to the sons that it could be done by me,

therefore easily by them. And to finish something I had begun many years before. We have lived too many places to list here, from Venezuela to Alaska, but recently relocated to New Hampshire after 30 years in Portland, Oregon and are becoming accustomed to the retired, rural life in the snow.

 

The surprise outside our windows this morning.

Since childhood, I have loved drawing and sketching and nothing boosts my mood like a fresh sketchbook and new art supplies.  I enjoy painting, sewing, and crafting of various kinds too, at least for long enough to master a new project.  Then I tend to give away the results and go on to something new. 

But sketching is always there waiting to be enjoyed again.

During this pandemic, I had begun sketching my favorite bloggers and decided to email the sketches to them. 

One sketch I did was for Corey of Chelsea

and her beautiful son Gabriel. 

Corey and several other bloggers chose to

feature the sketches in their posts,

making me grateful and happy.  Here are a few of them:

 

   

 
Years ago, when I began to travel with my friend Renelle,

I also started to keep a daily journal for each trip. 

At first, I mostly wrote and inserted a few shy sketches. 

Over time, these became more like sketch journals. 

I love browsing through these so much; it is like living the joy all over again. 

Photos from the same vacations do not compare in triggering memories. 

I deconstructed each journal and made bound copies to be able to lend them

out to friends and they’ve become lovingly worn.

 

Another use for my sketchbooks has been to sketch the authors of books

I read and enjoy, as well as meals, grandkids, pets, and all manner of things. 

If nothing else inspires, I’ve been known to sketch my own feet.

A few years ago I became interested in shoemaking and attended a shoemaking school in Ashland, Oregon. 

Made some very ugly shoes and boots,

a few nice sandals, and then fancies inspired by on-line examples-of crepe paper shoes. 

And I painted some clogs, which I found oddly meditative.

The most successful sandals for daughter-in-law Noriko.  

I have always needed “something to do” and tried painting with acrylics, and for a while supplied many friends

with tote bags and purses, dolls, and recently I’ve been making little Altoid can shrines.        

And finally, here is the first sketch I ever had the nerve to

send to anyone, and still one of my favorites.

It’s been so nice sharing with you all,

and this has helped me settle on my next learning project: 

I need to learn to format a document and enclose photos without mass spaces between! 

That should keep me busy the rest of this snowy New Hampshire winter. 

Stay warm, and stay safe.  Barb

Beautiful Soul

H a p p y   B i r t h d a y

C h e l s e a 

31

❤️

A Beautiful Form of Prayer

Thank you for your messages! I appreciate your loving support.

My family is grateful, especially my brother Marty

who is suffering.

Thank you so much I wish I could respond to each of you individually

please know that I am thankful.

Patricia, from my blog, wrote me an email this yesterday,

(like many of you do and)

which I found so beautiful and helpful I want to share it with you.

"... When I felt so burdened with grief and helpless and hopeless,

a good friend of mine told me to close my eyes

letting God wrap his arms around me.

And, you know what? It comforted me at a time

that I couldn’t control what was happening. "

 

 

 

 

Let it be

love 

a

never-ending, undivided, withstanding

stronghold

those arms

this reality

present

for us

to dive into

your arms are around us

like a life jacket

I will imagine

my brother floating

in healing tranquility

as he swims these

dark waters.

 

 

My Mother's Christmas Bouquet

This is courage. This is faith. This is love.

This is my mom.

To continue being true to life even when

it isn't what you wish were true.

My mother's example never fails.

God, how did I get so lucky to

have this woman as my mother?

How did I not understand her gift when I was young?

How does a mother watch her child suffer

and still

celebrate faith, love, life, and show up?

I am in awe of her, utter awe.

 

My Brother Marty

 

In January my brother Marty discovered he had stage four

pancreatic cancer that has metastasized to his liver.

Since then has endured the severity of his illness.

How does one hold the unbearable weight of such a prognosis?

How does one maneuver their days with cancer or

with a life-threatening illness waving in front of them?

 

 

The gift of suffering can be the song of solemn awareness that comes to our lips,

hearts, touch, sight, perspective.

Though, understandably it is not a gift we desire nor seek

Suffering peels back a layer offering us away

to be present to one another that most things do not.

When someone is ill, I tend to pray more for them,

if near them touch them, feel/see them differently,

as if our time together is not caught up in what we are doing,

but of who we are.

Suffering has a way of breaking us to the core of realness.

that I find beautiful, even if painful.

It is a gift to tend to the ill, the weak

and not run away from it.

Beautiful as it brings the rawness the fragility of life

to the center stage.

If only I could stand on that stage without the

the reality of pain and suffering. 

To be deeply aware of life

present to its calling.

 

And yet my brother like so many of your loved ones is suffering.

Is in need of healing. 

Being far away is a lesson we are facing during Covid.

 

Suffering is the pits in its hardcore slap of reality.

 

In the destruction, the change, the unknown path...

There are often two sides to the truth even, suffering.

How I wish this were not true.

 

 I often imagine the *prayers being sent, imagining them floating

above my brother waiting to be placed on the area where he needs the most healing.

Believing that to be true I hear myself saying at times,

"May the prayers being said today bring healing peace to my Marty's cancer."

Then I sense the prayers streaming in towards his body.

Thank you for your prayers, love, concern, and good thoughts. 

My brother is in need of a miracle, he is back in the hospital.

xxx

 

 

 

 

In Training

In training to be my antique business partner.

So far waking up early and being outside 

are checked off on the positive side.

Vocabulary is missing but I trust that will 

come with age.

He is an asset when it comes to négociations...

charming  every time.

Has time to learn about carrying things ... he

tends to drop things or walk away.

Overall I think we are going to be great together!

 

 

 

 

The First Time I Met Yann's Uncle

Hanging above the old buffet in the dining room,

was an oval frame with a black and white photo

of a lovely young woman.

When I asked who she was French Husband's Uncle told me it was his mother. 

"You mean Yann's grandmother?" I asked with embarrassment

as I had never seen a photo of his grandmother before.

And with that French Husband's Uncle told me the story of his mother...

his gentle, sweet, loving mother

he was one of seven children, his mother was an artist.

On the top of French Husband's Uncle's armoire

was a demi-John that was used to hold wine

it had large beautifully full red poppies

that his Grandmother had painted. 

She was sixteen.

Self-taught, a natural.

French Husband did not know that his grandmother

had painted it.

Seeing the demi-John, and knowing her needlework

(I have a set of two-bed linens that she made,

not for me, but for Yann's mother for her trousseau)

made me wish more than ever

that our children and I could have met her. 

French Husband's grandmother also painted

this oil painting when she was sixteen years old.

A winter's day along the river.

Her signature.

I asked to take a photo to pass on to our children.

An artist. A gentle sweet grandmother.

A link to my husband's past.

Above the fireplace, I saw a charcoal portrait,

I teasingly asked, "Is he a family relation too?"

French Husband didn't know.

His Uncle smiled shyly, "Yes, it is your Great Grandfather."

The stories continued...

French Husband's Great Grandfather was an architect.

I looked at my husband as if for the first time...

one never knows everything about anyone.

French Huband's Uncle had plenty of stories to tell.

One of the differences between my French Husband

and me is that I ask questions. 

Not nosey but curious, interested, a desire to know.

French Husband was pleased.

Gabriel: Christmas Wonder and the Christmas Tree

Are you ready for too many photos by a gushing (Vavie) Grandmother

taken in the glow of the Christmas tree lights?

Gabriel is our Christmas:

A child is born bringing innocence, purity, holiness, life...

 

Weekend Inspiration

 

 

     

Nature’s Feast

It is Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

 

Christmas time in Provence under a

perfect blue sky and chill to the bone morning. 

The neighboring town flooded its square

with Christmas trees adorned with

red and gold ornaments.

We took Gabriel anticipating his reaction.

Christmas through the eyes of a baby.

Enchanting and so sweet.

Wonder and awe.

 

 

Gabriel loved the "balls" touching nearly every one of them

and some of them he kissed.

The ornaments were well attached

chubby little hands could not

dislodge them

no matter how hard he tried.

 

 

The Problem of the Incurable Brocante Bug

 

Years ago I bought this enormous crown molding.

I did not have a place for it.

But it was just too beautiful to pass by.

French Husband agreed, we rented a van and drove an hour and a half to pick it up.

Did I write about this years ago? Didn't I share a photo of it hanging 

precariously in the back of a van, literally had to rope parts of it in midair to have the four

pieces fit and not crowd each other.

Yes, it was a feat for Hercules to bring it home only to sit in our garage.

 

 

 

 

 

We are moving things around in our dining room/living room area.

The family has convinced me, worn me down, no not really,

to buy two soft comfortable sofas but to not change the atmosphere 

A small feat I thought.

But two comfortable sofas take up major floor space.

I have been moving, or I should say they have been moving pieces

around and I have been laying out plans on the floor:

"You see the sofa will not fit here if that piece is there."

Literally, they want sofas the size of dump trucks!

I keep reminding them that you have to be able to walk around the coffee table

not walk over it.

Goal: Aim smaller.

Think Car, not Dump Truck.

 

 

The Biscuit is just fine on our present sofa.

He and I have a thing going on... I am convinced

he is going to love antiques.

See his enthusiasm!

He is thrilled with THIS sofa.

Why buy another?

If only he could vote!

Disarray at Christmas.

At least the tree is up no photo but it is there.

Gabriel and I spend hours sitting up close to the Christmas

tree talking about the ornaments.

He is very gentle with the tree that is full of fragile ornaments -

the Christmas tree is pleased.

I believe he loves the tree with the twinkling lights 

like a best friend.

The rest of the room is a disaster zone but he doesn't notice it.

That little guy knows how to keep me focused on what is important.

Food, changing diapers, naps, and cuddles under the tree.

 

Leap Frog and other Tricks

French Frog

painted red

made in cement.

The paint on this frog is old,

though maybe not as old as the frog.

I never thought about it until now

but why is it painted red? Maybe that

is why it is frowning?  

When I bought the frog at a brocante as usual

I didn't think about how far away I had parked.

Walking to my car was not a HOP SKIP and a JUMP.

 Had I thought about the distance the frog

might not have come home with me that day.

 

Over the years it seems as if the red frog is getting heavier

though how can that be it never eats?

I have noticed that about myself

things seem heavier and I seem less flexible.

Moving furniture around was a past time

of mine, now I entertain that thought

for less than a second.

How many dining room tables did I sell 

before not wanting to carry another one into the house?

The frog is heavier... that is all.

Have you noticed this phenomenon in your home?

------

Please if you are considering doing a Guest Post for 

me I hope you will soon! I have a few more to post

and hope to have more. Thank you to all the readers 

who contributed so far I have loved getting to know

you more and I can see that my dear readers have

enjoyed knowing each other too. xxx

Brave On

Brave on.

Guest Post: Sue Tinker

My sister Jan, and me wearing my favorite necklace.  2007

 

Treasures from France

My adventures in France began around 2007

when my sister Jan was sent to Paris four separate times for her job.  

I eagerly offered to join her for a few days after her May trip.  

The rainiest days did not match my fantasy of Paris,

but we made the best of it

and saw most of the main sights which included

climbing to the top of Notre Dame.  

What a treat to see the gargoyle’s up close.  

Armed with Wandering Paris by Jill Butler (Amazon) and

Rick Steve’s Paris guidebook,

we took in the sights and found the shops.

 

It was on this trip I learned to “buy it when you see it”.  

The first evening we passed a tiny boutique

on the way to a boat ride on the Seine.  

In the window was a beautiful necklace made up of

brightly colored mother of pearl buttons.  

Luckily, I bought it even though I’d just arrived and was jet-lagged.  

We passed that store twice a day the rest of the trip and it was never open again.  

I get compliments on that necklace every time I wear it.

 

 

 

Stephanie, Corey, and I in Texas.  2009

 

 

 

Corey and Yann in the back yard.  Was so proud when you featured on the blog for a while.

 

 

 

Around the same time, I discovered “Tongue in Cheek”,

a wonderful blog is written by Corey Amaro about her life

in France with her handsome FH and darling children.  

I was instantly drawn in by her beautiful photography and

engaging storytelling.  

One of my friends couldn’t understand why anyone would want

to read about the life of someone you don’t even know

and would never meet.  

After reading Corey’s daily posts for several years,

I did get to meet her at Round Top Antique Fair in Texas.  

She spent over an hour visiting with my friend Stephanie and I.  

She was so kind and generous to us.  

By then I had discovered other artists and Francophiles

and began making almost yearly trips to France.  

 

 

Hand-painted fashion plate.  

It says 1880.  

Could be the year of the fashion or when it was done.  

It is exquisite.

 

 

Favorite brocante oil painting.  

Always manage to bring

several paintings every trip.  

Make sure they fit in the suitcase.

 

 

Vintage stamps from the Paris flea market. I go for stuff like that

and buttons, lace, and silk flowers...

 

 

Laguiole gorgeous blue handled knives.  2 euros for 10.

 

 

 Monet found at brocante for 10 euros.  

Has a hole in it but I don’t care.  

Looks great above my stove.

 

 

Colorful market baskets from Provence.  

Get one every time to carry breakables on the plane.  

Love and use them all.

 

 

Tiny baby teeth box ordered from Corey.  

Feel like I should send back to you for your grandchild.

 

The highlight besides the wonderful people and picturesque countryside

is always the brocantes/flea markets

where unbelievable treasures are to be found.

 I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Corey and her beautiful home

several more times over the years.

I’m still impressed with her incredible photography and interesting stories and posts.  

 

(Sidenote Sue was a finalist for Top Shelf! Check out this link.)

 

Fast forward to June 2018.  

After 30+ years of designing closets in the Chicago area,

it was time to hang up the measuring tape and move to Tennesee.  

On my first visit to Tennesee years before,

I knew I could live there.  

It’s beautiful, not that far from family in the midwest

and the weather is a lot better than Chicago -

especially in the winter.  

I bought a 3 bedroom home in a brand new over 55 community

40 minutes south of Nashville.

 I had time to tie up loose ends with my career and say

goodbye to many friends and family while the home was being built.  

I loved my job and realized I could help my new neighbors

(most people downsizing) make the most of their space here.  

We outfitted all my closets so I can use my home as a model before I even moved in,

I had a client. Closet Works South was born.  

I found an awesome installer and we’ve been helping neighbors ever since.  

I wanted 3 bedrooms so I could have plenty of room for guests.  

I had visitors regularly and had fun showing them the sights,

enjoying Music City/Nashville.  

That all came to a screeching halt in March 2020.

No visitors, no travel to exotic locals,

we were all stuck at home like the rest of the world.  

 

Photo via Mask Production

 

My sister Jane lives in my neighborhood and we decided to make masks.  

We weren’t sure if they would be needed but we wanted something to do.  

We set up the sewing machines on my dining room table

and started making masks.  

 

My sister Nancy who is a nurse-midwife in a large Chicago hospital asked

us if we could make her some.  

They were hard to find even for frontline people who really needed them.  

We quickly sent her some and realized there was a need-

we were on the right track.  

We recruited some kind neighbors to help us we formed

a step by step assembly line so that we

were able to make them much quicker.

 There were steps for sewers and non-sewers

eventually, we had about 80 people in our development helping in one way or another.  

Since all the fabric and elastic was donated,

we asked for a $5.00 donation per mask.

 

We had “pop up” shops and mailed out masks all over the country.  

Yay for the USPS, they never lost a mask!  

“Mask” Production raised over $22,000

and sold and donated at least 5,000 masks.  

(if you click on the link above you will learn more about our

mask production it is on page 8.)

(Click here to see the mask pattern we used)

 

 

The money went to local worthy causes including tornado relief,

food banks, Boys and Girls Club, Senior dog rescue,

police and fire departments, and many other local charities.  

We still have lots of masks available and continue to raise money.

 

Real Men Wear Colorful Masks!!

When “Mask” Production was asked to make masks for

one of our neighbor's sons deployed in Afghanistan,

we gladly got to work.

They were sent about a month ago and we recently received this photo

featuring Real Men from the US Navy, US Army as well

as the Italian, Czech, Polish, and Romanian Armies.

We were honored to send these masks to them and

appreciate the awesome photo modeling the masks

 

My latest venture is hosting art classes in my garage/SheShed.  

I met a fantastic local artist, Laura Rhinehart

she has been teaching a Painting Florals class for the last few weeks.  

Luckily the weather has been about perfect and we are able to be in the fresh air.  

Her technique brings out the “Monet” in everybody and it has been fun.  

 

Hoping to be able to resume life as it was

but making the best of life as it is.  

Thanks, Corey for asking me to contribute to your blog  I’m honored.

Follow Sue on Facebook

SheShed

 

Sunday Thankfulness

The last roses in our courtyard.

Goodbye, beautiful fragrant roses.

Hopefully, I will see you next spring.

 

 

 

Gabriel Riding in the Mountains

 

My son in law, in French they say Beau Fils which literally translates as:

Beautiful Son,

often bundles Gabriel up for a bicycle ride.

As we live at the base of an

the extraordinary mountain which is known as Saint Baume

where there are miles of unending trials 

through wild nature, lavender, rosemany, big skies, ruins, and grapevines

Gabriel benefits a feast for his senses.

My Beautiful Son Martin packs a picnic, extra supplies and heads out for hours

they take breaks, naps, explore and come home.

 

As soon as Gabriel wakes up in the morning

he lets everyone know he wants to go for a bike ride.

He grabs our hand and takes us to the glass door and points

to the bicycle, then runs for his helmet.

He loves riding, the longer the ride, and I mean hours long,

th better

he is the happiest camper.

I would love to give Gabriel a ride on the bicycle

but the bike is too high for me

even with the seat lowered nearly to the ground

my feet barely reach the pedals

that is one of the setbacks living with giants.

And guess what?

Gabriel is nearly as tall as I am.

He will be able to pedal me

around by the time he is two. 

 

Look at the delicious little biscuit!

He is our grounding source

our roots go deep

and the horizon seems brighter.

 

Guest Post: Frank and Barbara (aka themizbliz)

 

Today is a day to be thankful and to celebrate

the love in our lives.

 

My love affair with my husband Frank began in 1998 –

our marriage in 1999 brought two families

with four grown children together

and we now share six almost grown grandchildren

who all still live nearby in Portland, Oregon.

 

 

Our love affair with France began in 2000 with our honeymoon trip.

We have returned 21 times now to explore, traveling by car

with a trusty atlas to allow us to change our routing at a moment’s notice.

One of our favorite surprises was the wine-bottle fountain

in the church courtyard in St Nicola de Bourgueil,

which introduced us to a delightful wine.

 

"It just looks impossible..."

The amazing Millau bridge in the Midi-Pyrenees.

Driving over this bridge you are impressed by how solid it is.

This view, from the visitor center, makes it look flimsy.

It is as awe-inspiring as structures get.

Pont du Gard must have inspired the Gallo-Romans

in the first century, this bridge does to

the people of the 21st century.

 

Burgundy, France

This is a pigeon house on a farm near Agen, France.

We saw hundreds of these, some falling apart, some in use.

This is a pigeoniere, or pigeon house in Lautrec, France.

We saw variations on this theme all over southern France.

This one is in the yard of a school. It has been preserved as archetypical.

Watch that first step!
LaRoque-Gageac, Aquitania,France

 

We wander the back roads checking out the markets

and all things historical. 

 

A Gallo-Romain aqueduct cuts through hard rock.

This would have been done with hand tools.

 

The Sep’t Ecluse.

A disused staircase lock in France.

Vaux-le-Vicomte has gardens designed by the same man who did Versailles.

When he was done, Louis had him imprisoned

on trumped up charges (sound familiar)

so he could not create another garden for anyone else!

 

Alsace, France, for a week at the Christmas Markets.

We stopped into Mulhouse to pick up some of the

annual fabric designed for the event.

 

Frank loves to photograph the Neolithic dolmens

and the lavoirs (ancient laundries).

 

In many towns, they are decorated and last year

we found one in use in the small village of Le Val in the Var.

This year would have taken us to the Basque country in October

and then to back to Alsace for our third visit to the Christmas markets,

a magical adventure that we will definitely repeat when travel is safe again.

 

 

We have had the pleasure to meet Corey and Yann several times,

seeing their treasure-filled home in St. Zacharie and

their fascinating Fisherman house in Cassis.

We just happened to be with Corey

the day that she had learned

that her dream of owning a home along

the harbor in Cassis had come true!

 

Thank you Corey for all that you do

to lift our spirits on a daily basis with your words and pictures.

 

Guest Post: Kathe Fraga

I’ve been a huge fan of Corey’s “Tongue in Cheek” for so long,

I can’t even remember when we first connected.

But I’m so happy that we did.

From learning about how Corey first met her French Husband,

getting acquainted with her California family

and her children, and now a beautiful grandchild (!)

to the enchanting images of the vintage,

old and luxurious brocante treasures-to die for,

seeing life through Corey’s eyes has been a joy.

Much needed, especially now in these challenging times.

 

 

I’m so attached to Corey’s point of view because it reflects

the vision I bring to my own work.

I’m an artist, living on a small island,

not far from Seattle.

Although growing up, my family lived on

both coasts of the US,

in Europe and South America,

I find great peace and joy

in our little wooded neighborhood,

where connections to nature abound:

 

 

beach walks and the discovery of ornately

patterned shards of Blue Willow china from long ago

washed and tumbled by the sea;

long rain misted hikes through the island’s

towering firs and cedars,

the ground usually damp from the grey drizzle

that keeps us “green”;

the wild (and terribly invasive) blackberries

that are so sweet plucked

warm off the vine in the short, warm summer months.

We even welcome the rose-eating deer to our yard-this year,

being homebound because of Covid,

it was a very special treat that our resident doe,

(that we named “Doe”),

brought twins (!) to our lives, all spotty and freckled.

(We named them “Dipple” and “Dapple”

even though we couldn’t tell them apart,

but it was always fun to say, “Oh look! There are Dipple, Dapple

and Doe outside!).

 

We live in an old island home,

created from beach rock and grey shingles

with the dark wood (and scuffed)

floors and beamed ceilings that were born

from our island’s plentiful woods,

more than a hundred years ago.

It’s where I work and paint and although,

over the many years, I have created a wide variety of art

and loved volunteering in every art project

and auction creation while our children were small.

I’ve found my passion now is depicting the beauty of time passing,

the vintage, the loveliness in the faded

and decay and adding strong swipes of bold

color to the mix, for an unexpected spot of modernity.

 

I describe my paintings as being influenced by

“The romance of vintage floral French wallpapers

and Chinoiserie with a modern twist”.

So my work features birds and botanicals,

leaves and vines, and lots of

pattern and color.

 

Lately, I’ve started adding gold leaf to my art stories,

softened and distressed, worn and softly gleaming.

I imagine, as I work, that my paintings are

just a part of the picture as if they were included in a large,

ancient, and darkened mural of a grand chateau that

has been cut away, so that imagery often fades off the side,

only revealing a bit of the intended narrative.

I hope the viewer will make up a new story for themselves.

 

In 2017, I was invited by the Japanese owned cosmetic company,

Shiseido to collaborate with the Creative Director of Cle De Peau Cosmetics,

Lucia Pieroni, to create original artworks for their limited edition,

Holiday 2017 Collection, “Nuit De Chine’.

It was an honor and a thrill to work with the

special and amazingly talented Cle De Peau Team!

 

My work appeared in all Cle De Peau’s global markets-Russia,

Asia, the US, Canada-and one of my favorite memories of this

experience was huddling around a small table in New York with Lucia,

the Team, the translators, and all of us collaborating

on ideas and directions and color, mood, and feel. 

(My work appeared on all packaging: makeup coffret,

nail lacquers, eye crayons, skincare,

and banners, website banners, even tablecloths

and photo backdrops for Cle De Peau events

to introduce the new collection.)

 

My work is shown in a variety of galleries,

along with my silk scarf collection,

based on my paintings, my silk and

linen pillow collection and greeting cards.

It was a thrill, just recently, to send my cards to London

to be used as invites for a wedding there!

And my first book cover with my art will arrive next year,

published by Little/Brown, London.

 

The world is such a wonderful place.

Corey’s blog reminds me of all the beauty that is still “out there”

as we remain at home. I am grateful for that.

Aside from my art, Corey’s life resonates with me because many years ago,

I moved to France to learn the language without speaking a word.

I did know Spanish, and that helped a little.

But it was those first months of listening

to catch a recognized word or to speak a phrase

that someone understood that remains with me

as such a challenge and thrill.

I wonder how Corey felt when she first moved there?

I remember being invited to my first French dinner party

by a couple who were renovating a small old chateau.

Everything in shambles except for the kitchen,

the little dining room, and the parlor.

The long table was packed with friends and food

and it was the loneliest feeling ever-not understanding

what was being said and not being able to join in.

But later, when we all gathered to dance after dinner,

a very charming French tradition I learned,

Cat Steven’s album came on and it was delicious to hear English!!

How kind was the French people to welcome me so warmly,

in spite of not being able to speak “un mot”. 

(Much later, when I started dreaming in French and

understanding all the jokes in the Asterisk and Obelisk comics,

I felt a lot more comfortable being chatty.)

 

So that’s my introduction. Merci mille fois for the

kind opportunity to meet your many, many readers.

It has been a delight to read about your followers’ stories.

 

Corey’s Daily Doses of beauty-those wonderfully, exquisite and

magical vignettes of lovely inspirational imagery

are so very welcome to see and be inspired by every single day.

Merci Corey for this gift.

 

Follow Kathe on Facebook

Instagram 

kf_paintings

Kathe Fraga's Website

and Kathe's blog.

Guest Post: Marilyn Miller

Each of us has a story to tell.
I have so appreciated and

enjoyed each story being shared.

Here is my story.

 

 

As a young girl, I dreamt of being a fashion designer.

I would design clothes from scraps of cloth for my dolls.

My family didn’t understand that desire to be a creative soul,

so after a while, my dream left me,

but it must have really just been tucked away

in a corner of my heart.

 

 

As I was approaching forty years old

I began evaluating my life.

Where had I gone?

I had married at 21 and had two children by the time I was 30.

I was a mom and a wife,

but that little tickle in my heart was still there.

 

Finally, I put a voice to this dream

and went back to school gaining

a degree in apparel design.

I didn’t become a famous designer,

but I had a 25-year career as an apparel

pattern maker and technical designer

for several well-known companies

in the Portland, Oregon area.

I was proud of what I had accomplished

and I think my family was too.

I retired from Nike at 65 years old.

 

 

While I was at Nike

I began coming across blogging.

Corey’s beautiful blog was

the first one I discovered.

Whenever I needed a few moments

to break at work

I headed to her blog and

took a mental holiday.

It brought me so much joy.

After I retired I decided to write a blog,

 

Delights of the Heart. 

 

 With my last bonus check from Nike,

I invested in a “big girl” camera.

Well I didn’t even know-how

to turn the camera on,

but with blogging, forced me to learn.

Blogging and taking pictures

gives me an outlet to share

and still have a creative outlet. 

 

 

While I was working at Nike

I realized I had one more dream.

It was to have my own business.

After making a list of the things

I loved I realized I loved drinking tea.

Simple isn’t it?

Just sit and drink tea all day I thought.

Do I open a tearoom?

No, that is a restaurant.

Being involved with product development

I would love making products

for other tearooms.

 

 

I developed a line of jams and jellies

made with tea and sold them wholesale to tearooms for 9 years.

Now I sell on Etsy "Marmaladys", 

a line of tea-related sewing patterns.

See the connection?

I was a pattern-maker

that now has incorporated tea

into the picture.

 

 

Friendships and connections

always touch my heart.

The people I have met through

pursuing my joys has delighted me. 

How I would still love to meet Corey,

but when I travel the I-5 corridor

from Oregon to California

I make a stop in Willows

and have met Corey’s mom a couple of times.

Yes, connections and friendships

are my total joy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Always curious and learning,

it keeps my heart young

and puts a smile on my face.

 

 

 

You can also find me on 

Instagram @marilyntea 

or on Facebook

where I share quotes, tea pictures,

pictures from nature and my garden.

Occasionally my grandson pops in there too.  

At 69 years old I became

a first-time grandma and  

I love having my

           8-year-old grandson by my side.H

 

Guest Post: Laurie-Annya Linfoot

 

Since I could not decide on my story,

so I am giving you vignettes of my 69 years. 

 

 

​​

Annya and her son Jackson

 My daughter Annya was one of the last babies born in the Yosemite National Park hospital,

called Lewis and Memorial. When it came time to deliver my baby,

we had to drive from the southern area of the park called Wawona (4,000 ft elevation),

up and over a mountain pass of 6000 ft to get to Yosemite Valley

where the hospital was located.

It was the first snow of the season.

Her father’s last name is White,

and we joked that we should call her “Snow.”

 

I absolutely love cats, kittens, and baby goats.

I have also become infatuated with the Blue Merle Australian Shepherds,

which seems to be a favorite dog in France.

 

 

 

My favorite poets are Mary Oliver, Rumi, ee cummings, and Haziz.

 

 I am now living in France, a lifelong dream.

I moved here when I was 66.

Even though it took a while to get here,

it just goes to show that it is never too late to follow your dreams.

I have never been happier in my life!

~~~ 

I have 3 tattoos.

I got the one on my arm

a bit after I got married at 62 (not for the first time, may I say).

It is a quote by Mary Oliver,

“He is exactly the poem I wanted to write.”

 

I live in a small village in the south of France.

I tell time by the church bells chiming.

And occasionally looking at the clock…

 

 

Ms Amelia, our 1975 AirStream Trailer

https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/1486208

 During the summers, we go back to our cottage in Connecticut.

We have a 1975 Airstream trailer in our backyard

(we have an acre of land), which we rent out on AirBnB.

 

 

I love the snow and occasionally insist that we go up to the mountains

so I can get a cold nose and feet. Does my husband like the snow…?

Not so much!

I have sea kayaked in Glacier Bay in Alaska

and on Baffin Island, off Canada’s northeastern coast.

 

(I found these at the brocante in France and dye them myself for my craft fair.)

 

I love going to brocantes.

While I do not have the Brocante Bug as bad as Corey,

I do love wandering the rows, finding things

I have no idea what they are and imagining their use in a prior lifetime.

I love the natural patina created by the many previous lives they touched.

While I look for linens, especially napkins

with really “heavy” monograms and old nighties,

My husband Ian is looking for old cameras, tools, and other curios that attract him.

What a wonderful way to spend a day!

 

 

I have not eaten red meat, chicken, or turkey for 38 years.

Well, except for bacon! For a period, in my career,

I was often traveling for work, and on arriving late at my hotel,

all I could get was room service.

As we all know, they would always have a BLT on that menu.

One night, I thought, “What the hell, why not!

After all, it was a self-imposed restriction.

And I never looked back…

It is a slippery slope, but I have held the line at bacon

(and lardon in France).

 

 

 I love to cook and have friends over so I can try out new recipes on them.

I never use a recipe with over 10 ingredients,

and I am not particularly good at following directions.

My husband is my chief taster and almost always can let me know what the dish needs.

He is also a good cook. It

 gives me great pleasure to have friends gathered around the table,

eating and talking and (perhaps) drinking till all hours of the night. 

 ~~~

My life’s motto is “Live Creatively”

 

 

​​​ I am married to Ian. He was born in Scotland,

though he has lost most of his accent.

Except, that is, when he is drinking with his pals in the pubs.

Then I can’t understand a word he says!

Though I do love it when he reads me Robert Burns’ poems

in a full Scottish accent!

He is truly a kind spirit, intelligent,

knows politics and history

(I call him my personal Wikipedia),

thoughtful, helpful, and caring. I love him to pieces. 

 

 

I love watching birds.

One of the great disappointments of where I live now

is that there are mostly only seagulls, pigeons, and ring-necked doves.

 

I also collect bird nests.

In fact, I bought an old steamer trunk,

removed the falling off lid,

put in a shelf about 4 inches from the top,

filled it with bird nests and eggs, and put a glass top on it. 

I believe that I was married to Ian in a previous life.

We lived in Europe somewhere.

He was a farmer and we had three children, two girls and a boy. 

 ~~~

For many years, I worked in a bookstore in Marin County.

I grew up loving reading and books.

I was a voracious reader and, as a child,

would ride my bike to the library a couple of times a week.

I liked "series"; I remember reading all the Briar Patch books,

then I headed on to the Greek Myths, and Nancy Drew, of course.

I often read books my parents had around the house.

I remember reading “Gone with the Wind” in fourth grade,

though many of the parts I was a little sketchy about (like that torn bodice).

 

 

​I have a craft business. I make products from items

I recycled and/or repurposed that I find at the brocante.

I hand-dye old napkins and nighties, stamp vintage butter knives,

make cashmere lavender eye pillows, and create gifts from various items I stumble across. 

I (usually) sell at craft fairs and farmers' markets when I am back in Connecticut

in the summer, though, of course, this last summer was an exception. 

I had been reading Corey’s blog for years.

So when Ian and I were in Aix, (I have to say I am a very shy person)

I emailed Corey to see if we could stop by and meet her.

Now, this was VERY unusual for me to do.

Of course, being the generous and gracious person she is, she said, “Of course!”

We went to her house and had a wonderful couple of hours.

And since moving to France, we have become closer,

and our husbands have become friends. 

 

How wonderful it has been to meet so many delightful,

interesting, and accomplished people through this blog!

 

 

Thank you, Corey, for inspiring all of us to share our stories!

-- 

Follow Laurie-Annya Linfoot on Facebook

also on Instagram

 

 "Everyman has two nations and one of them is France."  Benjamin Franklin

 

Guest Post: Kambria Anton

 

I believe at one point or another in our lives

we find ourselves searching

for something or someone to guide us,

to help us along this life’s journey.

Finding Corey and following her blog for over 8 years

has been like finding a treasured jewel at the Brocante.

like many of you fellow readers, I start my morning with a cup of coffee,

sitting down with my computer and diving into Corey’s World.

She has a tremendous gift of weaving her tales and imagery that spark my heart.

I have been with her through the good and bad days,

learning by the love she so tenderly gives to family, friendships,

and the magical Brocante.

 

       (My French Brocante Treasures)

Taken at the Brocante where we met C & Y

 

    Imagine, visiting one of the Brocantes in France

and the serendipitous moment I turned my gaze and saw

Corey and French Husband from afar.
“Look that’s CORRREEY!!! “  

I exclaimed with bubbling excitement to my husband.

Granted my husband also knew the famous Corey after years of me

sharing something I had read from her blog.

So we casually stalked them and introduced ourselves.

Although the March morning was bitter cold,

Corey and Yann greeted us with warmth.

 

We chatted for a few minutes and I

happily shared my precious treasures

I had acquired at this market.

Two small hand-forged butterflies

that would fit perfectly in my suitcase

back to our home in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.

 

 

I was so taken with the moment of meeting Corey and Yann

that I completely forgot to capture a photo of us together.

I regret that, but hold hope that I will someday have a chance

to spend more time in France and meet them again.

With the most sincere gratitude,

I pray we will have many more years of reading Corey’s blog 

and feeling like an extended part of her family.

 

 

 

 

I was going to end my guest post here...

But with a little more prodding from Corey,  

I will share a bit more about my life. 

Alas, I have never been very confident with my writing skills.

However, my persevering temperament and grit has been

my source of strength and gotten me through most challenges. 

 

 

 

 

 

I have always believed in following my dreams.

As a youngster, I told my mom I wanted to be an artist when I grew up.

She responded by saying I should take a high school typing class.

She felt concerned that I should have something to fall back on

if my Art couldn’t support me. 

How many countless children have heard similar advice? 

 

 

 

 

Well, I never enrolled in that typing class.

I ended up studying art in college,

having my own photography business,

and marrying the man of my dreams,

who is also an artist!!

I am so lucky he gets me and understands 

the need and longing to create. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seven years ago, we reimagined our life and took a leap of faith.  

We found ourselves cleaning out the attic, selling our house, car,

and 80% of all of our possessions.

We lived happily in California for many years but felt drawn to Mexico,

particularly San Miguel de Allende where we live now.

Transplanting oneself to a foreign country is not easy.

Corey knows this all too well and has shared so many stories

that I can totally relate to, from stumbling with language barriers

to the longing of seeing family and everything familiar.

For now, Mexico is home but this devastating Covid pandemic

has me questioning everything. 

 

 

 

Gratefully, I continue to be inspired and to make Art.

My passion is for reclaiming and redefining 

the possibilities of materials.

I feel strongly about developing more holistic ways

for creative expression, in particular the use of discarded plastic.

With staggering statistics rising daily about our plastic waste it

tells a disheartening tale of a world

that is in desperate need of change. 

It is my hope that Art creates a discussion and education

which allows us to reform our

methods of consumption and disregard.
                                                                                                 

     (Sidenote: Kambria wrote on a Facebook post,

"Instead of giving up chocolate for lent why not give up using plastic instead?"

 

Maybe this Advent, the ending of this year taking us to a

new year we can consider being mindful 

of our consumption of plastic.)

    

 

 

 

All of my sculptures are made from this repurposed plastic

that I have collected from many sources.

I fluctuate from painting on canvas to sculpture,

each influencing the other.

I prefer to keep my works abstract for the purpose of leaving

many layers of interpretation.

It’s really exciting to push the boundaries of perception

and perspective 

leaving more questions than answers. 

 

 

 

 

If you are interested in viewing more of my work

 

please visit my website

 https://www.kambriaanton.com/

Or follow me on Instagram 

 

Follow me on Facebook.

 

Be well, everyone. Follow, reclaim, your dreams wherever they may take you. 

 

Kambria Anton 

 

 

 

Guest Post: Andrea Hames

Years ago, I reconnected with someone I went to high school with,

and through him, I found Corey

just in time to see the Paris apartment renovation. 

When the apartment was done, my husband and I spent a week there. 

Walking up the stairs and into the space was a bit like finally reaching the Emerald City. 

I’m honored to be a guest blogger and to have the opportunity

to share a bit about my love of weaving and dyeing fabric. 

 

This is my grandson.  

He’s playing an instrument that belonged to my dad

who was a big band musician who played with some of the greatest.

He also did Broadway Theatre so I’m thrilled that Jasper

took his guitars and other string instruments.

 

Like Corey, family and friends are everything to me. 

In addition to my family, the community has always been important to me

and varies with where in my life I am. 

In these days of COVID, I’ve connected through FaceBook, to a community of weavers. 

Weavers are a creative and supportive group, which is important as we find ourselves isolating. 

 

 

 

 

My love for weaving started as a textile design student at F.I.T.,

the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City.

Weaving was a required course so I walked in and sat down at a loom. 

Who knew that you could take threads or yarn and arrange them vertically (the warp) and horizontally (the weft),

interlace them, and get fabric?  I was hooked. 

Not only had I found my passion; I found a world of people,

a community in which I finally felt comfortable. 

I’d always loved working with color, but this was a new way to play

with endless possibilities of shades, hues, textures, and weave structures

Some, who were at F.I.T. at the same time, went on to greatness. 

Calvin Klein married a girl in my class. 

Antonio Lopez went on to become one of the most successful illustrators in the business,

hanging out in Paris with Karl Lagerfeld, Jerry Hall, and a host of others. 

I do wish I’d saved the sketches he did of me when

I had a long, thin neck which was the piece of me on which he focused. 

Now I’m 75 and in the Nora Ephron cohort with regard to my neck. 

 

I moved into “the city” as soon as I could convince my parents it was ok,

I’d be fine and not end up on the back pages of a tabloid

which was where you would find all the good girls gone bad stories. 

An apartment in a tenement building in Greenwich Village with a roommate was home. 

My F.I.T. friends had also moved to the area

I was now able to earn a living and enjoy the things I love, the things that make me, me.  

NYC offered me theatre (my Dad was a Broadway musician), opera, ballet, museums, etc. 

I still drive in from Connecticut to enjoy all those things and will again when we’re vaccinated,

though I worry about the survival of the arts.

 

 

My F.I.T. graduation gift was a 45” wide loom which I still have. 

While living in NY, I did freelance work on the loom.   

I’m in Connecticut now, but the loom came with me and now has two sisters. 

My yarn stash is immense, but I never seem to have exactly the color or texture I need,

so it continues to grow. Sometimes, I dye what I need by hand painting or doing Shibori.

 

 

When I arrived in Connecticut, there was no work for a fabric designer.

Changing circumstances demanded I pursue another career to ensure a paycheck. 

With it came another new community, work friends. 

Though it was not a particularly creative endeavor,

I find you can bring creativity to anything.

Though I marked time knowing I’d be back at the loom one day.

For years I was not able to weave and despite encouragement to

“get rid of that thing”,

I held on to my loom. 

Weaving is my Zen and an escape. 

Once you decide what you will create and set it up on the loom,

the rhythm of the weaving has a calming effect. 

It’s physical and good for the brain. 

It had been important to me years ago

and I knew it would again. 

 

 

When I retired, I went for some refresher courses at Wesleyan Potters 

which is an artists’ co-op, gallery, and school. 

We are potters, weavers, and jewelers.

Another community, this one like a family, though right now,

we can’t gather nor do much work together.

 

 

 

Artists are struggling in these times, as are so many others. 

Many who usually teach live workshops are seeking new ways to earn a living. 

I’m participating in a workshop with an international group of weavers,

helping an artist who would usually be teaching in person, to develop an online program. 

The instructor studied at the Rhode Island School of Design. 

My studies at F.I.T. were industry-oriented. 

In the Garment District of New York,

I was limited to designing fabrics for apparel that would photograph and sell.   

I’m working through a completely different methodology now,

with no limitations other than my own creativity,

the loom capability, and materials on hand. 

It’s a challenge. 

Old dog, new tricks! 

 

 

 

 

If things go well pandemic-wise,

I’ll be loading my loom into the back of my SUV and heading to Knoxville, Tennessee

in the summer of 2022 for a week of live, intense workshops. 

That was supposed to have happened this past summer. 

It occurs to me that all the rearranging and adjusting

we have done is akin to what the French call le Système D.

The D stands for 'débrouille', meaning to get on with it,

figure it out, use any means available to do something. 

 

 

Here’s to us all managing through

continuing to find ways to do

the things we love.

 

 

Question: Do you sell your items or do commissions?

 

I sell very little.

I sometimes sell scarves, baby blankets, placemats, towels, etc.

in the Gallery Shop at Wesleyan Potters,

but I don’t have a website.

I give my work as gifts because the process is so enjoyable.

I keep a stack of hand towels to take when visiting.

Having worked in the garment district with constraints of what

would sell based on what was in Europe the previous season,

and the price point of the company I worked for,

I love that I can finally do what I love without worrying if it’s perfect.

I also suffer from “Imposter Syndrome”

and never think what I do is good enough.

 

Follow Andrea on Facebook

 

 

Guest Post: Penni also as S'Mee

 

Hello Friends!

 

I’d like to thank Corey for reaching out

to us all and inviting us to share

a bit about our lives. 

I’m Penni, and I found Corey about a year after

she began her blog, ‘Tongue in Cheek’.

I will rewrite a message I sent her a bit ago,

changing the pronouns  

"I’m not really into antiques, France is fine-

but I’ve never been there, and probably never will—

I stumbled on Corey’s blog about a year after she started and I stay because of her literal Spirit.

She’s genuine. She’s real. She’s poetic,  intelligent, and constantly positive.

This blog is a soft place to land.

I have found much peace in her conversations and observations.

I am inspired to be more because of the familial connection she has with her readers.

I don’t always have something to add,

but I always read. I admire her dedication to God and family,

and the way those things are reflected in her posts, photos,

and yes, antiques. I love that she shares her prayers and hope.

I thoroughly enjoy her relationship with Yann;

and have gushed over all the renovations. She is a constant light. "

 

 

I met my husband when I was 15, married him at 18,

and had the first of our five children when I was 20.

Our life was simple and sweet with plenty of ups and downs,

but we had so much fun and have the best kids ever! 

 

 

 

Our #1 child was a FireFighter until just recently, he was headed to be a Captain,

however, a life long illness required him to make a career shift,

so he is now an Arson Investigator married with 3 boys,

 his fun wife works as a Preschool Teacher for the severely handicapped.

#2 is a store manager at a tile company, where he shines because he loves sales and design, he is married with 5 kids! Which keeps his clever wife plenty busy.

Our #3 is a “Dental Hygenius” (hygienist, lol)  who loves science, her patients, travel, fashion, the fine arts, and being an activist for good social change.

#4 was a Journeyman Wireman but injured his back, so now he uses his artistic skills to redesign cars, trucks, and other vehicles. He’s the SAHDad of 3, and manages the house while his sweet wife works as a Pediatric Oncology RN.

6 years ago we lost our youngest daughter, she was 27 and was 6 months from earning her PhD from Duke University.

A year ago in August, my husband died unexpectedly

-dealing with both of those losses has been a challenge,

but our faith tells us that families are forever,

so I look forward to being reunited with them both for the eternities.

However, after a year alone, I need a change, so I am following the advice of my kids

and making a move.

My husband traveled (U.S. and Canada) for work,

and after the kids were old enough to tend to themselves for a week

I went with him when I could.

It was an incredible gift, we loved being with each other.

We agreed on about 98% of everything

-so our life was great, we were just the best of friends, always together.

We have 11 grandkids who are hilarious and smart and are just the best medicine for a bad day

-so after the move, once I am settled,

I plan on just going from one house to the other to receive as much joy as possible! 

In the times I am at home I will continue to work on my hobbies,

volunteering, and many visits to the beach.   

I currently live in a small town in the Mojave Desert of SoCal, in the U.S.

however, I am literally in the middle of a life changing move!

My garage is stacked and packed with a zillion boxes

my house will go up for sale this week…

I have no idea where I am moving to!

“Sell high, buy low!” so here I am. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am an artist and creator at heart and have worked on and off

all my life doing the most enjoyable things.

I began selling home-baked and decorated gingerbread houses

when I was in 4th grade and decorated my first “official” wedding cake

as a freshman in high school. 

 

 

 

 

I have always done some form of art, from logos to billboards,

custom Christmas cards, and had a few decades of painting murals

and faux finishes in model homes, businesses, and for personal home clients.

I was an ASL interpreter and instructional aide

for sign dependent deaf students k-12 for about 15 years.

I decorated cakes and reception

centers for weddings, quinceaneras, and have taught many of those skills to others.

I have taught art to school children and adults.

I made patterns for custom-tailored furniture covers to clothing.

I love making costumes and use the ideas of clients and my grandkids for inspiration.

I have volunteered for the Red Cross, LDS Charities, Domestic Violence Shelters, Homeless Shelters, Community Warming Centers, Deseret Industries,

helped build a community park in one day, and other places where I could.

I am a true “Jane of All Trades, Master of None!” 

I fear I have written a very long rambling book -

I will blame it on lack of sleep and leave it at that! Haha!

Again, I have enjoyed reading everyone’s incredible stories,

I feel like I have added a lot more “Imaginary Friends” to my life! 

 

Guest Post: Amy Kortuem

 

 

Bonjour! 

My name is Amy. 

Here is my story. It’s about adventure.

Surprise. Disappointment. 

Music, art, discovery. 

It’s even a little juicy. 

 

 

 

First, I am from North Mankato, Minnesota.

I live in a charming old Craftsman-style bungalow 

that I love despite its quirks, creaks, crookedness, 

and the occasional wayward bat

they are always gently shepherded

outside in a net,

accompanied by lots of screaming.

 

 

 

 

 

This silky little creature, SamTheCat,

showed up on my doorstep

on Halloween 15 years ago.

He lets me live with him. He does 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Allow me to introduce you to the love of my life:

my ancient, huge, cast iron clawfoot bathtub. 

It’s part therapist, part healer.

The statue guarding the tub is Bathrodite.

She’s a good secret-keeper.

 

 

 

 

I have a huge garden I dug up

with an old shovel divorce therapy, 1999. 

 

This summer, I made a stone circle in my garden for “sacred” activities

like smoky fires with friends and laughing 

way too hard and eating waaaaay too much cheese and chocolate.

 

 

 

I studied English with a writing concentration in college then

 immediately went to work for a printing company

as an advertising copywriter.

Also, music, I have played the piano since I was 10, and continued playing

and pursuing choral studies in college.

But a beautiful harp at a Renaissance fair stole my musical heart

and changed the course of my life. 

The harp quickly went from “Well, this will be fun…”

to “Having weddings and events booked through the years.”

 

 

 

 

As soon as I earned enough I purchased

a concert harp from Lyon & Healy in Chicago. 

 

 I still worked as a copywriter, but I spent all of my free time performing.

Playing in cathedrals and at county fairs,

at weddings and funerals,

for dignitaries like Mikhail Gorbachev,

and for preschoolers.

I have made four recordings plus a DVD based on an original song. 

 

 

I also started giving concerts on St. Patrick’s Day and at the holidays.

I’ve played for thousands of people,

and it brought me joy to share the joy of music with each of them.

 

But in 2009, softly, quietly, came the whispers of restlessness. 

At work, I was supposed to be writing, but instead, 

I was daydreaming, wondering, “What if? What else?”

 

And after 10 years of giving my own concerts, recording albums,

playing at hundreds of weddings and events and accompanying

orchestras and choirs

I began to look at the harp with weariness rather than joy. 

 

I was tired.

 

 

 

My wonderful, perceptive Mom noticed. She called me one morning in April,

“You need to get out of here. Let’s go to Paris.”

I gave her a thousand excuses why I couldn’t: work, the garden, the house,

my harp performances. 

Oh yeah: and we didn’t speak French. 

She didn’t listen. She bought plane tickets. 

We found a hotel in the Latin Quarter.

I got some travel guides.

A friend taught us some basic get-by-as-a-tourist French.

 

I scoured French blogs for travel advice, and “met” Corey in doing so.

I read every one of her posts.

I dreamed about what her life must be like in France, the culture,

and brocante, the romance. 

My favorite post still is her poetic recipe for hot chocolate!

 

Mom and I flew to Paris.

 

The taxi ride from CDG airport was terrifying.

“You have been in Paris before?” the taxi driver asked,

 swerving madly around a motorcycle.

“No,” we said. I squeezed my eyes shut, motion sick from the

smell of exhaust, the traffic, the ugly graffiti on the highway walls. 

“I hate this city,” I said to myself.

 

 

 

 

 

A while later, the taxi driver said, “Open your eyes, look, Notre Dame de Paris.”

I looked and saw the cathedral, glowing in the morning light

like a bright pearl. I burst into tears. 

I didn’t know why.

“You have been to Paris before,”

the taxi driver said. “In your heart.”

 

“Maybe,” I whispered. “Yes.”

 

 

 

 

Mom and I wandered cobbled streets and lingered by the Seine

and ate and drank wine and saw the Mona Lisa and

Monet’s Water Lilies and rode to the top of the Eiffel Tower

and sat in the park and fed crepes to sparrows

that flew right up to our fingers. 

Every day, we went into Notre Dame to light candles, to hear vespers. 

 

One night during dinner at a restaurant near Notre Dame,

a French man struck up a conversation with us.

He was charming, funny. He was also uncannily perceptive.

“You are tired,” he said to me suddenly. “You work too hard, no?”

“Did my mother tell you this?” I asked.

“She does not have to. I can see it,” he said.

“And you come from that place in the cold,

with 9 months winter and only 3 months summer?

You are a woman who needs much more of the warm.”

I didn’t know what to say, but inside,

I felt my being say, “Yes.”

 

He walked us to our hotel. Mom smiled at me and ducked inside. 

As he and I walked through winding streets, 

he pulled me inside an ancient doorway and kissed me.

I told you this would get juicy.

He wanted to meet the next night. 

We did, except we left the restaurant earlier,

and my walk with him was longer…

 

He met us on our last night in Paris. He begged me not to work so hard. 

Mom nodded in agreement. 

Then, as we were leaving, he invited me (just me, with a wink at Mom) 

to come back and visit him. 

 

What a dream, I thought, as he bade goodbye. 

I thought of Corey’s blog, her story about finding love

and moving to France.

I looked back at Notre Dame and felt a tug on my heart.

 

I arrived home to an overgrown garden, an overflowing work inbox,

a wedding to play for the next day…

and an email from him. 

We talked on the phone all summer. We got to know each other -

our dreams, wishes, deepest thoughts. 

He really did want me to visit. 

 

So I studied French, read Corey’s blog, ran for miles to get in better shape.

In early October, with Corey’s stories and my own hopes in my mind, 

I flew to Paris.

 

Into the arms of…a stranger. It was him,

but he was not the perceptive, kind person I had gotten to know.

He was cold and distant. “Your plane was late,” he said.

“And you are too thin.” He left me at the apartment and went to work.

I barely saw him.

When I did, he was cruel. One night was so frightening,

I hoped for Liam Neeson to rescue me like in the movie “Taken.”

 

 

 

 

I wandered Paris alone, getting to know her, 

falling in love with her. I was also falling in love with the way

I felt about being in Paris.

I didn’t need him or anyone else to be there.

I could take care of myself. It was clear that Corey’s story

and mine would be very different. 

So I escaped to a tiny room at the tip-top of a hotel.

I disguised myself with a huge scarf over my head. 

 

 

 

 

I sat in Notre Dame for hours, lighting candles, kneeling. 

 

 

 

 

I sat in the backs of cafés and drank hot chocolate and wrote music,

wrote in my journal, wrote to my worried Mom back home that I was fine.

 

And I was fine.

Things had gone wrong with him,

but I was doing what I wanted,

when I wanted, in a city I was loving.

 

 

 

That December, back home, I gave a concert of the new music 

that I had written in Paris. 

 

I mulled over my memories. 

I read Corey’s blog. She and I wrote to each other periodically. 

Every time I talked about my Paris trips,

people would say, “You need to write a book about this!” 

 

Over five years, two trips back to Paris,

and many writing workshops,

I wrote my memoir while still working long hours as a copywriter.

Plus still playing the harp every week.

I had forgotten his words, “Don’t work so hard, you work too much.”

 

One morning, exhausted from pushing myself,

I fainted and fell in the shower,

hitting my head hard at least three times. 

which caused a traumatic brain injury.

which developed severe migraines and fibromyalgia. 

 

My memoir sat, nearly finished.

The harp sat, silent. 

I went through the motions of my life like a ghost.

 For my 50th birthday in December 2017, I felt well enough

to go back to Paris and stayed in Corey’s beautiful apartment.

 

 

It was a healing trip. I spent most of it sitting in Notre Dame,

breathing incense, lighting candles, kneeling on the floor,

grateful to be alive, to have done so many things,

to have learned so many beautiful lessons.

 

 

 

 

Never will I forget Christmas Eve in Notre Dame.

 

 Eventually, I quit my job and am able to be at home now,

managing my pain and recovering. 

Through a practice of gratitude, and feel like I am awakening more and more.

 Recently, I have played my harp

for some Zoom events. 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading through some pages of my memoir, made some notes.

I do believe that one day I will finish and publish it.

 

And then Corey asked me to write a post for her blog -

the blog that has been so inspiring,

a gentle guide to goodness and gratitude,

a place of beauty. 

It was like being asked to make a drink to pour into the holy grail. 

 

I said yes. And here it is. 

A story of writing and music,

Of Paris. Of Notre Dame, my beloved sanctuary,

which I mourn and pray for. 

 

And of my friendship with Corey -

we have never met in person,

but I feel a kindred-spirit love for you,

and appreciate everything you have given to all of us through your blog.

 

 

 

If you’re interested, you can purchase my music here. 

(Note: The Month of January album is sold out at the moment.)

 

Please keep in touch! Follow Amy on Facebook.

 

Amy Kortuem's Website

Thanks Giving

For many of you, this is a very unusual Thanksgiving.

It certainly is for my mother and family

given that it is the first time my mother is celebrating alone,

not preparing her cherished feast,

nor having to chase my brother Marty from biting off the turkey cookies’ heads,

though I bet she is secretly happy not to have had to make those pesky cookies...

and at the same time wishing without a doubt

that my brother Marty would run in and eat every single turkey cookie.

My brother is in the hospital.

 

 

 

A week ago or so my mother called the family

to say she preferred for the family to celebrate Thanksgiving

within their own homes with their families and not come over this year due to Covid,

to be prudent.

 

My mother is first and foremost faithful

in her belief to do what is right and that love prevails. 

Faltering from that would go against who she is as a woman of faith.

I admire my mother's bravery, her strength, her guiding light that she has led us by

without wavering especially when life throws curve balls and the road seems long,

she is a constant source of unending possibilities to lean on. Amazing.

 

 

When I asked her if it was going to be hard to be alone

on Thanksgiving day she replied,

 »It is just another day that is how I am going to look at it.

I am thankful and pray every day in gratitude,

for my family, and those who have asked me to pray for them.

I would rather everyone be safe

than celebrate this one day together. »

 

It is another day to be thankful

in a year that has constantly

reminded us that nothing is certain,

and what is important.

A year where heroes in everyday clothing

have shown us what it means to be counted on,

who have stood up without question and worked tirelessly for humanity.

A year where toilet paper was the golden egg and luxury of safety

was another stab at poverty. 

A year that has brought to focus on how divided our nation

is and made us question reality from fiction.

A year like none other that I have experienced.

 

Nevertheless,

it is another day,

a gift,

like every day, 

every moment

worthy, sacred, and taken for granted at times.

Another day to give thanks,

to pray,

to long,

to live.

 

 

 

Along with Happy Thanksgiving, I would rather ask:

How are you?

Guest Post: Debra Graham

 

Like many of the other blog posters who have shared about themselves here,

I’ve wondered if I should accept Corey’s invitation to tell a bit about my life.

Don’t we all wonder if we are “good enough” or “ interesting enough?

Finally, I thought I’d just throw that doubt out the window.

So here’s a bit about me.

 

 

I’m a native Mainer now living in North Carolina,

a change that has been a real culture shock.

When my husband retires in a few years,

we will move further north and also hope

to live part of the year in France.

It would be wonderful to meet Corey

after reading her blog for so long!

I love everything about French culture.

My husband even proposed to me

at the top of the Eiffel tower,

using a giant fake ring in case

I dropped it over the side!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My work life has been varied but in the last 20 years

I’ve worked in the law in varying capacities,

with a foray into owning a flower shop,

which was partly great fun and equally as stressful.

I’ve been a court reporter and

now organize violent crime cases

in our police department.

It’s never dull though does make me wonder

how people can do the terrible things they do.

 

My admiration for First Responders grows daily.

 

 

 

With my hubby Garry at the Berlin Wall. 

 

 

Like Corey and all of you, I’ve loved antiques for as long as I can remember.

I still have my first “real” purchase- a lovely petite Queen Anne writing desk,

which I found covered in grime at the back of a shop.

A little elbow grease is all that was needed to bring it back to life.

Oh, and purchasing 9 random old skeleton keys to unlock it!

 

 

 

At Marimurtra Botanical Garden in Spain

 

 

Travel and photography are my two passions.

Like the rest of the world, this year’s journey

to the Middle East was postponed-

a great disappointment.

My husband Garry and I have traveled to many

countries together and I hope to many more.

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve filled my spare time roaming back roads

searching for what I call

“Rust and Ruin”-

abandoned houses

and buildings that

call me and my camera.

Garry and are (apparently) renovation addicts

we have spent the last 3 years renovating a lake house in Virginia.

Dare I say this will be our last reno?

We’ve said it before...

 

 

 

The view from the lake house- the blue hydrangeas sold me.

 

 

As this unbelievable year, 2020 nears an end,

I wish everyone health and peace of mind.

Remember to make time

for the small joys in life.

 

 Thank you Corey for the invitation!

 

Follow me on Instagram 

(side note: GORGEOUS photos!!)

Grimescenephotographer

 

~Debra Graham

Lovespeachroses17@yahoo.com