Along the 12 hour drive we listened to the Italian radio neither of us speak Italian. Every ten kilometers a few words would catch our attention, mostly to do with food. Year's ago while at a market in Sicily someone asked Sacha, “Oh, you speak Italian?” Sacha replied, “Food words, pasta, parmigiana, lasagna…”
The Italian countryside made me think we were living in one ancient painting after another. Did it capture my imagination?
Have you been to Italy? Share a memory please!
The peaceful entrance
the gentle way
the desirable path
the way
changes
challenges
and calls us
follow me
Simple, straightforward messages that follow the course of being good to yourself.
.
The antique dealer was genuinely puzzled as I loaded bag after bag of his old linen and hemp towels and sheets, "What do you do with these? Do you sew?"
I felt cheeky when I replied, "Other than wrapping it around me while walking in the garden when there is a full moon? I use it for what it was meant for bagging grains, drying dishes, covering a mattress, or bread rising, as a tablecloth, and or wrapping up a dead pig.
He laughed, "A dead pig?"
"Of course," I teased, "Back in the day, they did, you know."
Ask me, go ahead, ask me how many times I folded and unfolded these to fit inside the dome.
Then they decided it would be funny to fall over because linens have a mind of their own.
The Tower of Babel heard a few new words.
I added a rusty key and velvet pin cushion apple to the linen tower. Next, I started to stuff the tower in the dome.
My original idea was to stand on the kitchen counter and put the dome over the tower.
But that wasn't going to work. You see, I don't think things through. I figure it out as I go.
But that damn apple pin cushion would not stay straight. Yes, I swore at that forbidden fruit, sneaky little thing!
Sure, I could have pinned it on, but hey, I didn't think of that until later.
Since putting the dome over the tower of linen was not a happening idea, I stuffed it instead... forgetting to put the velvet apple pin cushion in first. Ding Dong is my middle name.
At last: linen and hemp dishtowels were stuffed inside a glass dome.
Kitchen counter art and a velvet apple not to be used in a pie.
Then funny enough, I heard a knock at the front door. Turning around, I saw Madame Provencal. Holding her market basket tucked in her elbow, she said, "Tsk, tsk, tsk... linen under a glass dome... Corey, Corey, Corey, I am sooooo disappointed in you! Running around in the garden with nothing on but a linen sheet is more your style. Please do not disappoint me now."
I hugged her, ran outside, and frightened my neighbors with no linens in sight.
Madame M. came to my house when I was thirty-four.
She did not bring a gift to my newborn baby, nor was she subtle, dare I say rude, as she entered quickly, barely saying hello. Madame M. has lived with me since then.
Mixing Baby Blues and menopause is a cocktail few have tasted, but let me tell you, it is one nasty drink. A lack of hormones can cause people to do drastic things. I did not shave my head, but when I see women who do, I wonder if they, too, tasted Madame B.B.'s underrated drink. Mix in Madame M., and it is psychedelic!
In Madame M.'s presence, how was I to know that I would not need a coat for the next five years? She gave new meaning to the word hot and not in the way of sexy.
I had heard tales of Madame M. how she could slap you on the side of your head, cause your face to turn red, have you forget your name, and make you feel, unlike a natural woman. I was shocked to learn everything I had heard was true. Yes, she was a head trip I wish I did not have to take. The journey was long, tedious, and without a road map or Estrogen as a friend, I stumbled along the way. Thankfully French Husband stood by me, loving me while I wrestled with myself under the influence of Madame M.
When I was thirty-four, I had ovarian cancer (stage two). The chemotherapy rendered me menopausal. The doctors forgot to tell me about Madame M.'s visit. A few nights after my first chemotherapy, I kicked the covers off, opened the window wide, and swore to God the house was on fire. It took a few more nights of this routine before it dawned on me that I was experiencing hot flashes.
Hot flashes were easy breezy compared to the other party favors Madame M. brought me. The worse trips I ever took with her were the ones where I felt I was going down the kitchen drain. Hard to explain to someone who hasn't had menopause, but Madame M. can make you think you are going crazy. I saw ants crawling out of my pores. I pinched myself to see if I was awake, then wished I was sleeping.
After having a toddler and a newborn baby, a radical hysterectomy and no hormone replacement was a stark reality that didn't add up. It felt like my world was going around and around as I stood still, trying to hold on to what I loved and let go of the rest. But most of the time, I prayed I would survive cancer. That was my focus; being with Madame M. was nothing by comparison.
Thirty-two years have passed since Madame M. came to live with me. I have several coats and wear them often funny how she makes me feel cool after years of feeling too hot.
Lately, my women friends talk about menopause; naturally, they are of that age, and some are older, and Madame M. opens up her other bag of tricks. One party favor after another. I look at them, smile, think back, and count my lucky stars. Madame M. is a resident in my body; we live comfortably with one another, dare I say harmonious.
______________________________________
How was your visit with Madame M.?
Olivia playing in the misters at the park.
Photo via Martin
The anima mundi or world soul is, according to several systems of thought, an intrinsic connection between all living beings, which relates to the world in much the same way as the soul is connected to the human body.
Via anima mundi
https://animamundiherbals.com/
This is a view for my daily walk of my town, which is snuggled at the base of Saint Baumé, the grotto of Mary-Magdalene is at the top of Saint Baumé. About a 30 minute drive up a very twisty little road, and then a 45 minute generous hike to the top. Not photographed in this photo.
This evening in France, all over France, in every village, town, and city, is the Fete de la Musique—a celebration to herald the beginning of summer that started in 1982. Anyone anywhere is encouraged to play, sing or listen to music.
In our little town, a rock band plays with merriment, and people are dancing in the square.
I love this evening in France.
To celebrate the Fete de la Musique, I wanted to add a few names to some music that reminds me of the i-Beam of Meeting French Husband and a few songs I remember listening to in Paris back in 1988.
France Gall - 1988 - France
Again, Encore, France Gall - 1988 - Ella, Elle l'a - 1988
The Smiths... No other group takes me back faster to the 1980s... Please, Please, Please...
Rita Mitsouko - C'est Comme Ca - Did I know they were French when they hit America? Nope. But when my French Husband met me at the i-Beam, he rocked like a man after my heart,
"Tis is French, you know?"
And the way Rita danced, it was out there ahead of her time. Not looking sweet or sexy was a new concept.
The Cure,
Pet Shop Boys,
Do you think I like to dance?
And then there was Chris Issac, who sang:
I keep on dancin', dancin'.
Nothing left to say, nothing left to do.
I find myself alone; I'm thinking just of you.
You got me dancin', dancin'.
Why don't you help me? Why don't you guide me?
Why don't you promise? To stand beside me.
A man in a foreign land was in love with a woman who didn't understand his spoken words
Love is not a thing you command; love is something that keeps you and holds you.
Dancin', dancin'.
Why don't you help me? Why don't you guide me?
Why don't you promise? To stand beside me.
I keep on dancin', dancin'.
Nothing left to say, nothing left to do.
I find myself alone, thinking just of you.
You've got me dancin', dancin'.
Why don't you help me? Why don't you guide me?
Why don't you promise? To stand beside me.
Dancin', dancin', dancin', you've got me, ohhhh, help me!
Guide me, why don't you promise to stand beside me?
Please help me, ohhhh
AND WE DID
Then, now and tomorrow...
An unusual beginning of a Provençal summer.
Raining.most days and there for awhile threatening storms.
Much needed, a generous blessing to our parched countryside.
The garden cheers! Blooms bigger than ever.
Grey skies. Colorful garden.
Happy Birthday to my loving son Sacha! To the boy who followed his passion into adulthood and made it a career! May all your other dreams come true xxx
Sacha sent me these last two photos after I spoke with him this morning. When I asked him what he was going to do today he said, “Treat myself to a favorite coffee shop instead of homebrew, water my plants there are new shoots, and make a raspberry pie.
He added that he will celebrate it later in the week with friends.
Now, of course we want the raspberry pie recipe.
This cool vintage motorcycle I saw at the flea market. I thought how my Dad would love it, his laughter of pleasure filled my ear. I could see him bending down to check it out. At that moment, I felt him by my side, my eyes welled up with tears. It is funny how out of the blue, something can remind us of someone transporting them there beside us.
Dad, you are in my heart pocket no matter how far away.
Memory: I am eight years old and riding on the gas tank of my Father's motorcycle. We are rounding up the cows for milking. My Dad says he thinks I am ready to ride alone. I take hold of the handlebars. I can feel him smiling. He says yes, you are ready and jumps off. I glance back and see him standing, still smiling, yelling, "Look where you're going!" I look ahead and see the field, the cows, the blue sky, and the wild sensation of flying by the seat of my pants." That feeling is palpable when this memory is stirred.
My nephew Joe and his girlfriend, Jazmin, from California, are visiting us.
This morning I told them they were responsible for creating a dinosaur cake for Gabriel's fourth birthday. They rose to the occasion without hesitation, even though neither had baked a cake nor made frosting. I added that I did not have a mold for a dinosaur cake.
I thought it would be a fun-loving memory of their time in France. Yesterday, we spent the entire afternoon at sea in Cassis. Today we decorated, they baked, and I cooked.
Voila, success, a chocolate dinosaur cake with a blueberry eye.
Gabriel was pleased.
----
Four years ago, four years of joy and discovery.
Of a love unknown before.
Four years of celebrating life through your eyes.
Happy Birthday dear Gabriel!
I will see you tomorrow, and we will have all the fun.
The 20-meter cube heads to Italy.
My friend asked me to buy for her « home away from home.»
Done.
Everything I found at second-hand shops, even the kitchen sink, throughout Provence in the pouring rain.
more to come xxx
(Note, It rained in three hours which it usually does in three months.)
Sunday morning
Jasmine infused air
Rain reminds me to rest and listen.
Memories of the last several weeks with the French la Vie have reminded that I am fortunate to call my passion my job.
My nephew Joe and his girlfriend Jasmine will be here this week, I hope my Jasmine flowers hold strong until she arrives.
Rebecca posted on her Facebook,
“ Tomorrow is my last day at the Metropolitan Opera, with a matinee performance of The Flying Dutchman. Tonight was La Boheme, and as I made my way through my 2nd Act staging, my colleagues started handing me roses. By the end of the act, I had an armload of roses. Naturally, I was weeping. No singing. Only weeping. A wonderful send off that I will never forget.
Huge thanks to my beloved Aisle 2 sisters who made this happen. Jenny Rossetti Benson, Jean Braham Myers, Karen Dixon and Marvis Martin. And to directors Paula Suozzi and Mirabelle Ordinaire who actually had to get permission from the General Manager, Peter Gelb.
Special thanks to Jason Hendrix for being just the best stage husband a person could ask for, even if he did keep leaving me for greener pastures. We had so much fun.”
Here is to wishing you joy Rebecca!
Kate, my niece,
graduates from high school tonight.
Little Baby Cake!
From that moment to this
in a flash, time flew.
She is the valedictorian.
Bravo darling girl xxx
Catching the light
holding it
reflecting a fire
flames burn
crystal clear
you have rendered me speechless,
causing my heart to sing.
A magic lantern of sort
from the 1700s
Just that is magical, if not amazing.
What do you wish for, desire for, and long for? Does it matter?
Is letting the Genie out like letting Pandora out?
Is it true to be careful what you wish for?
Am I overthinking this morning?
Or is the brocante taunting me with all its good stuff?
The little family went to the woods for a picnic.
The little sister found delight in being outdoors, hearing the sounds of nature, and sitting at the big wooden picnic table.
The older brother, but still little, worried, knowing the story of "Red Riding Hood."
He asked as he held tightly to his father's hand,
"Are you sure, really sure, that there are no wolves around?"
I suppose I might have shared those "big eyes and big teeth," overly exaggerated.
Note: Gabriel LIVES in his soccer outfit and bike helmet.
Photos by Chelsea
A broken statue of an angel, part of its wing is attached. Otherwise, I might have assumed it was Jesus.
A sense of spirituality washes over me, life is imperfect, and spirituality reminds me of the invisible hand of healing and grace I can take hold of to guide me.
The pink gown folds with elegance, and the head is missing along with the upper torso, giving way to the invisible heart exposed as if prayers of those who had come before me slip into the open air, a pathway to another person's journey.
Reminding me that even in brokenness, I am not alone; there is a well-worn path, of tears, of other's lives lived before me. I hold on to the hand of the soul of love.
Squeezing the grapefruit
pink juice dripping into the chipped cafe au lait bowl
I stood in front of the kitchen sink, bowl in hand, like a chalice raised.
The sky a brilliant blue painting the day, and the sun barely adding its voice
In that morning light, I took in the offering.
Sweet fulfillment
Gulps of gratitude
For another day to learn to be all that it gives us
As Rilke would say,
"You must give birth to your images; they are the future waiting to be born."
Little red shoes with double buckles
A large Peter Pan collar,
that belong to Sacha nearly thirty years ago.
A stripped dress with a bow tied at the back.
Holding a ball.
Little girl.
Olivia 2023 or 1900s?
The advantage of living in France , is that when my groups come we are able to go beyond the facade, to the real deal, off the beaten path, and visit my French antique dealer friends, look in their stash and share meals with them.
Each group that comes makes the experience unique and I am thankful for their trust in me to provide them with a delightful experience xxx
Hanging out with this group of artisans has been delightful.
Taking a minute pause. Easy going. Taking the heat in stride.
They would rather shop than eat.
They pick things out for each other and share their finds.
No competition. It is incredible to witness.
Good laughs.
Gamed for photo opts
They would probably jump into the river if I asked them too, but most likely because it would be a break from the warmth.
Sun up to Sunset
more brocante to come xx
Thé brocante world.
in Provence
French la Vie
Creating friendships
Collecting, creating, understanding the French history and culture of everyday things.
More to share.
xxxx
A beautiful start
to a week long journey
with
Four beautiful creatives
gathering findings and,
inspiration for their art and lives.
Not even the unexpected and desired rain
Could dampen our mood.
So true.
So needed.
Holding space for a person with compassion, not just the people we love or care for.
(Seen on MomofFive Michelle's FB)
Today Chelsea sent me this photo of Olivia.
I could gobble her up in one bite without adding any sugar.
Chelsea says Olivia constantly says "Mamon' for Mommy and "B-iel" for Gabriel.
She has yet to master my name and has said, "Daddy" either. It will come.
Sweet-filled with everything good?
Gabriel runs up to me for one reason only,
Hugging my leg, he kisses my thigh;
if I am sitting on a chair, he kisses my arm,
and if we are face-to-face, he holds it in his hands and kisses it.
At first, I did not understand why he was kissing my thigh...
Gabriel's habit of kissing wherever he can reach
It is a testament to the eternal nature of a child's love.
His innocence blesses me.
To love without waiting for the right place or time.
La boutique Louis Vuitton de la place Vendôme, Paris.
A classic sidewalk cafe in Paris
A table for two with an iron base and a round marble top.
Two colorful wicker chairs, side by side.
Wherever you are in Paris, it is a classic sight and has been for more years than I am old.
But now, a new trend is out and about ...
Young dolled-up INSTAGRAMMERS called INFLUENCERS.
Are they "influencing" to come to Paris by striking a pose, wearing high heels, a beret of any color other than the basic black or blue, and carrying a baguette as an accessory, smiling with a pout for all three seconds?
They then look at the small screen to be sure they look good and redo the photo if needed.
Post it if they look good.
Then they race off to another scenic postcard opportunity:
Buy a croissant, and sit at a sidewalk cafe.
Emily in Paris is an understatement.
By the way, very few French people wear colorful berets,
and one only carries a baguette to take it home to eat.
"...Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens Brown paper packages tied up with strings These are a few of my favorite things…"
Well, actually, not the whiskers on kittens, that is scary.
Sweetheart.
18 months.
A pair of beautiful Chinese pistachio trees blooming in Paris. Oh how they caught me by surprise.
Have you seen them before?
As Gabriel and I walked home from the park, we saw a man sitting on the ground with a bucket full of Lily of the Valley, selling them for 2.50 Euros a bouquet.
Gabriel buried his face in them, and declared they were the best flowers he had ever smelled. He told me he loved me more than all the flowers in the world, and considering how he buried his face in those flowers as if we walked home it means the sweetest type of love.
Little boy with your dinosaur T-shirt, red chipped fingernail polish, and a head full of the most beautiful locks you told your mother, that you loved her more than all the rooftops in the world. I take that to mean the most secure and safe type of love because it represents home.
Motherhood, for me is a extraordinary journey, starting with a moment of desiring a child, having my womb grow where I cradled it in my arms, the birthing experience, first steps, first words and utter joy of watching them grow, and everything in between those moments, to their finding their own path.
It continues and I am thankful for the gift of sharing life.
Thank you Mom for leading the way and gracing my life with your unbelievable wisdom, and faith.