Thanksgiving has always been my favourite holiday. I love it mostly because, year after year, it brings the entire family together for no other reasons than to celebrate being with each other and to eat good food. My memory bank has a vast and varied number of Thanksgiving memories: the first year I made the meal entirely by myself with coaching from my mother over long distance phone lines from her home in Hawaii; the year I almost had…
When I moved to France last year, I smoothly transitioned into my new, ready-made French family. It didn’t replace my own family back in the USA, but it made for a soft landing here in this new land. As with most family units, at the centre of the new family was the matriarch, Kate Hill. All others were spokes from her wheel hub: her sister, Steph, who was my primary source of info on all things french, my translator, my negotiator; Elaine, an…
This year was my first holiday season in France, as it was for my friends Taffy and Bill, who moved here earlier this year, also, from Windsor, Ontario, Canada. We approached this with a commitment to experience the season as fully as we could, and for us,this meant making the rounds at the wineries to stock up for season, visiting several different small towns for the Christmas markets, which we found were like a PTA bake sale mixed with a…
Bear with me, please. I’ve known I’d write this for weeks and weeks. I’ve felt like I was holding my breath since 28th September when Zach called -“Well, first off, Josh is ok, but he’s in the hospital”-and this is the exhale. So, when the sadness showed up this morning I decided this was the day to let it happen. It’s meant as a catharsis for me, a point to stop and acknowledge the hurt, because I haven’t, and I know…
I have been negligent in posting lately- summer in Gascony was very busy, and lots of fun. However, my intention is to be much more diligent in sharing my life in the southwestern corner of France. In the meantime: Cooking Classes: I love my new home in Gascony, and cooking has never been more enjoyable as it has been for me there. After a half year of shopping the local markets, I find myself constantly inspired by the food…
Rentrée: for the French, this usually refers to the first week in September, when they return to work after their month of August vacation. For me, today, it’s returning to life in France after two weeks in California with family and friends. It’s jet lag; waking up at 4:20 AM and watching the moon move across the sky through my open window. It’s thinking of my first born, who’s birthday celebration I am missing. I feel melancholy, for sure,…
(and I just figured out why) I have been living here in SW France for just over two months, and, as humans are so good at doing, I have figured a way to survive in an unknown habitat by falling into the safety of avoidance, or, in this case, without learning much French. Oh, I can greet people with the best of them, with a bonjour or a bonsoir. My departure is artful, my choices plentiful, with so many choices:…
What is it that made me decide to pack up and make a move across the world to a place I had never actually seen? Driving in the Lot-et-Garrone for the first time, I was left breathless by a vision of a church in the middle rolling hills covered in wheat gold grasses, russet grapevines and parched sunflowers. Have I been enchanted by the mistress of Camont, weaving her stories of chateaux & cassoulet? Was there a potion in the wine shared at sunset with the farmer…
Last week, during an after school conversation about Thanksgiving, I experienced that moment when I knew I would leave a lasting impact on society after I’m gone. (This is something you think about when you pass your mid 60’s…) Morgan, grandgirl #2, who is almost 13, informed me that, to her amazement, not everyone celebrates Pie Day. Her younger sister chimed in saying that a lot of her friends actually BUY their pies, adding “And, mostly, they taste awful!”. Every…
The business of life is the acquisition of memories. … that’s all there is.Mr. Carson, Downton Abbey And I have so many. This week is a double whammy. Today would have been my husband Frank’s 70th birthday, and this coming Sunday, the 2nd anniversary of his death. Doing the math to calculate what his age would have been just freaked me out, and, I realize, he has really stopped in time at age 67 in my mind. Though he turned 68…