Killing time in Collioure

I had two hours to kill before the Argelès Gospel Singers' concert in Notre Dame des Anges church in Collioure. It struck me as a wonderful time to wander with my camera. This town, the anchovy capital of France with its ancient streets, château and church, its pebbly beach is so much nicer off season when there are only a few weekenders out to enjoy the last of the warm days.



The bright day despite the Tramantane that made me think if I flapped my arms, I could be blown half way home to Geneva with no worries about train strikes produced sunlight and made for wonderful colours and shadows even on the side streets.



Almost all the hotels are closed. Some restaurants are opened and stay open all year long. And there's more to buy than just pizza. One of the restaurants, Les Templiers, has walls covered with painting from the Impressionists including some famous ones, who at the time were too poor to pay for their meal and offered a painting in place of coins.



Few galleries are still open such as Joce's. She has transferred one of her paintings to an umbrella that was absolutely drop dead beautiful, but 120 Euros was much too much to pay when I know it might end up on the E bus in Geneva, a train, a store or restaurant. This is not one of her works, however.



I had stopped at the cookie shop, which will remain open on weekends until Toussaint, and then I found a spot on the bench to sit in the sunshine and read and/or people watch where the wind couldn't touch me.However, dried leaves, clattered along the cobbled dock.



As I walked through the town I had seen a bridal party walking to the church after their city hall wedding (the only one that is legal). As I sat in the sun, the couple and the photographer arrived to take a picture with the château which has existed in some form since Roman days.

About a half hour later it was time to go to the church for the concert.

Forming a syndicate

Today I met with my co-owners to form a syndicate. One women slightly younger than myself who will live in the building, a young man who will live there, a man from Nice who will it use for holidays and when he has business in Perpignan and the man who owns the garage (probably the most valuable property considering the narrow streets and the necessity to park by the river or at one of the few communal lots.

No problems at all to come to the conclusions that will benefit all.

Than the man who renovated the once huge mansion, who was in charge of getting the syndicate up and running prior to resigning as his last step in the project, brought out the champagne, the cheeses and the local chacuterie.

I like this touch. Along with the nice fluted glasses, it was a class act all the way.

He's not staying

But he was meow-ling pitifully a good part of the morning. The wind is blowing and the rain comes and goes.

I brought him in, borrowed kitty litter and cat food from my friend who has called the Cat Assistance people.

Meanwhile he is at least warm tonight and fed. Now he is asleep on my printer after being told my computer keyboard was out of bounds.

He is not staying. I won't name him. He is not staying because I don't stay here myself.
He's not staying...

Anyone want a kitten?

Seasonal fruit

I love eating things that belong to the season. And this is the first kaki fruit of the year. No matter that it makes me break out. Each bite is worth every bump.

a comment on the times

When I was a child Three Musketeer bars were sold with an add that you could share with two of your friends. I just saw an ad for the candy on the web and a friend reaches to take one from a friend who says, "Don't even think about it."

I was sickened by the people who said the TN fire department was right not to put out the fire on a man's house because he hadn't paid his $75 fee. Probably they wouldn't share their candy bar either.

What have we become?

It was a surprise

to be sitting in the notaire's office signing a purchase agreement on my new studio flat.

Six weeks ago I had gone for a walk before the heat of the day made it unbearable and happened by the real estate office near the gare. A picture of a studio within my price range (read very, very, small) was in the window.

Hmmm I thought and wandered on, but after lunch I went back. Jean-Charles, the agent showed it to me. The building had been renovated top to bottom with only the best materials. The studio itself, although tiny, was also renovated with only the best materials. I could have started cooking in the kitchen immediately.

I do know the prices in Argelès having helped anglophones look for places. No, I decided, I won't buy it.

The next morning I went back and made an offer, and in the afternoon, the seller and I signed the purchase and sales agreement. Back in Geneva, I transferred the money (raising questions from the Crèdit Agricole was I laundering money, a terrorist or a Mafiosa--the answer was no).

Thus today, I found myself seated with Jean-Charles and another young man in the notaire's office signing my name or initials on page after page after page until my hand hurt, but not too much to accept the three set of keys for the outside door, the inside door and the letter box.

Tomorrow I will sign the contract with Jean-Charles to manage the rental and care of the flat.

When I used to play Monopoly -- which I never really liked because even then money bored me -- I always tried to get the two cheapy properties as a solid base. I guess I am still doing that.

A friend commented when I told her what I'd done, "I know you hate shopping, but when you shop, you really shop!"

I am still surprised that I did this...surprised but content.



This is the living area.



I can't get a good shot of the kitchen but it is beautiful. take my word for it, the cabinets are a beautiful ruby red.



The flat is in the bottom corner and the house is kitty corner to the one owned by friends Pat, Jeff, Tony and Carol.

Squash festival

The Corsier Port fête de la courge (squash or pumpkin festival) features cotton candy (barbe de papa r papa's beard in French), merry-go-rounds, food stands, crafts, veggies and music. Kids run around in the fresh, clear autumn air, teenagers scope out their friends and dogs hope for a dropped sausage or two. I lvoe it I lvoe it I love it.



And there were a bagfuls of fresh fall vegetables made up of leeks, potatoes, squash, etc. for sale in pretty reusable bags for 28.50 CHF. If I weren't going to Argelès tomorrow and if the frigo wasn't already stuffed with food it would have been too tempting to resist.



A jazz band kept our toes tapping.



And there were stands with crafts to buy.



It was hard to chose from all the food stands, but we selected raclette on potatoes with thyroid conditions they were so big and the traditional dried meat, onions and cornichons and the not-so-Swiss Coke Zero.



Whoever was responsible for circulating with one of the trash bins took a break. The bin was near the restrooms, so it is easy to conjecture where he might have gone.

The new kitchen

For those that knew the old kitchen, this is very different. Ideally we will be able to keep it almost pristine as we build new memories of brownies, meals, brownies, conversations, brownies, reading at breakfast, brownies...



Our clear table.





A view of a nicely clear counter top. We hope to keep it stuff free.




The next to last rose from the garden is on the new counter by the sink. I had to figure out how to turn the faucet on.

Long Island Memories

When we lived in Germany the Armed Forces Radio Station told stories of people came through Grand Central Station. Here I am in the middle of the station but I doubt if I will be the subject for a radio show.





We took a boat tour of the wetlands





A general store still in operation fromthe 1800s



A good luck praying mantis was a great sign for my friend's new business. He jumped from her car and then ran to her. He did not stop for a reiki treatment

NE Memories

This is the first house I ever owned only when I lived there was only one storey.



This is soooooooooo New England that my host braked do I could take it.




He doesn't think he can jump over this gate nor does his brother who is at least five times bigger.

Three Conversations

1.
Little girl at Pont d'Avre tram station.: Stop!!!
The tram stops.
Little girl to Grandmother: I have REAL power!


2.
Dermatologist: Are those Massachusetts or Swiss bites?
Me: Swiss bites. I think it happened as I was getting into a car to go to South Station to go to New York. (He studied in Massachusetts, but I guess he didn't meet the right bugs there)
Dermatologist: I don't know that much about Massachusetts insects, but they look like -----------(I have no idea of the word he said)
Me: I have been thinking of the advantage of amputating my feet, the itching is so bad.
(He decides it is better to give me a cream, but cautions that I will still look like my lower legs have the creeping, crawling crud for another ten days.

3.
Pharmacist: Put in your debit card
(I do several times but it is blocked for not reason that makes any sense)
Me: Can you hold the package for me until tomorrow when I can get to the bank?
Pharmacist: I'll just print you out a bill.
I leave with the medicine that will keep me from cutting off my legs to stop the itching.

Roots are funny things

At my final naturalization interview I was asked about my feelings for both the US and Switzerland. In my analogy I said if I were a plant the roots nearest the plant would always be New England Yankee. However I had been transplanted to Switzerland and put down longer roots. If the original roots were cut off, the plant would die, but the new roots had gone so deep and the plant had grown so much, that the original roots were no longer able to sustain the plant.

Recently I’ve reconnected with my roots in a series of encounters with people whose faces have morphed into new faces that were sometimes recognizable, sometimes not. Their experiences have written on those faces, as on mine. Life has been kind to us, overall, but none have escaped without some pain that have made us stronger and grateful for what we have.

Sunday evening, I found myself on a stone terrace with other friends, younger friends. Had not a man poked his head into my office in October 1971 where I worked in a job that I was not qualified for and not successful at and asked if the rumour were true that I had coffee available I would not have been with this couple. That coffee cup friendship extended into the next generation and proved how one simple act can cross decades.

The sun was fading over the trees, just beginning to turn colour, but the flowers and landscaping were still visible. Clearly the end of summer was at hand. He had built a fire, not in the traditional outdoor fireplace but a huge stone circle one surrounded by a moat. Their Jack Russell was on guard duty against all frogs that hopped in and out of the moat.

Their other dog was quick to find a marshmallow on a stick that had yet to be toasted.

Time with them is always a gift. We’ve shared Indian meals, murals, cries of sleeping policemen, chateaus, olives, laughter, eagles soaring and memories on two continents. I am hopeful for more to come.

Geographically I am closer to my roots than I normally am albeit for only a short-short time. Looking at the land where I grew up, seeing people from the past, were what made me into me.

They say you can never enter a river in the same place twice, but you can enter in many places letting the water nourish your roots.




This is the land where I grew up. The house burned down. Their are only a few of the original 50 pines still standing. The two huge rocks which I turned into western badlands, Greek temples, tea party tables and more are still there.



This dog can jump three feet in the air, but does not think he can get over the gate. His much bigger brother, thinks the same thing.

Check this out

http://fourseasonsproducts.com/

For those that like
Switzerland
Puns
Nail Polish

Anatomy of a new kitchen

In the almost six years I've lived here it is has become a tradition to sit in the kitchen and plan how to improve it. Planning time is over. We have three weeks to totally do over the old and replace it with the new. I feel a bit if I'm on the old BBC Changing Rooms. Trips have been made to Ikea and other places, materials selected, and the work begun.



The old cabinets wait for the trash men. They had over 30 years of holding this family's dishes, food and a memory or two.



The bare walls look so funny stripped, but the kitchen never looked so large.



We have set up a temporary kitchen on the desk in the living room and the table in the winter garden. The WC sink in the downstairs hall is for utensils and the few dishes not made of paper. We've been quite clever with meals including brownies and a potato casserole dish. I had haystacks for the first time in my life, but it won't the last.



We try and create a tiny space of beauty among the chaos.



Our end goal is to enjoy a glass of wine on the beautiful new glass kitchen table. We won't be discussing what to with the kitchen any longer

Another Review

Murder in Caleb's Landing
D-L Nelson
Five Star, Sep 15 2010, $25.95
ISBN: 9781594148972

Thirtyish Annie Young may have been born in the States, but the contract technical writer has lived mostly in Europe with her Swiss based parents. She is a “Third-Culture Kid” not quite comfortable in Europe but totally uncomfortable in America. When her father inherits a home in Caleb's Landing, Massachusetts, the Young family leaves Geneva for New England.

In Massachusetts, Annie dad and his friends persuade her create a CD on the real founding of America. Her program is previewed at the local elementary school. Many townsfolk are irate due to her realistic portrayal of the Pilgrims and the Native Americans. In the basement of their new house, father and daughter find skeleton dressed in pre-Civil War rags and a diary written by a runaway slave; her mother’s business partner and Annie intervene to save a woman from her abusive spouse. Then there is Des.

This is a fascinating fast-paced mystery the takes off once the Yong family arrives in Massachusetts and never slows down until the finish. Annie’s problems with poorly adapting to a different society enhances the tale as her actions make her an eccentric and to some a pariah. Her diligent research provides a rounded realistic portrayal of the founding of America, but alienates many who prefer deity filters on the heritage of the country especially the state.

Harriet Klausner

Vingt ans déjà

So many French television variety shows are entitled 20 years already to commemorate the 20th anniversary of some French singer's death.

Sept. 4th is a vingt ans déjà anniversary for me, but a happy occasion. Sept. 4 1990 I arrived in Switzerland to start a new job, a new life. Half of me was utterly terrified, the other half ecstatic that I had achieved an almost life-long ambition, to live and work in Europe.

Overall it has been a wonderful 20 years.

There were ups and downs of course. My first three years of work were a nightmare, something that my new boss had warned me about. He even had me meet with people who used to work with him so I would be fully warned on how difficult he was. They told nightmarish stories. They spoke the truth. It was a sales job, not my strongest point. But I survived.

Switzerland brought me in touch with the Geneva Writers Group which led me to my masters program in creative writing at the University of Glamorgan in Wales and the learning of my craft that has earned me six novel contracts.

Switzerland brought me many new friends of many nationalities: UK, Egypt, Syria, Czech, France, Italy, India, etc.

It gave me a new passport.

We have to celebrate, my housemate said. She treated me to breakfast at the Relais St. Bernard. We ate lunch at the Burger King where I went with CB my first weekend in Switzerland to buy furniture. Tonight we are having fois gras and champagne. We've invited the Gilmore Girls to join us, and we will also celebrate finding the kitchen floor tiles.

I am so grateful for every minute of the last 20 years, already.

Last minute escape

With Kitchen Chaos about to begin (three weeks to totally redo the kitchen), my housemate and I decided to escape to the chalet for a night between tearing down the old cabinets and the arrival of Cousin W. who is going to put the new kitchen together.

We've been spending years sitting in the old kitchen, playing "where should we put the frigo, stove, dishwasher, etc." Now it is fish or cut bait. We've been scouring LeRoy Merlin, Ikea and Obi for tiles, cabinets, etc.

In Martigny we let our artistic sides play out as we went around taking pictures of the beautiful statues.

We fell in love with the Dancing Nuns. We didn't ask them if they had any kitchen suggestions.

Eye surgery on the cheap

The couple I am staying with when I go to my high school reunion generously offered me their car...when I said I wasn't driving until after my eye surgery, the husband said "I will also perform the eye surgery if time permits."

Now that's a good friend for you.

Roberta goes to the mountains

In a recent issue of Smithsonian there was an article about a survey on couples that were composed of robots and humans. The humans didn't like the constant humming and the fact that their partners could not go in the water which affected vacations and the robots were annoyed at humans' need to eat and sleep.

How silly I thought.

Then I saw my housemate's suitcase as she packed for a few days escape into the mountains.

Sitting in the middle was our very own robot.

I hope the robot will be patient as we eat fondue.

Argeles in the snow

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iwcF04iP6A&feature=related

I wish I had found this youtube when it was so hot in Argelès. I could have used it as a fantasy

French run

When we woke, we decided to go to France to find the Kark Lagerfeld Coke bottles at some of the supermarkets that are open Sunday morning.

No luck.

Instead we found raisin-cinnamon-bagel chips, a melon, two boxes of wine and a short cut to Leroy Merlin for a foray next week when the stores are open and a lot of beautiful scenery.

Gawwwwwwwwwwwddddddddddd I love living here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Albert Anker and Bern

My housemate and I wanted to see the exhibition of Albert Anker's paintings in Bern, but we weren't sure we would be able to find the tme. Then a window of opportunity opened up and we jumped on a train. Anker is an 19-20th century Swiss painter who seems a cross between Bruegel, Rockwell and Mary Cassett. His paintings of Swiss coutnry life are rich with details and the more you look at them, the more you see in them.

Bern has always been one of my loved cities with its medieval arched centre, imaginative fountains, olive green buildings, rivers.

We treated ourselves to a lunch of fish on a bed of black polenta (octopus ink) fennel flavoured with chutney and saffron and chocolate mousse cake. And of course we could not come back with out buying one of those thick, seed ladened pretzels.

Here's some photos.




This is NOT a building front. It is cloth covering scaffolding.



The tree is really a flower-flanked fountain.



A truck is filled with cleaning tools.



This Backerei has wonderful tile.



An antique book store window.

Meet Roberta

She is the house's new robot vac. She runs around and covers every inch of floor and stops at the edge of the stairs.

It's been a wonderful summer

Although there were a few glitches: heat (although compared to the suffering Pakistan, there is no reason to complain) my diminishing eye sight (to be taken care of in November), people I like in the hospital because of almost strokes and knocking themselves out by falling from a bicycle, and Jean-Pierre knocking Babette down with his van. All are recovering. These are blips in an otherwise wonderful summer.

What made the summer wonderful were the parties, café sits, quiet conversations, lovely walks, good writing and good food be it tapas at Flowers, three course gourmet lunches at Cayrou, and/or dinner at friends. We've discovered new restaurants, laughed, gone to a street dance, watched fireworks.

I never did find the Karl Lagerfeld Coke bottle, although I will look on the other side of the border when I get home, but I have enjoyed Coke zero. Lovely knowing there are no calories.

There was my mega shopping trip last week that left my friends, aware of my shopping phobia saying "You did what and how fast? Girl, when you shop, you shop."

And there was the trip to Toulouse to meet up with F. and P. and to my delight to discover how much I like P. for F. while seeing the city where I once lived and that I still find beautiful. The week back in Geneva with M. was truly a gift.

And when i got back from Toulouse Saturday night, I found a huge bouquet of sunflowers waiting for me. I have no idea who left them, but they were beautiful.

So now, I am ready to change lives once again, back to the other place I love and start the fall activities. Sushi, chai latté, Gilmore Girls, shrimp, champagne, an art exhibition in Berne, a kitchen rebuild, crisp fall weather, raking leaves with that autumn smell that I love, walks by the lake and through the vineyards, the pumpkin festival, and my kid coming in Nov. are all now in my future.

As my housemate and I often say: Life is good.

Olive Slaves

I love buying my olives from Joël. besides his outpouring of ever lasting love, his requests for marriage, and other BS, his olives are wonderful as is his perfume that he also sells. It is always more than just a purchase but an experience. Women's lib, not withstanding, these t-shirts are an example.

rites of passage

Although my daughter is grown, there are things I wish I could have done better.

I admire many parents on how they are bringing up their children. Some like Mighty Mom I marvel at. It has been a great pleasure to watch others go from six and missing teeth to accomplished young women, or a three-year old scoffing olives to just signing a contract for her dream job.

I've also subscribed to Dollar stretcher www.stretcher.com/menu/subscrib.cfm for years.

Today's edition carries a wonderful story about a father, aware that our society does not allow most young people turning 12 a rite of passage (exception the Jewish religion) arranged for his 12 year old son to meet with 52 men over the course of a year to gain their wisdom. The blog below is about that meeting.

http://www.52godlymen.com/week-23-a-penny-saved-is-a-penny-earned/

In societies where youth, not age, is revered, where culture is created in corporate boardrooms, this would be a wonderful trend to have grow.

Blackberry memories

Blackberry bushes besides the country lane outside the village were laden with sun-warmed fruit. I could not help but eat a few, and as the flavor burst in my mouth memories swamped me from eating blackberries on another summer day in a woods walk with my best friend from high school at her family’s Maine cottage a few decades back. We had become friends when the same boy dated us both, only to discover we were a lot more fun than he was. Thus, started a 46 year friendship.

Her father saw to it that I could attend all father and daughter banquets at Rainbow with him and her. (My father was not in my life at that time, although he reappeared years later and we made up for last time). Their apartment was often my refuge and her mother considered corn chowder the New England equivalent to Jewish chicken soup as a remedy to everything including broken hearts.

Even after my divorce, her mother came to see me and my infant daughter every Tuesday night often bringing clothes gleaned from the Unitarian consignment shop where she volunteered making my daughter the best dressed baby in day care. Her father was quick to help with repairs and showed up one night with a moon wagon for my daughter.

My friend too often came out from her beautiful Boston apartment, decorated with things found and refinished, making a cozy home that reflected her personality with taste and imagination. We would play cards, eat potato sticks, drink Coke, marvel at my daughter’s tiny nose that she swore was too small to breathe through. She coached me through those first painful days and weeks of my separation and taught me it was okay to be good to myself.

There wasn’t a life crisis we didn’t share, and once, when things were going well and we hadn’t talked for a while, she called to remind me we were more than FOUL weather friends. There was much laughter and rooting for each other mingled among the problems that we talked about. Those problems always seemed lighter, and so often we found solutions or at least how helped each other cope better.

Thanks to the joys of email and voipcheap.com we can still chat on the phone, despite a half-day plane ride distance between us. Happily, these days we keep problems to a minimum, each of us finding our own happiness, each of us celebrating the other’s good fortune.

Thus with each blackberry I ate I was transported back to that day in Maine. I could see her father’s garden with his unique garden watering system of wine bottles turned upside down in the soil and a chipmunk he had trained to run up his leg and eat from his hand. I remember the unconditional sharing that day built on the trust that still exists whenever we talk or write.

Those blackberries were really powerful to bring forth so many good memories and so much love.

Are you ready for this Rose

I have another planned purchase for September. That means two shopping trips unless we can combine them. I need a measuring cup that has litres and cups...

Be still my heart.

COW

Cranky Old Woman

This is a COW column about allegedly passes as entertainment today. Until last night I listed Song of Norway as the most ridiculous movie I've ever seen. Inception has beaten it hands down. It seemed like a stupid blot to satisfy producer/director urges to have explosions, car chases, via and shoot outs in exotic locations. When it took a van almost 10 minutes to fall from the top of a bridge into the water I wanted to cheer and hope no one in the van survived. (however, I did enjoy the company of the couple I was with and we couldn't help laughing that we really sat through it and didn't leave. Thank God, I only paid 6 Euros.

Then in the Guardian this morning I see Eat, Pray, Love, one of the most boring books I have ever read (I had to finish it to discover if the woman would ever get beyond navel gazing.--She didn't even get out of her navel she was so deeply curled inside it) has been made into a movie which I will not take any amount of Euros or Swiss Francs to see. I still find it hard to believe in this world today anyone can be as stupidly self-centred as the writer. I wanted to send her list of things to do, maybe for others starting of with the promise never to write another word.

This is not sour grapes at anyone's success.Nor do I rely on high literary works or philosophically inspiring movies. As my housemate says about some they are "nimcompoopy" but are a good way to pass some time. I can read or watch good genre books/movies and knowing how hard it is to get published I say congratulations to whoever makes it.

Okay this COW is now going to graze on her oatmeal/cinnamon, strawberry pancake having gotten the message off her udders. MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Blessed blankets

The storm changed the weather so it was a snuggle-under-the-blanket sleeping night. I awoke with energy for a good long walk and was striding down the street by 8 a.m. I've several favourite routes, some which are through town and some into the nearby countryside. This morning's walk was a combination. Each moment I walk through town I feel so incredibly lucky that this is my life. It isn't the big things, it's the little ones.






The brasserie across from the train station is under new management which is trying to turn it from a place where the local drunks hang out to a nice out door restaurant. A brochette meal is only Eight Euros. I haven't tried it yet, but it is on my list.

The mountains rise above the new car park next to the station. Last night's thunderstorm and today's wind has cleared the air of dust and heat.



If I ever have the success of Dan Brown or Danielle Steele, I will buy this châteauette and turn it into a writing centre.





I've a new favourite bakery now that the old one was sold and the new owner does not make bread out of chestnut flower. This bakery has wonderful deserts from the fugase, bread with fruits, to anything with chocolate. Usually I just buy their cereal baguettes, but today I gave into a Napolitan, which I will take two days to eat. Did you know there are no calories in half a desert?

Modern Life can be just plain dumb

I live in an 18 s.m. studio albeit it seems more spacious with its cathedral ceiling and skylights. If I were exactly in this spot 400 years ago, probably I would standing in straw used to feed the animals that would be kept on the first floor while who ever occupied the house would live on the second and third. Whoever they were would not have been able to imagine life in the 21st century nor would they have imagined REMOTES. Considering the size of the flat the idea that I need FOUR remotes daily is a bit mind boggling if not dumb.



The TV needs two remotes but the DVD needs only one. The heating/air conditioning unit on the wall would require a step ladder if it had an off on switch on the unit itself but maybe like lights a switch could be on the wall itself.



Having worked for a standards organization, I do not see why all remotes can't be identical with menus in the same place and all the functions being identical. That would also solve the frequent problem when I try and use the TV remote on the air conditioner and vice versa. At least in summer, I can say the heat has melted my mind.

However, I do not want to return to the hay-filled attic of the 16th century. I would not be able to read with books being much too rare and candle light impossible unless I wanted to burn the place down.

Nor would I have had air conditioning to cope with the heat and I'm aware that if remotes are my only source of complaint, I am pretty lucky.

Religion and Risotto

"There's a restaurant in St. Andre that specializes in risotto," My friend said.

No more was necessary. On Sunday we jumped into neighbours' car and off the four of us went to the next village. This is the village that has the theatre festival each summer, although this year we missed it. Another year perhaps.

We were told to park behind the marie, which we did. K. had never seen the Romanesque church, although I had visited it a couple of years before. It had that musty smell that most 13th century churches have. Its walls were impregnated with centuries of baptisms, marriages and funerals. How many masses can be held in over 700 years...conservatively I would say 75,000. How many priests have swung incense on the alter?

Although the gargoyles have been worn away by wind and rain, the carving over the entrance is still beautiful.



In so many French villages, locals never miss a chance to place flowers. We "suffered" eye strain from the beauty as we walked to the restaurant.

The hostess was welcoming. At the end only one of us had risotto, but my gazpacho whic included blended roast red pepper and apricots were some of the best I ever ate. And we all got to taste the risotto

Metaphor for life

If geraniums could talk, the ones in my pot might have had as their last words: "I don't care what the books say, I don't like heat." They turned yellow, folded up their leaves and died.

I barely keep up my part of this floral street with my two pots on each side of the door but now was the time to make a bit more effort. At the marché I found these beautiful begonias (?) but in carrying them home one of the flower-ladened branches broke off.

Instead of throwing it out, I brought it upstairs and put it in a vase, but this morning it succumbed to its injuries and I gave it an informal burial in the poubelle.

The replanted begonias (?) are flourishing.

I am thinking of my high school reunion coming up next month. Some of my classmates are still flourishing. Others have died in accidents from cancer and on the battlefield. And in that thought I found a metaphor for life and death.

Point of view

When writing, point of view is important. My point of view of Argelès is usually from my flat, from the streets, from La Noisette.

A group of us had planned a picnic on a lake and wouldn't you know, the one rainy day of the summer was THAT day.

One of the potential picnickers who lives in the nearby mountains, suggested we all go to her house for lunch instead. There were five of us: three with the German mother tongue, two with American English and all with some French as a common language. One woman speaks all three. I could choke out a few German sentences and understood maybe 20 percent of what was being said in German as I metaphorically kicked myself for not being more rigorous in relearning my German this year and giving into computer games rather than declension drills.) However, we understood each other as we shared stories, listened to jazz and even danced a bit, just another example of how well women can communicate.

What does this have to do with point of view? I snapped a picture of Argelès. It is almost in the middle to the left of U-shaped branches. The sea is hidden by clouds. I had never seen Argelès like this and fell even more in love with it.

My point of view, my village.

I wish my housemate had been with me

I take snapshots. My housemate takes photographs and makes them into beautiful greeting cards. She just sent a batch off to my Step Mom who oohed and ahed over them. On my morning walk, I discovered this odd combination of grapes and morning glories, and although I captured some of it she would have turned it onto a work of art. My snaps hum, hers are a full Broadway Musical. However, that DID NOT stop me from enjoying the moment.

Poivre et Sel

One of my favourite Argeles's restaurants, Poivre et Sel, has beautiful new dishes. Run by a Moroccan family, their couscous is the best I've eaten outside of the Langella family. Barbara and I ate there with the Swiss couple because we felt we just had to have a wonderful evening with wonderful food and conversation. The mint tea didn't hurt either.