When Young Knight was younger and wanted to cause me pain, he would say, “You’s naughty maman; you’s a baby” in his most defiant voice. This, of course, would serve to have the opposite effect as I dissolved in laughter. He used this term because the word for naughty in French is “méchant” or “méchante” for a girl (pronounced may shawnte),… Read More
This morning was Mother’s Day in France. I had the sweetest little presents and cards: a necklace, which I wore boldly to church (it was very very large), a beaded ring which I wore daintily on my middle finger (it was very very small) and a bouquet of kisses from my Petit Prince. It went like this: Bonne fête petite… Read More
My beauf still has our camera. He took it two weekends ago for the tux and bow-tie affair happenin’ over at the chateau where his beauf (wife’s brother) was getting married to a very posh lady. And I’m bummed about this because the sorrel in my garden is getting pretty huge (and eaten by snails) and I am just itching to… Read More
There is a reason the houses in Provence are all sorts of glorious colors and it’s not because they were painted that way, contrary to my first assumption. The secret is in the ochre. Ochre is a stone that is found naturally here and here in all sorts of colors, even blue. We visited Rustrel, which used to be a… Read More
When I was 19 I got a passport for the first time and, with great fear and trembling, stepped on a plane bound for France. (Actually, it was bound for New York first, and I had a hard time figuring out that I actually needed to go to a different terminal for international flights.) I was spending a semester abroad,… Read More
I have an update for you on our saga of glove and despair, of beast or famine, and it’s turned out brilliantly for one of the parties involved. (You’ll thank me for not providing you with a link, those of you who are not up to date). Rémy was indeed in the latter stages of his life, thanks to the… Read More
