Since I was 45 I've been meaning to stop at the fort. This was going to be the weekend.
Wrong! My daughter will have to come back again to see it,
but she comes regularly.
I woke this morning to rain battering the skylight, making me wonder if the Edinburgh tattoo was the in the living room. The weather scuttled the trip to Fort at Rivesaltes and replaced it with...
- Lunch of Welsh Rarebit instead of the Italian restaurant in Perpignan
- A visit from friends bearing homemade scones combined with great conversation
- An apero in my nest provided by my visiting daughter who is camped out there, a precious moment
I think of snow days when we crawled back into bed listening to no-school announcements and drinking hot chocolate as just one example.
Fighting the wind driving from Payerne to Geneva on Christmas Day, and the feeling of relief when I parked the car and hauled the presents into the house and headed for the tea pot.
Sitting with a high school friend in Banyuls during a vendage fête on a clear, clear, clear Tramantane day and seeing birds fly backwards.
Feeling the sting of sleet on my cheeks, reminding me how truly alive I am.
Enjoying the misty view of fog reminiscent of a favorite painting.
And there were the daily rainbows for the three weeks we spent in Ireland that although never turned into a pot of gold, was a reward in their delicacy.
As this rainy day went on there were three trips to la Noisette to have coffee with friends (too bad we were 24 hours early, joining my daughter for lunch, and a writing session). Inside it was warm and cozy as we watched the rain outside. Each time coming home (we are talking less than a block), the warmth of the flat was welcoming as Rick was writing on his laptop.
This doesn't mean that I don't like beautiful blue skies and sunny days. I do. But unless I was planning a picnic or some outdoor activity, a gray sky does not bring any feeling of sadness, just a change of plans.