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French la Vie
Provence, France
Recent Activity
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A blue ribbon with hand painted flowers one of many in a trunk at the brocante. What is it about lace, ribbons, bows... feminine fluff? Why do these trunks, and there are many, make me stop and look? Given that I can't stand to cut into old textiles, I usually go home and add the feminine fluff to a basket. Oh, those darn heavy wooden trunks with big iron locks and old labels, tempting, and teasing haunting me with, "O...P...E...N M..E! Look what I have hidden inside for you." And I do. Sucked right in everytime. Maybe the main attraction is because I can put a ribbon anywhere. It isn't heavy and it does not take up any room. French Husband shakes his head, "Then why do you like books? And chairs? And urns? And statues... I put my hand over his mouth. Continue reading
Posted yesterday at French la Vie
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The Scene: Two women walking around a very shabby and not so chic brocante in France. Characters: Susan: An American woman who speaks some French, loves the brocante, knows what she likes and is happy to be brocanting in France. Enjoying the scenery-- but focused. Corey: American woman who lives in France. Addicted to the brocante. Within a second realizes that Susan is her carbon copy when it comes to buying antiques. "Oh no," is her first thought. Her kinder thought comes fifteen seconds later. Take One: Susan and Corey scoop up items, compare their hunt and prices like two hunters in the woods. Whadya get? Wow, that's cool? How much? Lucky, that's great! Whadya get? I want it! Was there anymore? How much? I like that, do you? Whadya think, is it worth it? Take Two: The two split up: One goes to the left, the other goes to the right. Corey comes upon a "bingo" of a stand and starts scooping up the wonderment in record speed. The dealer sees that Corey loves books and offers her two that are in her car. (One of the most important GOLDEN RULES OF BROCANTING: ALWAYS ASK THE DEALER IF THEY HAVE ANYMORE OR SIMILAR ITEMS.) Corey cannot believe her luck and looks around for Susan. The books are dated 1774. Corey nearly faints. Susan in the distance sees the scooper scooping and racing over to get her fill... Corey does not give her the elbow because she is on cloud nine over the books, and Susan has asked Corey to take her around to the brocantes. Corey remembers to be zen, to be kind and bites her tongue. "Whadya find?" Corey asks... though cannot wait to show Susan the books... thinking she has the upper hand of the deal of the day. Susan shows Corey her box of wonders, an entire box of 18th century Creil white dishes, old beautiful dishes. Corey's mouth hits the dirty ground, her manners follow suit. With her monastic years far behind her Corey says in a teasing way, "Shut up! How much?" When Susan announces it cost her the price of a pizza. Corey nearly faints for the second time. They both laugh and then return to the hunt. Take Three: Corey and Susan gather up the bits and pieces that they have bought. Corey kneels down to help Susan pick up some of... Continue reading
Posted 3 days ago at French la Vie
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Love something new every day, that sure beats, "Do something that scares you every day. I suppose for some, loving is scary. At the brocante last weekend I saw a box full of 1700 documents. It would extra easy if the saying went, "Love the brocante or something old every day," and yet at the same time that would be scary if everyone did, because the letter box wouldn't have been there when I came by. Loving something new every day is opening my eyes to what is before me and finding goodness. A 1700 soup tureen from Moustiers, with iron wire staple repairs. What a sacred act it is to restore that which we love when it falls apart. To hold its pieces, tenderly turning them over, judging them only in the hopes of putting it back together without the slightest trace. Loving something old again and again keeps it new. The sweetest lock cover: Two angels holding a bouquet of flowers over that which the lock and key longed to protect. Loving until the end. Until the very end and then some. Continue reading
Posted 4 days ago at French la Vie
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Someone once told me that the difference between a French and an American could be summed up like this: "If you put a French person and an American person in the middle of a dense jungle and asked them to find their way out, the French person would bend down grab some soil look at it for clues, look up to see which way the wind blew the trees and which way the sun was moving across the sky... in other words the French person would study the situation right then and there before making a move. On the other hand, the American would climb up the nearest tree, look around and holler, "HEY! Anyone out there?" In general, because thankfully we cannot put a label on a whole country let alone a single person, the French are more methodical in their approach, trusting that they can find their way by themselves, whereas the Americans look at teamwork, and will go out on a limb to find a new way. Why? If you ask three hundred thousand French people, "Did you have fun in (as in did you like, enjoy, consider school some of the best years ever...) school?" Two hundred and ninety-eight of them would answer solemnly, "No." Then they would look at you oddly, and ask, "Why?" French students go to school to learn how to study. Fun is rarely in the equation. The first day of school they are taught to come into the classroom, sit at their desk quietly. They are not allowed to talk unless they are asked a question. If the teacher asks the students for a response, or "Who knows the answer?" The French child is supposed to raise their hand no higher than their shoulder, with their pointer finger in the air. Unlike an American student they cannot wave their arm frantically, and with excitement saying, "I know, I know, ask me!!!!" The French are taught from a very early age to sit still, listen, obey, and if in doubt re-think, and if you don't know the answer listen, and if you think you are right you probably are wrong. Therefore when they do know the answer they know they are right. Their opinion is well thought out, they can back it up with an army of examples. They will listen to your arguments, your ideas, but in the end, they believe... Continue reading
Posted 5 days ago at French la Vie
It is, and there are many other beautiful heroic stories as there are painful ones. Paradise! As a friend of mine from Paradise said (who lost her antique business and home) said, " We are focusing on Grace and not Grief." The people of Paradise need our prayers, support and listening to their stories.
Toggle Commented 5 days ago on I Was Born to Do This at French la Vie
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One of the many characters in the French nativity santon, hand painted over a hundred years ago. Carries two baskets from the market filled with cabbage. Some brought incenses, some brought gold, some came by with their lambs and drums; The French santons, the many characters of the village come to the Provencal nativity, 'it takes a village" comes to mind when I see them set up. I collect the old shabby looking ones, but the characters never change, I love this one who brings cabbages, like why not? The Provencal nativity scene symbolically says to me, "Give what you have, come as you are, we can create a loving world if we bring our gift and share." The santons make me feel like everything has a place and a purpose. My brother Marty told me a story of a Man who was in Paradise the day of the fire, his volunteered service was to look in on the elderly, that day his boss called him and asked if he was going to Paradise, and the Man replied that he was just entering the town as they spoke. His boss said, "Come Home! It is too dangerous they are closing the roads." So the Man started to turn his car around to head home. But then he thought of a Shut-In that he usually visited and he knew he would not be able to escape if the fire should come to his house. So instead of turning around, he went to the Shut-Ins house. When he arrived the fire was close and the Man was scared thinking they were both going to die! He ran into the house and the Shut-In was sitting in his chair with a sleeping bag. The Man asked the Shut-In what he was doing with a sleeping bag, and the Shut-In replied, "I figured once the fire came in I would just zip myself up in the sleeping bag so I wouldn't see it." The Man picked him up and carried him to his car. On the terrifying ride home, the Man thought to himself how stupid he was because there was no way out of the burning furnace ahead of them, he thought I could have been safe and now it looks like I am going to die. On the way down the horrific firey road, he picked up other people whose cars had... Continue reading
Posted 6 days ago at French la Vie
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https://mosaicartsource.wordpress.com/2006/11/07/mozaikev/
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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Thank you Jane. I hope the news starts to show hope, faith and encourages others to unite xx
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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Thank you I try, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't but trying is what is all about.
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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It's a deal and I will try not to talk Politics! hehehe.
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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Your memory and love made me cry. xxx
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on When Your Child Grows Up at French la Vie
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Oh Jan! I could see it and believe every word! You are a wonderful person, a great mentor and a loving mom! The real deal all in one.
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on When Your Child Grows Up at French la Vie
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I have ben to a few.
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on When Your Child Grows Up at French la Vie
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Thank you Vicki, thank you for remembering and recalling it back to me. Blogging is a wonderful way to create a journal, it is all there, spelled out with photos. Thank you for being part of this journey xx
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on When Your Child Grows Up at French la Vie
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such a visual sweet memory!
Toggle Commented 6 days ago on When Your Child Grows Up at French la Vie
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Sacha wrote me the other day asking, "Mom do you remember the last time you held my hand when I was a child?" As we lived in an old house in the country not so far away from the village, close to a river and a forest behind us, we often walked to and fro the village and went wandering by the river that looked more like a stream. Up the hill from our house Annie lived, and in the surrounding fields wild tulips, asparagus, and rows of grape vines grew. Sacha's childhood friend Fabrice lived down the road. We held hands whenever we went, Chelsea on one side and Sacha on the other. Sacha wrote, that he remembers my hands were soft and warm. I probably stopped holding their hands when they were in the fifth grade. Childhood. When I was in Seattle, Sacha held my hand, strong and giving, pure gift. Sacha's asking me about the last time I held his hand reminded me of other little memories that have slipped away from my day to day life. Sweet memories seem to pour in as I recalled his and Chelsea's childhood. Such as the time Sacha lost his first tooth I remember the morning when I went to his bedroom to wake him up for school but instead found him sitting on the edge of his bed holding his tooth, "Mommy, this morning, when it was still dark outside the church bells started to ring: DONG 1, DONG 2, DONG 3 and DING my tooth fell out at the fourth ring of the church bell!" In all seriousness that only a child can muster, he added, "I wonder who is going to leave me money under my pillow, the American tooth-fairy or the *French little mouse?" Customs in France are not always the same as in the USA. "...The most commonly accepted belief by academics is the fairy's development from the tooth mouse, depicted in an 18th century French language fairy tale. In "La Bonne Petite Souris," a mouse changes into a fairy to help a good Queen defeat an evil King by hiding under his pillow to torment him and knocking out all his teeth..." Via Wiki Stories collected, memories gathered thoughts that keep me going on dark days. The patterns in the sky, the unfolding of hearts, life in the monastery and how I learned to... Continue reading
Posted 7 days ago at French la Vie
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Thank you that makes me happy to feel like what I am doing something right. xxx
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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Ah you are a true delight of the heart! Thank you Marilyn xxx
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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thirteen years is a long time for me to keep up a dare, but I am glad I have. I am glad I have met many of you and feel I know many more of you. Thank you Nicollette for being part of the reason I blog xx
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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Thank you Ali I appreciate your saying so xx
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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No need to apologize, you were not being intrusive, I had several enquires and felt I needed to say something here about why I haven't said anything. I appreciate your asking it gave me a reason to mention why. Thank you xx
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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OMG, I love what you wrote, "That ah-ha! Oh-la-la. Etcetera' I think that would be a perfect name for a blog! I love that you feel that way about mine.
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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Lol if I could I would mess with your chocolates just to eat them.
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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Deanne, you know I will drink to that holding my sparkling glass by the stem, see you soon xx
Toggle Commented 7 days ago on Not Blogging about Politics at French la Vie
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