Merry Christmas!

My home computer is at the corner 'geek' shop getting fixed! Hopefully I'll have it back soon since it's very hard to be creative at work. Merry Christmas from Google images and the Notre Dame de Paris!

Explanation

A quick message to all faithful blog readers...I'm having home computer problems and will post again when I get the darn thing fixed!

An Invitation

The village priest invites all from near and far to "Come, prepare for the birth of the Child." It's Advent, the time of invitation and preparation. Who will answer the good pere's call? Who will show up for the birth? Will it be country folks or city folks? Will you come?

Preparing for Christmas

This month's issue of France Today contains a very informative article about santons. It brought to mind my santons. My Provencal 'people' are busy preparing for Christmas. It's none too early for these citizens to begin readying for the Christ Child's arrival. Both Monsieur le Chef and the Monsieur le Boulanger (the baker) are waiting for Madame who brings miel and lavandre. La chevre and la poule will contribute valuable ingredients for the Christmas feast, while le moulin will help grind the wheat for Christmas bread. The people will be busy the next few days. Come back again and meet others in the village who will welcome Baby Jesus and His family soon.

Geese

Lessons from Geese

I thought of you today as the geese honked their way southwest.
Overhead they strung out across the sky,
Wings beat rhythmically sending feathery vibrations earthward.
First one, then another took the lead.
Strong became weary and rested
Rested moved ahead to lead the flock and allow respite.
Onward to the Missouri flyway, then south to warmth and sunshine, they fly.
They fly, work hard, produce, fly, rest and revitalize, fly and fly.
Cycles of seasons, the great wheel of life
Survival at its hub.

November 2006

News Flash!

Our baby-to-be has a name! She's Marley Grace and I love it. Travis picked Marley...he's a huge Bob Marley fan. Becky picked Grace for her grandmother. Only Trav and I know that this will be a true little rock-n-roll girl. Shh! don't tell...she's really Grace for Grace Slick. Oh okay--maybe not!

Red Bell Farm, Parisian Style

I'm buying my first piece of 'real' art! Not a print, not a copy, not a poster...a real piece of art from a real artist, Mary Blake. I first discovered Mary's blog, Painting Paris, via another favorite blog, Polly-Vous Francais. Polly made mention of Mary, and I checked out her blog. I even made a comment or two which I think intrigued Mary. Who is this person in Iowa and how did she find me??? I love Mary's style which I think is described as 'abstract impressionism.' It's lively and colorful and that really appeals to me. Recently Mary has updated her website, Mary Blake Art, and as I scrolled through her online catalog, I came across this small watercolor entitled Red Bell Farm. Mais oui, bien sur....I had to buy it! Mary and I are currently exchanging emails, trying to figure out how to make this trans-Atlantic purchase happen.

Update: my art should be in the mail on Monday. We're still working on the money exchange thing. I'm thrilled!

How Life Should Be....

How life should be:
a joy
a celebration
something to make you twirl with excitement
giggle,
clap, and
plant slobbery puppy kisses on everyone you love.

Spee-der-mon

"Madame! Madame!" Concentrating on the lovely ceramic dishes tastefully arranged on the display table in a small shop in old Apt, I was only vaguely aware of the child's voice. "Madame! Madame!" more insistently now and accompanied by several tugs on the tail of my jacket. I looked down into the sparkling brown eyes of a small Provencal boy who appeared to be about 6 or 7 years old. "Hello!" I said, smiling. Seeing that he now had my full attention, he launched into a torrent of French accompanied by many hand gestures and ending triumphantly with "Spee-der-mon!" "Spee-der-mon?" I puzzled under my breath. "Oh yeah...Spiderman!" I laughed as the petit garcon's Papa scolded him gently. While I couldn't understand much of what he was saying, I got the drift...leave the nice Madame alone. Taking his son's hand, he apologized to me for his son's exuberance, and they wandered off to look at vases. Not before the little guy turned and grinned. With a big thumbs up, he declared once again..."Spee-der-mon!"


Kids are the same all over the world, non?


I took this picture as Marie and I awaited the TGV in the Gare de Lyon that would whisk us to Provence...and my brush with Spiderman.

"...And be thankful."

It's Thanksgiving morning, and I'm overwhelmed with thoughts of family and friends! While I'll stay home this holiday, my thoughts will travel all over the country, and indeed, the world. I wish I had pictures of all my family and friends to share; this collage of Travis, Becky, Parker and Chase will have to represent everyone. They are so dear to me! I am so thankful for the gift of family and friends. This entry's title comes from verses in Colossians 3:14-17. My friend, Randi, has challenged her older children to find verses in Scripture that reference being thankful, write them down and place them in their "Scripture jar." Her family will read the verses that Kennedy and Eli found at Thanksgiving dinner tonight. Wonder if they found these verses from Colossians?

In the Postcard Shop

"Non, non, non, Madame! Please, non!"

Startled, I looked up from my purse where I had been fumbling for the euros to pay for my postcards and stamps. What did I do? Did I inadvertently offend? Had I committed some heinous American faux pas? I stared into the swarthy face of the man behind the counter of the hole-in-the-wall souvenir shop on the corner of rue St. Andre des Arts.

Seeing my dismay, his black eyes softened as he stepped up to me. Gently, he chided me..."Madame, you must always have your money ready, your purse organized. If you are searching for euros, you are distracted and a perfect target for the pickpockets."

Before I could move, he deftly took my tiny shoulder purse and lifted it from around my neck. "Let me show you the best way." I stood there, dumbfounded as he helped me out of my fleece jacket, zipped the purse and replaced it around my neck. "Now, Madame, put on your jacket and zip it up. Your purse is now safe against your body and out of sight. Wear it this way. Always prepare for your purchases and have your money ready."

I could only stutter, trying to think of something to say, as he continued, "You think thieves and pickpockets look like shifty-eyed Frenchmen, and that you'll recognize them. Actually they are innocent appearing teenage boys wearing jeans and American tee shirts!" he proclaimed.

I finally found my voice..."Merci, Monsieur." I know I still sounded puzzled.

"You see, Madame, I make my living from the tourists. If tourists are pickpocketed and have a bad experience in Paris, they tell their friends and no one comes to Paris anymore. That's bad for my business. So, I try to help this not to happen," he smiled and shrugged that quintessential French shrug that seems to say 'makes perfect sense to me.'

Merci, Monsieur! Merci beaucoup!

More Movie Recommendations

My blog-o-sphere friend, Isabelle, recommended movies about Provence that she thought I might enjoy. I've reviewed two of them in previous blog posts, Jean de Florette and Manon of the Springs. Last Sunday evening I watched the second of a series of two that she also thought were really good...My Father's Glory and My Mother's Castle. Like the first two, these are also based on the novels of Marcel Pagnol, a Provencal writer. And like the first two, these are set in the Provence of the turn of the century, steeped in the beauty and culture of this quietly beautiful land. If you decide to view them, you should watch the Father one first. My Mother's Castle begins immediately after the end of My Father's Glory and makes more sense if you've watched them in the correct order. Again, I watched them in French with English subtitles which helps me be more engaged in the story, but still understand it. I won't spoil the fun by telling you the plots of both movies. I will tell you that they are simple and innocent stories of family love and values, of respect and acceptance. This is a family in which the adults are gentle and wise, the children act like children, and everyone desires the best for their loved ones. My Mother's Castle ends very differently than I expected. You'll have to watch the film to know why, but be sure you have a box of kleenex handy.

Le Bistrot d'Henri

Writing about my experience at Le Procope got me thinking about the wonderful places I've eaten in Paris. You know...the food is one of the main reasons to visit France! My budget doesn't allow me to eat at any of the 'starred' establishments (maybe someday?), but I've had many great meals at the less pricey places around town. Marie and I have eaten at Christine's in the 6th arrondissement and its neighbor, Rotisserie en Face; we've eaten at Marie's favorite, L'Epi dupin twice. We've enjoyed a meal entirely of souffles at Le Souffle on the Right Bank, and we tried great Moroccan food at a tiny place we couldn't find on our second trip. We've had our morning croissant and cafe creme every day at Paul's. My very favorite place, however, was Le Bistrot d'Henri (pictured here courtesy of Google).

I've eaten at Le Bistrot twice, and it was wonderful both times. Walking distance from our hotel on Blvd. St. Germain, it's tucked into a tiny side street, rue Princess. It's warm and cosy; the atmosphere is friendly and lively. I love it! and the food is delicious. My travel journal reminds me that it was also 'very charming, very Parisian.' I had pork chops on a bed of noodles with a sauce flavored with a tint of Dijon mustard, haricots verts with a curry-tinged dressing and the ubiquitous molten chocolate cake for dessert. On my second visit, I tried the lamb dish that the bistrot is famous for...lamb shank cooked for hours until it makes a thick gravy with prunes, onions, and carrots flavored with a touch of cinnamon. It's served in its own small Dutch oven (or is that a French oven?). A salad of endive, chopped pear and roquefort cheese chunks and again, the chocolate cake rounded out the meal. Sipping a glass of wonderfully thick red wine, I could, indeed, murmur "J'ai mange tres bien!"

A Step Back in TIme

I googled this picture of the Cour du Commerce in the Latin Quarter of Paris to introduce you to an 'historic' view of Le Procope, the restaurant featured in yesterday's blog entry. Paris is full of
these passages back into time. You'll be walking along a busy street and spy an opening like this. Some passages are completely covered; this one is only partially covered as you can see. Once you pass the shops Cour du Commerce opens onto a narrow, cobbled, very uneven street...it's one of the oldest surviving streets in Paris, now open only to pedestrian traffic. It's hard to imagine carts and horses ever traveling through such a small space. Dr. Guillotin developed and perfected his humane instrument of death, the guillotine, at No. 7 in the late 1700's. Now the street is lined with cute shops and restaurants, most notably, Le Procope. The story is that Le Procope is the oldest coffee house in Paris, established by a Sicilian, Francesco Procoperio dei Coltelli, in 1686.



This is the restaurant's 'backside' as you walk along Cour du Commerce. It's main entrance faces rue de l'Ancienne Comedie, but it was this view that intrigued me. Many famous French and American authors and politicians have dined here over the years...Napoleon, Voltaire, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson...and their pictures decorate the windows. It went on my 'to-do' list the very first time I saw it. My lunch and its historical ambiance did not disappoint when I finally made my visit on Good Friday 2007!

Le Procope

"Pardon, Madame, my wife and I couldn't help hearing you speak with the waiter. Are you American?" I turned to reply to the well-dressed Frenchman having a quiet lunch with his wife next to my left elbow.

"Oui Monsieur. Je suis Americaine."

"Ah, we thought so...is this your first trip to Paris?"

My French skills almost exhausted, I answered in English: "No, this is my third trip, but it's the first time I've eaten here at Le Procope even though it's been on my 'to-do' list each visit."

He chuckled and replied, "My wife and I have lived in Paris for years, and this is our first visit as well!"

We continued to chat. Madame had visited the States three times; I loved Ste. Chappelle. They were so gracious to let me practice my French and even helped me with pronounciation. Monsieur shared the restaurant's Napoleon legend: As a young soldier, Napoleon ate here, but could not pay the bill. He left his hat as collateral, promising to return with money and reclaim the chapeau. The hat sits still in a glass case in the main dining room.

The waiter cleared my empty plate..the filets of beef with vegetables had been scrumptious, my glass of wine was drained. Monsieur offered: "Please share the last of our bottle with us!" With that he divided their remaining Bordeaux into our three glasses.

"A votre sante, Madame!"

"A votre sante, Monsieur!"

We raised our glasses to Franco-American relations which at that moment could not have been any better.

I recall this story every time I hear someone bashing the French for being cold and unfriendly. When's the last time strangers shared their last glass of wine with you in an American restaurant??

Pictures: above right...the backside of Le Procope

above left...the interior of the restaurant

More about this historic place in my next post.

Dona Nobis Pacem

It's insidious. It starts with a simple blog and a few entries about your life, your family, the things that you find fascinating. Before you know it, one blog isn't enough; there are things you want to share about other parts of your life--parts that everyone won't find fascinating, but that are important to you. Then one Sunday you have an a niggling thought, and a song begins to play over and over in your head. It's a simple Latin round from the 16th century...Dona Nobis Pacem. In the blink of an eye, a new blog is born! I am suddenly the author of a second blog, one that will be filled with another part of my life...the part that searches for spiritual meaning, the part that spills out in spontaneous poems of praise and prayer. You can visit at: http://www.evelyn-dnp.blogspot.com/. Let me know what you think.

It's a Girl!

Okay...I realize this isn't as exciting to you as it is to me. You'll just have to indulge me a moment. This is the very first picture of my newest grandchild. She's expected on March 24, 2009 and we couldn't be more pleased. Although I did share with Becky that I'm a bit shaky about 'doing girls.' It's always been boys in my family. I think I can get used to buying frilly dresses, socks with lace and ruffled panties! And this could be the perfect excuse (as if I needed one) for a trip to Paris. You simply can't believe the adorable shops there filled with baby clothes.

Cafe Marly, Paris

I pulled yesterday's blog post from my Word document archives. It's part of an article that I put together about traveling alone in Paris. No, it didn't get published....darn. But writing the article really made me think about traveling on my own, how do-able it is, and how much I enjoyed the experience. If you clicked on yesterday's link to the Cafe Marly, you read a variety of reviews of that restaurant. Let me add mine: the experience was absolutely delightful and the food was very, very good. I've actually eaten there twice...once on my own in September of 2005 and again, in late February, 2006. I enjoyed it both times. On the warm, sunny September afternoon, I sat on the terrace and thrilled to the crowds milling around the Pyramid. In February I sat inside in the elegant and stylish dining room done in lovely soft shades of green and punctuated with crisp white tablecloths and napkins. My waitstaff on both occasions were quietly professional and polite. They certainly didn't try to rip me off by adding a huge tip to the bill. (See review by one disgruntled American diner) While I wouldn't criticize anyone on the strength of a restaurant review, I can tell you that I was able to identify American tourists instantly both in restaurants and on the streets of Paris...and not just because they were carrying Rick Steves' guidebooks! I have to say that I've been to Paris three times, and I've always been treated cordially at the very least by anyone I've encountered there. In fact, I've had some lovely interactions with Parisians...maybe a subject for a future blog post??

Alone...in Paris

“ Bonjour, Madame! Vous etes seul?”

The man’s words alarm me. He’s saying, “Hello, are you alone?”
How does he know? As I stand on the steps of the terrace, the comments of my friends begin to haunt me…

“You’re going to Paris alone? You’re so brave!”
“Aren’t you afraid to be in a foreign country by yourself?”
“You don’t speak French? I’d be nervous about that if I were you.”
Yes, I am nervous! In my anxiety I completely overlook the menu the man is holding, as well as the neatly folded white towel draped over the arm of his crisp white shirt. My mind continues to race as he looks at me expectantly. I wonder if he’s going to mug me. Is he one of the pickpockets I’ve been warned about? Then, quietly and calmly, reason prevails. Relax, Evelyn…he’s the maitre’d. He needs to know if you’re by yourself so he can seat you. I exhale slowly, almost unaware that I’d been holding my breath.

“Oui, Monsieur,” I tell him. “Je suis seul.” Yes sir, I’m alone.

He leads me to a tiny table overlooking the famous I.M. Pei glass pyramid in the courtyard of the Louvre. It’s a warm September afternoon, perfect for dining on the terrace of the trendy Café Marly. Pulling the table toward me, he murmurs, “Voila, Madame.”

I squeeze by the couple seated to the right and slide into the leather banquette.

“Merci, Monsieur.”

I breathe a sigh of relief and try to focus on the menu he’s handed me. All my reading has prepared me for this moment. My Rick Steves’ guidebook has cautioned me about tripe and andouillette, and my Pimsleur language tapes have provided me with enough rudimentary French to request a glass of red or white wine. I order an omelet with herbes de provence, a yummy tomato and chevre gateaux (a cake of soft, creamy goat cheese layered with tomato coulis, topped with a sliced tomato and drizzled with olive oil), and glass of rosé. I sit in the sun, watching swarms of people enter and depart through that spectacular glass structure in the square.

"Oh my God,” I think to myself. “I’m in Paris, one of the most exhilarating cities in the world, sitting in the Richelieu wing of a palace, home of French kings, quarters for Napoleon, and a monument to some of the world’s most famous art."

Yes, I was in Paris….alone

Save the Date

A couple of weeks ago I received a 'Save the Date' letter in the mail. The date: October 9,2009. The occasion: my 45th high school reunion! Can you believe that? I can't! Of course, I was a child prodigy, a mere toddler when I was in high school. Yeah, right! Anyway...I rsvp'd that I could possibly come and received an email a few days later from one of the women on the planning committee....Becky Ray....and a great wave of nostalgia swept over me (see blog entries from earlier this week). Becky and I were in the same 4th grade class at Orangethorpe Elementary School. The school year was 1955-56 according to the class picture I dragged out of the bottom of a drawer in my office. More on that class picture in another post; the picture shown here is one that Becky emailed me. Where she found it, I haven't a clue because I truly don't remember it ever being taken. But there I am, bottom left (wish I could claim to be one of the cute ones...alas not). The adorable girl next to me is Patty McGuire and Becky's identified the girl standing on the far right as Martha Tabor. Martha was one of my best friends in junior high, so this picture must be circa 1958-59. Neither of us can identify the other two girls. Maybe our friend, Mary Wiechec, will know who they are. Mary was my best friend in 4th grade; we lived walking distance to each other's house. She's also on the reunion planning committee, and Becky emailed the picture to her as well. Schoolmates from over 50 years ago, connected by the Internet. Who would have ever guessed that when we were 9 years old?!

Yes, We Can!

We did it! We made change happen. Now the really hard work begins...to restore the reputation of our country thoughout the world, to repair and rebuild the economy, and to revitalize the dreams of our citizens. Yes, we can! I can hardly wait to help. It's time to shake hands with our neighbors around the world instead of shaking weapons; it's time to listen and respond instead of spewing rhetoric. Godspeed to Barack Obama as he begins this journey and brings America along with him into the world.

Summer of 1967

Okay....this is the DVD that I didn't watch last night. I think I left it at Travis' last summer for him to watch. It didn't dawn on me until I put a CD of the Festival in my DVD player that...oops, not the DVD! That's what happens when you become a woman of a 'certain age.' So instead of watching the summer of 1967, I'm listening to it as I write this. Specifically listening to Jimi Hendrix, and even without the visual cues, I remember exactly, precisely, in vivid color his performance and all the others at Monterey. My friend, Christine, and I drove to the coast from Bakersfield where we were working. A year out of nursing school, we thought we were pretty worldly...good jobs, boyfriends, living in an apartment with a pool. But the Monterey Pop Festival was a truly eye-opening experience! We drove into a world filled with hippies and flower children, psychedelic colors and peace signs, long hair and pot. And music--wonderful, wonderful music. We went eager to see Booker T and the MG's, Lou Rawls, and Otis Redding and left enthralled with Janis and Big Brother, Grace and the Airplane, and Eric and the Animals. And Jimi! Oh my! I'd never, ever seen or heard anything quite like Jimi...raw, rhythmic rock and roll with a stage presence that was sexual and overpowering. Chris and I weren't the only ones in the audience that were totally blown away when he set his guitar on fire as the grand finale to his performance. Damn, that was good! It was truly the dawning of the Age of Aquarius that weekend in June. We felt embraced by love and good vibes and peace even in the midst of the huge crowd of really 'out there' people. Or maybe it was just a contact high from all the pot?

We worried a bit as Otis took the stage in the final set Saturday night. Would this crowd of flower children even like him? Not to worry....Otis literally brought down the house. All of us were dancing in the aisles by the time he finished playing. I find myself smiling even now forty years later remembering all those good vibrations from the summer of 1967.

1968

I have been washed by waves of nostalgia the past couple of weeks. Why is that?? I think some of it has to do with being of a 'certain age.' It's hard to be nostalgic about anything when you're 25; it's only with age that you accumulate worthwhile memories. And it's only with age and experience that you can place those memories in perspective. So, my next few blog posts will focus on some of those 'waves' that have come my way recently. Echoes of 1968 reverberate. This picture of Bobby Kennedy was taken by a friend of mine...actually in 1966 during a Colorado speech. Art was a still photographer for CBS back then; he made me several copies of photos he took of RFK that year. Bobby was my first political 'love.' I was too young to vote for his older brother and still too young to vote for Bobby in 1968. Inspite of not being of voting age yet, a friend and I went to hear him speak in San Diego a few days before he was assassinated in Los Angeles. I wept when I heard the radio announcement that he had been killed.This was only one of the tumultous events of that year. The Viet Nam war was raging, Martin Luther King was assassinated, there was violence at the Democratic National Convention, the 1967 summer of love had given 'way to the 1968 summer of hate. Listening to 'Hearing Voices' this morning on NPR, I was mesmerized by those events and others. I wept as I heard Martin's "I Have a Dream" speech. Forty years...we're almost there...hold on, Martin! The music of the era was the underpinning of the radio program. The Beatles, Joe Cocker, Aretha, Cream...songs of my young adulthood. I wept again...where did that idealistic and youthful time go?

Is this what nostalgia is about? Feeling sad, shedding tears, wondering if things have really improved in the past 40 years? Maybe...but I intend to pull out my DVD of the Monterey Pop Festival and watch it this evening. Let's see if the 1967 'summer of love' can lift my spirits! I'll get back with you.....

La Toussaint

Without children around I don't do much for Halloween. Actually I haven't lived anywhere in the past 20+ years where kids even trick-or-treat! One advantage, I guess, of living in the country. I am intrigued, though, with the day after Halloween. In Mexico and in the Southwest, this day is celebrated as Dia De Los Muertos or Day of the Dead. These guys are representative of how Hispanic cultures celebrate the holiday. Several years ago I spent the holiday in Taos, NM and totally enjoyed all the festivities. Every shop window was filled with colorful displays of costumed skeletons, flowers, and skulls. The waitstaff at the fancy restaurant where I dined were fully in costume and into the celebration.

The French also celebrate November 1st as La Toussaint or All Saints' Day. It is both a legal and a church holiday. According to my Larousse dictionary, "in France on 1 November people celebrate All Saints' Day by laying flowers (typically chrysanthemums) on family member's graves. People often drive long distances to reunite with their families around the tombs of loved ones."

I will neither party nor visit the graves of my loved ones today; I will instead pray for all those I love tonight at church.

Almost There

Senator Barack Obama spoke today at noon in Des Moines. It was my plan to walk the 4 or 5 blocks from where I work to hear him. No matter what your politics are, I think everyone can agree that this is an historic election. I wanted to be a witness to this history. You know what they say about the best laid plans...well, mine went astray as well. At the exact time I needed to walk out the south door of the hospital, I was deeply involved in a critical and time-sensitive personnel issue. I had to be at my desk to make phone calls and send emails; it couldn't wait. So, I did the next best thing. I sent the email, grabbed my cell phone and headed to the roof. That's one perk of being the boss of the Life Flight program...I'm authorized (and I have a key to the elevator to prove it!) to access our rooftop helipad. This is what I saw. The glass building is the Pappajohn Education Center. There were huge American flags hung at either end of it. Senator Obama spoke from the opposite side of the building and that's where most of the crowd was as well. Estimates put the number in attendance at 25,000. (click on photos to enlarge and see the people) Since the Senator was speaking away from my position on the roof, I couldn't hear his words distinctly. Only when he became animated and spoke loudly could I understand all his words. I could, though, hear the crowd clapping and cheering.

It was a warm bright day...Indian summer and I heard on the news that the Senator spoke in shirt sleeves, rolled up. Even though I couldn't hear him well, I could feel the excitement. It was like the difference between watching a football game on TV and being there in person. In person is SO much better even without great TV shots, instant replay, and color commentary by the announcers. Excitement, hope and change colored the air even from a distance. And as the crowd cheered, I lifted my arms and chanted softly under my breath..."Yes, we can!" with them. Hope no one caught that on the rooftop security camera!

I was almost there today; Senator Obama is almost there as well. Please vote on Tuesday, November 4th. This is an important election.

Another Road Trip

I haven't gone anywhere for weeks on end. Then within 5 days I've made trips to Minneapolis and Kansas City. What's up with that??
I left around 9am Saturday morning to make the 3-hour trip to Overland Park, KS...a suburb of Kansas City. My dear friend, Anne, who lives in Colorado was there visiting her sister. She called me a couple of weeks ago and asked if I would drive down while she was there. Of course!! We had so much fun! We visited the shops in Country Club Plaza and 'licked the windows' as the French call window shopping and then watched as the annual WaterFire event pictured here unfolded. Torch-wielding boaters lit huge bonfires in the middle of Brush Creek that flows alongside the Plaza. As wonderful music blared over the sound system, performers entertained with belly dancing and fiery sword swallowing. It all felt very pagan. We returned home to glasses of Pouilly Fuisse wine, brie, bread and olive oil, and a Rick Steves DVD of Paris and Provence. On Sunday morning we looked at all of Anne's vacation photos from France and then went to the Nelson Akins Art Museum to immerse ourselves in art from all over the world. I was able to locate my very favorite exhibit there to share with Anne and Jean. It's a display case full of cricket cages and cricket accoutrements from ancient China. It makes me giggle and smile every time I imagine little fighting crickets singing in their ivory carved cages and sleeping in their tiny beds decorated with Chinese poetry. Overall...a weekend well worth the road trip!

Minneapolis on Tuesday

If you called me on Tuesday and got voice mail, it's because I was in Minneapolis. This was the week of the national air medical conference held in Minneapolis. Budget constraints (mine as well as the hospital's) kept me from attending, but I did make a quick trip to the city for some business meetings. I use the term 'quick' very loosely here. It was a 5-hour drive each way and ended up being a 17-hour day for me! I was beyond exhausted by the time I crawled into bed at 12:30am. Good thing I kind of like road trips. The most fun meeting of the day was a presentation ceremony hosted by American Eurocopter. It was a 'thank you for choosing Eurocopter' fete. A marketing rep did a brief introduction, I met the company CEO, Mark Paganini, we toasted with a plastic glass full of champagne, and had our pictures taken. Guess they're pretty appreciative when they can sell a $6.5 million helicopter. For the record, my hospital didn't buy it; our vendor, Air Methods did. I think Mr. Paganini was a bit surprised when I 'bonjour'd' him and toasted him in French! And I think his parting words to me were something about hoping to see me again. I knew my diligence with my French language tapes would come in handy...even if I never get to France again.

Manon of the Spring

I promised you a review of the rest of the Jean de Florette story and here it is...I watched Manon of the Spring (or Manon des sources as it's called in France) last evening. The review: there isn't any. I don't want to spoil it for you in case you decide to brave the French with English subtitles and watch it yourself. I will tell you that it is worth every bit of the effort it takes to watch a film in a foreign language. I will direct you as well to Isabelle's comment on my previous entry about this movie. It was a beautiful film about difficult human emotions and relationships. A caveat: my copy is rated PG. I would caution you that there is some tastefully filmed full frontal nudity as well as some graphic content that young children might be disturbed by. I think it's more of a PG13 movie.

Jean de Florette

Last week I blogged about one of the movies I watch when I need to vicariously visit France...French Kiss. A blog friend, Isabelle who lives outside of Paris, responded with some recommendations for other movies that I might enjoy. Taking her advice, I ordered them. This pair came on Friday, and I watched Jean de Florette last night. If you click on the link, you'll go to the Wikipedia entry about the movie. It explains the plot in detail and also relates how this movie and Manon of the Spring were filmed together over several months in the heart of Provence. Watching Jean last evening, I felt transported to rural Provence post WWI. This is rural Provence of the garrigue and of small poor farms and tiny villages, and not the Provence of lovely vineyards and luxurious chateaus. If you follow this link, you can see a map of the area around Vaugines where the movie was filmed. This is definitely 'my' part of Provence as I've spent time in some of the villages shown on the map.The story was a bit sad, but as it ended, I felt encouraged that Part II...Manon of the Spring will bring at least a sense of justice and retribution for the wrongs that Jean suffered. I'll let you know in my next blog entry as I plan to watch Part II tonight.

Thank you, Isabelle, for the great recommendations!

A New Journal

I started a new journal this morning. Does it surprise you that I have been an almost daily journaler for many years? My guess is...it doesn't! And I have a whole shelf on my bookcase dedicated to filled journals to prove my daily habit.I actually had two new bright empty journals to choose from; I picked this one for its 'connections.' Entitled Provencal Entree, the photo is by Lisa Taylor Huff who is the author of Bold Soul, a blog I've recently begun following. If you click through the link on the photo's title, you can see some of Lisa's other photos on items for sale through CafePress.

Of course, I love this journal because it combines two of my favorite things...Provence and Provencal doors. It also connects with two other passions I have...photography and writing. Lisa is primarily a writer who is also a life coach inspiring others to become their own Bold Souls. What better inspiration for a journal?

Because I've been told that the only way to make dreams come true is to put them out there for the Universe to work on, I've decided to share part of my very first entry in this journal.

"Here is my goal that I will work on from now until this journal is filled...and beyond! The goal:

a new life living and writing in Provence. I have no idea how I'll make that happen...but

today, as I begin this new journal I'll re-dedicate myself that with God's help, I will make

this happen!"

Okay...so now you know my deepest dream. I don't know how to make the dream come true. I don't how in the world to come up with the money to enable this dream. Yes, I know I'm 'way too old to go off and live in a foreign country with no income, possibly no talent, all alone. Yes, I've thought about all the 'what ifs.' What if I get sick, what if someone in my family gets sick, what if I never see my grandchildren again, what if I end up being a homeless bag lady. My feeling is you can 'what if' yourself into never doing anything. And anyone reading this who knows me (like my family and friends) knows that I've always had a tendency to seek the adventure instead of the safe, non-what if path.

Wish me luck! No matter what happens, no matter if I never make my dream come true....it will be an adventure!

A Tango in Paris

Yesterday I spent the entire day at a workshop on process improvement. I won't bore you with the details...lots of ways to address process changes using lots of acronyms like LEAN, A3, 5S, etc. It was well presented, though, and peppered with fun videos. One video was a clip from "Scent of a Woman." It showed a blind Al Pacino leading a lovely young woman to the dance floor of a swanky hotel. He gathers her up in his arms, and the band begins to play...a sexy tango! He's a beautiful dancer, but that's not what made me smile. Memories of my 2005 visit to Paris immediately sprang to mind as the tango music swelled. On that trip I signed up for an 'Illumination and Seine Tour' at my hotel front desk. If you've never visited Paris, you should know that as dusk falls all the public buildings and some churches are illuminated. The Eiffel Tower is not only lighted, but on the hour twinkle lights dance up and down her lovely limbs for 5 minutes. It's a sight not to be missed. And since a boat ride on the Seine was on my to-do list, this tour was a great combination. The illuminations were breathtaking, and the warm September evening was perfect for the boat ride on the Seine, even if it is one of the most touristy things you can do in Paris! As we neared the eastern limit of the ride, the voice on the loud speaker drew our attention to the Left Bank. There dancing under the stars were dozens of people. We could hear the faint strains of tango music drifting across the water while they twirled and dipped and clutched each other tightly. As the boat drifted under a bridge, the tour guide advised everyone aboard that any wish made while under this particular bridge was guaranteed to come true. Can you blame me for wishing to return someday to Paris and dance the tango with a romantic Frenchman along the banks of the Seine?

Imagine my surprise when I found this link on Google.

Tilleul Tea

It's a cold rainy afternoon at Red Bell Farm. Somehow it seems like just the right kind of day for a warm cup of tea to relax with after work. I searched through my tea basket until I found a box of tilleul tea that I bought last year in Provence. I had never tried it before that trip, but one night after dinner, Babeth suggested it might be just the right thing to settle our tummies and relax us for bed. As Americans Marie and I weren't used to finishing dinner at 11pm and often found it difficult to sleep after eating so late. Babeth brewed the tea and we tried it; it worked like a charm! Patrick relied on aged cognac instead.



If you click on the tilleul tea link, be sure to scroll down the page until you reach the information about this lovely tea.






Patrick and Babeth of Famous Provence.

More Venasque

The rest of our visit in Venasque was much less daring. We stopped at Viard-Oberlin poterie where Marie always buys delightful ceramic pieces to add to her set of dishes. Anne and her husband, Etienne, were excited to visit with us. Etienne, a metal sculptor, had just sold 35 very large sculptures to some collectors in New York City. They had been crated and shipped the month before, and he and Anne were leaving in a few days to fly to New York and then Chicago to introduce the works at gallery openings. They were quite excited about the prospect of staying in one of the collector's NYC penthouse.

As we left, Anne gifted me with this small, round dish from her collection. It sits by my kitchen sink holding squares of Provencal soap. Every time I wash my hands I think of Anne, her bubbly personality, and her generosity.

We lunched at Les Remparts that day and sat by the windows to enjoy the spectacular view of the valley below. No blog entry about Provence is complete without the menu: seafood salad with mussels, prawns, anchovies and smoked salmon accompanied by a nice rose and completed with a bread pudding-like dessert--custard and apples. Bon appetit!

La Maison aux Volets Bleu

I'm in desperate need of a 'France fix,' but the closest I can come right now is browsing through my photos from previous trips. This one caught my eye. The chambre d'hotes is in Venasque, a very pretty village north of Goult. It's called La Maison aux Volets Bleu, the house of the blue shutters. Isn't it pretty? Marie and I actually sneaked into this courtyard; the lovely painted gate was pulled almost closed. She convinced me that we should enter the house through that open doorway. Ever the chicken, I wasn't sure that was okay, but what the heck...I went with her. This turned out to be the opening into Madame's kitchen! Before we could exit, she entered and started chattering away in French. Yikes! Busted! Marie muttered we were considering whether we should make reservations to stay, asked her for a business card, and we beat a hasty retreat.

A beautiful gate

A Long Week

This has been such a long week. I usually don't use my blog as a forum for whining, but whine I must today! Not only has the economic news been dismal, the Presidential campaign is making me crazy. I'm so tired of it. I really could simply tune it out, I guess, as I've already voted by absentee ballot. The pundits say that negative campaigning, as repugnant as it is, works to sway voters, but I think we're better than that. Let's delete those email stories, let's leave the room when negative ads come on TV, let's turn off the radio rather than listen to more smear stories.

On top of all this national nonsense, my hospital, for some unknown reason, not only does budget this time of year, but also requires all performance evaluations be completed now. Feel my pain! I hate the numbers game, and much as I like the wonderful people who work for me, giving their evaluations is exhausting. I'm an introvert; sitting and talking to people non-stop all week has totally drained me of all my energy.

I'm in dire need of a glass of wine and an evening curled up on the couch watching "French Kiss" for the umpteenth time. I'll fantasize that I'm Meg Ryan kissing Kevin Kline in a wonderful Provencal vineyard....that should perk me up

Mass on the Grass

Last evening my church held its annual Blessing of the Animals service. Dubbed "Mass on the Grass" this service is held on the weekend closest to the saint's day for St. Francis of Assisi. When I searched Google images for a picture of St. Francis, I found many, but this one 'spoke' to me. It looks like how I imagine the real Francis looked...thin, intense, aflame with the love of God, yet gentle and peaceful enough to hold a delicate bird in his hands. I think the artist truly captured the essence of St. Francis. The Blessing service at church, however, was anything but peaceful! There were at least 30 dogs and a half dozen cats present along with their owners. Every breed and mix was represented. I counted at least four standard poodles...not a breed you see much anymore. One couple came with three show-quality cocker spaniels in tow. There were several yellow labs as well as two gorgeous golden retrievers. Elizabeth, Mary and Milton, the three priests there to do the blessing, were thankful that nothing with scales showed up. Everyone mingled for a bit, then services began out on the lawn east of the church. All participants were VERY well behaved as we worshipped. While the human congregants passed the Peace, the priests blessed each animal present by touching them with the love of God and thanking them for loving their humans. It was a fun way to spend a beautifully warm, slightly breezy fall afternoon.

Lucie was a very good girl; she only barked once when she saw other dogs running with their children. She was exhausted, tho, when it was all over. It was a big day for her sniffing more doggie behinds than she's ever even seen before!

Not Such Good News

There's bad news from the blog-o-sphere. Polly Lyman, creator of one of my very favorite Paris blogs, is going home. Home to the United States, leaving Paris! Oh, say it isn't so, Polly! I am SO bummed. My guess is that Polly is more bummed than I am, though. When I read her comments on Polly-Vous Francais today, I could feel her disappointment. It seems that it's a financial thing...the dollar is so weak against the Euro, living in Paris is tres cher, and I can't help but think that perhaps the volatile stock market and the financial crisis we're in the midst of may have something to do with her decision as well. Sigh! I do hope that wherever she settles Stateside that she'll keep blogging. I love her comments of life, no matter where life finds her. I think another reason I feel so sad about this is that perhaps my dream of living in France someday is also in jeopardy. If Polly can't make it happen, can I??

One bright spot from the world of blogs, however, is a new one that I discovered today called The Bold Soul. This blog is from Paris as well written by a woman who is a writer and a life coach. She was bold enough to move to Paris to follow her dream; maybe she can inspire me to do the same.

A Fundraising Salon

Last Sunday our church rector and her husband hosted a fundraising salon. The idea was to assist the Cedar Rapids Public Library re-build after the devastating floods in early summer. Most of the library's books were destroyed by water and even those on the second floor which were not under water were severely mold damaged. Since the floods happened in 2008, guests were asked to contribute $20.08 or multiples of this amount to attend. The two-hour event boasted wine and dessert, great jazz by George Cole-Duvall and his Flying Fish jazz band (all high schoolers and very professional!), and the opportunity to purchase art. There was pottery, pen-and-ink drawings by Milton Cole (the rector's husband) and some framed prints by Sr. Corita Kent, who was active in the anti-Vietnam war protests of the 60's and 70's. I purchased one of her prints that is hanging now in my office...a multi-colored spiral with a quote by Francis Bacon. The print pictured here is one of Milton's. I think it looks rather Picasso-esque. I have it and the one below hanging in my bathroom. Black and white goes with the decor.

Both of these drawings were done while Milton was assigned to a missionary project in Guam. While there, he presided over 8 small Episcopal churches. I love the faces in both of these prints. They are very different, yet both convey a sense of Guam to me. The salon was a very enjoyable way to fellowship with others in my church as well as contribute to a good cause. And I got some interesting art in the bargain!

Murillo Flats

This building is Murillo Flats and was the last stop on the Sherman Hill Walking Tour. It was built in 1905 and was an early example of an architectural form emerging in Des Moines at the turn of the century...'flats' or as we call them now, apartments. This building was originally named "McNamara Flats" after its builder, James McNamara. He changed the name to "Murillo Flats" after Des Moines hosted a very successful art exhibit of the work of Bartolome Esteban Murillo, a Spanish painter circa 1617-1682. The building's original site was 3 blocks from where it now sits. It was moved over a 2 day period in March of this year during a very wet Iowa storm. Videographers from the History Channel filmed the move which will be shown soon on National Geographic's "Monster Moves" series. The building's current owner, Phil Kaser, plans to renovate it and rent out apartments in it for the next 5 years. After that, he told me, it all depends on the condo market; he may sell the apartments as condos or sell the whole building to another visionary.

A Fall Tradition

I moved back to Iowa in 2003, and every fall since then, I've wanted to do the Sherman Hill Walking Tour that is held the last two weekends in September. I always put it off and then miss both weekends. This year I made it happen! Sherman Hill is the historic neighborhood close to where I work that I would really like to move into. Alas, I haven't sold my country acreage...that's a whole other blog entry...but I spent yesterday afternoon enjoying the warm fall weather while I visited 9 properties on this year's tour. And in the process, I delighted in two serendipitious surprises.

The tour began here at Hoyt Sherman Place where I bought my ticket and picked up the tour map. Built in the Italinate style in 1877 by Hoyt Sherman who was a Des Moines businessman, the mansion today is home to the Des Moines Women's Club and also boasts a beautifully restored theatre as well as an art gallery. After browsing through the gallery, I noticed that the stage lights were on in the theatre. I entered the dimmed auditorium and discovered my first serendipity...the Des Moines Sweet Adelines who were rehearsing for their evening performance. I settled into a plush seat and listened as they sang through their numbers. Such sweet harmony, such exuberant energy! Then stepping out to direct...my friend, Diana Latch! I know Diana from work, and we talked once about her involvement with the Sweet Adelines. There she was directing, singing, dancing, cajoling her chorus to put more bounce in it, sing out, have fun! What a delight to see my friend in an entirely different setting than the hospital disaster and emergency planning sessions where we usually meet!

The rest of the tour beckoned, though, so leaving the music behind, I started walking the streets. The properties on the map reflected a variety of architectural styles from the late 1800s...Queen Anne, Victorian, Colonial Revival, Victorian Stick...all open to tour. Some were exquisitely restored, some were restored, but decorated in modern styles, one house was new, but built to look Victorian. Each had a fascinating story. There were also selected businesses and historic buildings on the map. My second serendipity came as I walked up 16th Street to the Wallace House Foundation. I could hear soft strains of classical piano music floating on the warm summer air. It was coming from the open windows of a 4-square brownstone next to Wallace House. I spoke to the men marking tickets on the porch. "What a great job you have this afternoon...you get to sit on this cool, shady porch, greet people and listen to that beautiful classical music!" I could see the man sitting at his grand piano through an open window. "Yes," the men replied, "and do you know who that is? That's Ed Fallon who ran for Governor last term." "Imagine that," I quipped. "A politician who can actually do something useful and creative!"

More on the rest of the afternoon later....

Roseman Bridge

This is Roseman Bridge made famous by the movie, The Bridges of Madison County. It's very pretty. The area around it is kept up by the folks who also own the small gift shop just behind where I took this pciture. They keep the little meadow mowed and the wooden stairs up to their shop in good repair. The bridge spans the Middle River, but is open only to foot traffic now. Built in 1883, it was completely renovated in 1992 at a cost of $152,515.00.

As I approached the bridge, I noticed these red painted ledges on either side of it. Those round, shiny things are coins! Seems like folks use the ledges much like wishing wells...tossing coins and making a wish! My assumption is that most of the wishes have to do with love and relationships, ala Robert and Franchesca from the movie. Hmm-m-m...been there, done that, and don't see myself going there again. So, I tossed a couple of coins (yes, they landed right where they were supposed to!), but my wish wasn't about a man. It was about love, though! Can you guess what it was?

Here's a hint: Je t'aime Paris et Provence!

"Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!"

Do you remember Oklahoma, that 'corny' musical? There's a song in it that I can't get out of my mind the past few days. "Oh, what a beautiful morning...there's a bright golden haze on the meadow...the corn is as high as an elephant's eye and it looks like it's growing right up to the sky!" Until I moved to Iowa, I thought those lyrics were simply creative hyperbole. Then I saw real corn, acres and acres of corn. The corn pictured here is growing in the field across the road from my house. I took this picture standing in that gravel road, looking up at the corn. You can see it's starting to dry and turn brown. Farmers will be anxiously checking moisture content in the next few weeks to determine exactly the right time to harvest it; if they pick too early, they'll have to pay the elevator to dry it down. This will eat into their profits. Soon enough, tho, the fields will hum with the engines of corn pickers and combines bringing in the corn and soybean harvest of 2008.

We don't have many elephants roaming around Iowa, but I think the tassels on this corn would definitely tickle the eyeballs of any passing pachyderm!

Autumn in Iowa Part 2

The wildflowers of summer are beginning to fade as fall approaches. They kind of bloom themselves to death! Growth during the hot, humid, rainy summer runs rampant...it's almost a relief to watch it slow down as it cools off. I know I really appreciate being able to mow the yard every 10 days instead of every 5-6 days during the height of summer. Most of what is blooming now is yellow; I don't have a clue about the real names. When I was in Yellowstone, yellow flowers were all lumped together as "DYC's" or damned yellow composites. No one else could remember the yellow names either. So here are some DYC's growing the ditch along the road where I walked Lucie yesterday.

Here are photos of other ditch plants. The yellow one is goldenrod more commonly known as ragweed. It causes a lot of grief this time of year in the form of sneezing, stuffy noses and teary eyes...not a favorite flower of very many people!

The seed pods are from the milkweed plant.

They swell and burst in late summer spewing their seeds in cottony fluff that gets caught on passing animals or drifts on the wind to new ground.

Autumn in Iowa

I see the autumanl equinox on the calendar next week. It is, indeed, changing over into fall in Iowa. There has been a shift in weather patterns ( thank goodness!) from hot and sticky to warm and dry. Daytime temps creep up into the 80s, but it's cooling to the 50s or even lower at night. Ah-h-h! Indian summer in all its glory. I love it! You don't have to watch the thermometer to recognize when fall arrives, though. You only need to observe the grasses and flowers along roadsides or in areas not under cultivation. The premier fall grass is big bluestem (adropogon gerardii) shown in the picture. The common name for the grass is "turkey foot" as its trefoil seed spikes resemble the track of the wild turkey. It has reached its full height and has begun to set its seeds. This is a native prairie grass, part of the tall grass prairie that covered the central United States before the plow. As you travel further west, this grass gives way to little bluestem, a shorter, more dense grass that made up the short grass prairies of the high plains. The buffalo followed these grasses; other animals...elk, deer, grizzly bears...made their home here as well before the settlers drove them west.

Several years ago, Bob and I restored many acres of our southern Iowa farm to native grass. He would burn off the dried grass every spring replacing valuable nutrients to the soil and mimicking the vast prairie grass fires of prehistory. It would emerge a few days later brilliant green against the charred soil. During the long, hot, humid days of summer, it grew and grew and grew reaching heights of over 8 feet. Towards the end of summer, we would turn our buffalo out into it. What a sight to watch 200 buffalo with their calves stampede into the fields....only to disappear in the grass! The only clue that they were there was the gently waving tips of the seed heads against the sky!