A month of blessings

The most important day of my life is August 10. My twin daughters were born. That makes the month the best of the year. August also brings nature's bounty...free for the taking! Or the labors from Henrik's garden are now paying off big time: tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, dill, parsley, watermelons, green beans, leeks and scallions. He is going to attempt garlic for the first time. What fun! I, of course, take credit for the bounty, while lying in the hammock and reading mystery novels or trolling the internet on esoteric topics.

Free Blackberries

It's 10:30am and I've made coffee, read the Times, perused the Washington Post, weeded my garden, marveled at my designer pumpkins, got one egg from the chickens and picked blackberries. Well, mostly ate blackberries. All the fat, big, juicy ripe ones top a thorny bramble where birds gobble away at them. Hopping about I try to get a purchase on a large stone. A few spikes in my hands with only crushed berries as reward. I give up and start to walk back along a different path. Voila! Forget the bowl; picking with one hand I stuff my mouth full of warm berries. Vision of a peach and berry pie evaporates with every luscious mouthful. Sated, I return with about 10 berries for the chickens.

Yesterday we went to Malbacco, a beautiful, clear river with a marble dust bottom, plenty of pools for swimming and mmany bubbling waterfalls. The morning was hot and dry in town but the verdant river vegetation kept us cool and shady. We lay on big, flat rocks, read, swam and ate our sandwiches with a gusto only found in proximity to water. Too quickly six hours had passed with the sighting of only one solitary hiker clambering over the giant river rocks. I tried catching tadpoles with their new, nubby legs, thinking they would be adolescent gawky. Naturalist I'm not; all escaped my myriad attempts at subterfuge.

Home and a simple meal of grilled quail, roasted potatoes and spicy arugala. Finished my mystery book, looked at the full moon and gave thanks for another extraordinary day.

House gone...home is my heart

Change has so many facets; smooth shiny, flat surfaces with sharp and treacherous edges. Our home on Bank Street closed on Wednesday, my heart so very sad while my mind reeled with relief: loss and gain. Part of the components of the algebraic freedom formula? Not sure how to solve the equation but I'll keep trying! Sitting here in my rented quarters I feel at home. The morning was spent weeding the iris bed and pruning back the lemon fragranced plants which seemed so mangeable when I bought them two years ago. My arms are covered with scratches and my clothes are bathed with sweat, my face glows; a gardener's facial.

Yesterday we drove towards Lucca to an all day summer house party. Everyone brought dishes, tons of kids, a barbeque outfitter, and a Dj.Many accents and various lots in life: writers, sculptors, entrepreneurs and assorted "that's a job?" types. View by Giotto, clouds courtesy of Michaelangelo. Bustling about in the kitchen, sipping wine and watching my friend expertly carve my rosemary scented chickens I know there is a heaven on earth; all we have to do is open our eyes and appreciate the small moments: getting to eat the tukus standing in a room that defines bounty. Driving home, eating apple cake...still warm...looking forward to my cozy bed and watching the full moon rise over the olivetta.

My sister is 60 today; her voice still broadcasts her lifetime of excitement and joy; she's been a great inspiration to me. I'm proud of her accomplishments and her dedication to a difficult job as an elementary school principal in our beleagured public school system. Happy Birthday, Biggie!

Well, time to finish the mystery novel...

It's been awhile

Let's see. Since the last note I have had a great time with my sisters in Paris, gone to NYC, seen my daughters and admired their lives, thrilled to the wonders of Africa, perused art in Germany...three cities five days and finally returned to where my heart lies: Italia.

I promise over the next few weeks to become a better correspondent. Happy 81st Birthday, Mom!

Just a regular day...

First a 9am trip to the bakery for the morning baguette; forgot it's Wednesday, Henrik's favorite bakery is closed. I cross the street while watching a woman with a humongous suitcase trying to wave down a taxi: Bon chance, baby. Dial Taxi Bleu or kiss that flight goodbye! We have finally got the hang of the taxi thing and it's annoying and strange for a major metropolis. Yes, there are taxi stands but the drivers are inevitably missing from their cars: coffee break, newspaper and political discussion time, lunch, light flirtation. Although there might be nine taxis lined up at the stand...there're all empty. Push the big button on the stand...a light starts flashing and then whip out your cellphone...call the number on the kiosk and VIOLA! A driver runs out of the nearest cafe, newstand or toilet kiosk!

Then off for a manicure and pedicure. It's not new York or Italy! 45€ and no wetting of the feet! Lots of electronic buffing and lotions and massage; we're in the land of reflexology and crystal music. I fell into a coma; very relaxing and my little doggies are happy after all the pounding of Paris cobblestones. Standard manicure with a lot more lotion and massage.

Next back home, abandon answering 2 weeks of serious e-mail, go for a walk and sit at Cafe Lea; the sun demanded worshipping. Stopped to feed my habit: 6 chocolate a day junkie. Jeff de Bruges melt from your finger heat and for 8.40€ I get enough for 4 days...more expensive than bread, less than shoes! Oh! more shoes...gold and silver Repettos and red and beige Arches. I've never had gold shoes..they're wonderful!

No time to write...

Although I haven't been busy with French classes, as I was last year, days zoom away. Maybe it's the incredible weather we've enjoyed; unlike 2006's tundra experience. Or the feeling of being "at home"; everyday doesn't have to be a new adventure or a "must see". Using my eyes to see, regard, observe; no longer two functioning orbs: a sense holding it's own: details, texture, even sometimes seeing sounds ( especially the Paris police sirens, they look like tiny men on their way to big business).

H's Mom and aunt left this afternoon; the perfect family guest. I appreciate the work necessary to speak in a language not one's mother tongue. And the cultural differences: frankness and refreshing plain talk: unvarnished words which won't fit in the
PC-ism of our larger American cities.

More French friends and evenings lasting until wee hours. Whoops! Dinner is ready and I'm starving

First month in Paris

Settling in to a new apartment is always a surprise; this one exceptionally so. A 16th century building's thick-walled rooms decorated in Fontainbleu meets Mrs. Haversham, supplemented by a cave/basement bedroom which merges cozy/moldy into shabby dank. But there's a garden being courted by this uncommonly warm weather: hyacinths, snow drops, daffodils and lavender are splashing color around like Matisse's kin. The dining room makes each meal into an experience: candles reflecting on timbered ceiling, clacking footsteps on cobblestone streets, creaky upholstered chairs. Yes, the ancient bed made for shorties has a mattress surely knitted by Mme. DuFarge: warped, tangled and possibly dragged from The Bastille by some enterprising ancestor. It is meant for neither sleep or love; a virtual bed.

Laughing in the kitchen, pulling the heavy courtyard door open, journeying down the time warped street is all sweeter because we are in Paris. Because the market offers variety not just in fancy places but on every corner; bread: fresh, thin, natural, sweet.

Chickens and their parts for every conceivable preparation, six butchers and at least twelve bakeries within three blocks. Supermarkets are tiny, the selection is small, yet everyday two kinds of duck, quail and their eggs, and a few regional cheeses compete with vegetables from all over the world.

Our days have run away: eyes packed with vistas, hearts loaded with beauty, stomachs groaning under the weight of countless scraped and sopped platters. We are refugees fleeing excess and finding bounty.

Blogging is so hard to do...

Although I'm not completely computer illiterate, I can't seem to set up my blog even from a template. Will keep trying, though!