Ritual Rentrée Review

Why is it that in spite of not having to run my life according to a school calendar for many years, there is still something about the first of September that changes life's rhythm? It's a bit like New Year's Day but more pronounced in so many ways. When September 1st arrives, all the things I've put off for the summer are all set before me in a row. It's time to get to get those tedious work projects done, get back to the gym, eat better and avoid all that Rosé!  I want to do some sewing and make a new handbag.  I've got to make some plum jam and must get the lavender hung in bags so it doesn't harvest itself all over the kitchen floor. I've got to get my two guest blogs written and geez, I have to write my own!

Yes the Rentrée, as it's called in France, has arrived. I've explained the rentrée before here, so I won't do it again. And here in the south of France it's a most exquisite time. It is true that the fingers of autumn are gently tugging on the dangling toes of summer but our days are still deliciously warm and our nights have cooled off so that sleeping is a dream. Unless you're under constant attack by killer bats which is, again, the case chez moi. But I'm not going to let this particular recurring nightmare interrupt my reverie. The temperature of the Mediterranean is perfect and the sea is clear and blue. The grapes are fat and purple and the afternoon light has taken on an intensity that is breathtaking. I am not exaggerating when I say that I sometimes have had to just stop my car while driving to admire the way the light enhances all the colors around me.

This year I was able to spend the entire summer in Provence.  Some say the summer is too hot here in the south but I say, "Bring on the heat!" It allows us a certain a slowness of movement; an intentional laziness if you will, that is so delicious. It brings the fruits of summer to us like I've tasted nowhere else. My visitors are always remarking about the taste of the vegetables here, the sweetness of the fruit, the smell of the rosemary or lavender, which is released by the constant heat of the sun. Believe me, even my little sister, who detests melon, would be eating one Cavaillon melon each day if she knew what a REAL melon tastes like!

Between visitors and with visitors, I tried to take in all that I could, in spite of all that laziness. I've explored beautiful villages and contemplated expansive vistas...

I swam in Calanques and snorkeled with an Octopus at my favorite beach

(sorry, no photo of the octopus but man, was that cool!)

I've been to a country music fest and a Calisson festival

And the Transhumance.

At said country music festival I got this priceless shot while perusing the motorcycle line-up. ONLY in France!

Home shows

and light shows…

The Opera and a musical review on Cours Mirabeau…

The Tour de France and its subsequent, mind-boggling festival...

See that mobile in the background? That is, in fact, and orchestra of real people!

I ate like a queen. 

Drank like a king. 

The vines of Chateauneuf du Papes. 

Yes, they grow in a "soil" of stones, which is what makes the wine so tongue tingling.

And tasted the most orgasmic mint ice cream in St. Remy. Seriously. I'm satiated! Who needs men with ice cream like that?

Brocantes and braderies…

And the daily life that is mine here in my hood…

the tango dancers who are, each Sunday night, at the Place Richelm

My terrace during the blue moon

the flower market down the street in a lavender explosion!

Yeah I know…my life is good, ya dah, ya dah, ya dah!  But in whatever life, wherever it is, a little gratitude goes a long way toward making the next day even better.  I'll be happy to do a little complaining as well, which I've done ad nauseum. But today, I'm still basking in the glow of a wonderful summer. As I prepare to get down to business! 

Bonne Rentrée à tous,

July 4th Revisited

I wrote this article on the 4th of July, 2009 during what was to be my first and last year in France and decided it was a good day to reprint it.  It's amazing to me that this is my 5th Independence Day as a resident of France. Apparently the coffee klatch is not over! Today, we watched the 6th leg of the Tour de France depart from Aix en Provence and it's an exciting day. I thanked all the French people around me for organizing such a fun party just for us Americans. And tonight I'm making burgers on the grill for a few of us expats, who, though we've chosen to leave our country for various reasons,  still consider her number one in our hearts. Happy Independence Day Americans. And as my cousin Joe reminded me, the French were instrumental in our victory so long ago. So it's my turn to say, thank you France.

I have spent many important days away from my home base. I have missed family birthdays, I have been absent for the birth of friends’ babies, and the funerals of loved ones. I have spent Christmas in the Caribbean, Easter in England, and Thanksgiving in Canada.  Being away at such times is never easy.

But as I was contemplating what to do on Saturday, I realized that I have never in my entire life spent the 4^th of July outside of my own country. And when you’re not in the U.S. on this particular day, you really celebrate alone.

Generally on the 4^th of July, I spend the weekend with family at my mother’s cabin in Northern Wisconsin, or I spend it camping with close friends. Either way, it involves food, beverage, chatter, camaraderie, fireworks and a day off work.  Not always however, has it involved much reflection. I mean, let’s face it. We all sometimes tend to take for granted what we have and how we came to get it.

So on this day, as I made an arrangement of white flowers in a blue Provencal pitcher and stuck my tiny American flag in it, I thought about my country, which I have chosen to leave for awhile, and what I love about it and what others love (or don’t love) about it.

The French love to TALK about everything and everywhere you go you hear them discussing politics, religion, art, music and philosophy. This is one of the things I find charming about them and also something I find very frustrating at times. However, the subject of my country has come up often and I am always curious to hear their thoughts even if I don’t agree with everything that is said. There is always value in discourse, isn’t there?

Of course there are criticisms of the U.S., some valid and some more a result of the caricature of the United States built on the back of American films, television and media coverage.

The general criticism of my country is its arrogance. The way America and Americans often seem to think that no matter where we are in the world, it belongs to us.

We are sometimes referred to (not kindly) as “les gendarmes du la monde” or policemen of the world.

They think we are a consuming monster much of the time (And we are. I am continually amazed by the way people here manage with tiny cars, smaller homes, less land, fewer belongings and clothes and how they have succeeded in incorporating so many energy saving tricks in their daily lives).

Some think we’re bossy, egotistical, warmongering and secluded and uninformed about the rest of the world.

All of these criticisms hold some grain of truth…some more than others (as do our criticisms of the French) but that’s not what I want to write about. That's another article. Today I want to think about what is loved about where I come from.

So what do they love about us? In fact, they love a lot of things, even if they don’t always admit it (a French friend of mine says they’re just jealous). They love our spirit and our exuberance and attitude that all things are possible. They are thankful for our strength (on D-Day a French friend called me just to say thank you) and they love our inventiveness and our entrepreneurship.

Another French friend of mine likened his country and the rest of Europe to “an elderly person”. I, in turn, compared my country to a teenager. Those of you who have had teenagers (at least teenage boys, which are my only experience) know of what I speak. They eat all the time, they take long, water and heat consuming showers, they sleep too long, stay up too late, they bounce off the walls and trip over their own feet. They are egocentric and not always very cognizant of how their actions affect others and what kind of havoc they can cause in their wake.  They are always right. They have a short history and though on the verge of adulthood, they don’t always have the wisdom of years. 

On the other hand, they are excited about something all the time, they are full of ideas and hope, they are sure they can accomplish all of their grandiose ideas, no matter how off the wall they might seem. No is not a word they seem to understand nor is “you can’t do that” or ” that’s not possible”. They are physically strong and are still not really sure of the best way to use that power. But they have faith that their future is promising and bright. They are both charming and hateful but completely lovable.

I have come from a country that is still experiencing its teens. With all the charms and foibles that accompany those burgeoning years. And right now I’m visiting an elderly neighbor. You know the one…. you love to visit her home and share coffee and a pastry. You chat and listen to the stories of days gone by and look at her collections of old, beautiful things. You love to hear about what she’s learned through the years and you hope to gain wisdom from her mistakes and her triumphs. You listen patiently (but you’re slightly annoyed) as she explains how things used to be and how uncultured today’s generation is. You agree in many ways but you also know that today’s generation has it’s own wonderful and unique qualities that you wouldn’t trade for anything. You nod your head and smile because she is delightful and wise in many ways, in spite of  some of her exasperating opinions.

But sometimes, she just spends a lot of time complaining about almost everything, seems a little resigned to the way things have turned out and she talks a lot but doesn’t seem to get much done.

So I’m still having coffee at the neighbor’s. I’m having a lovely time and enjoying every minute of it and our conversation is not over yet. But the life that I know, back in the good, old US of A, is still the one I will return to…after the coffee klatch is over. And when that time comes, it will be good to be home.

                                                        

Fair Lay Vah Lees

I'm doing the last minute mad dash to get ready to go the United States for the holidays. I was hoping to be starting another home refurbishing project while there, but it looks like it's not to be. No worries.  I'll just enjoy the holidays with my family and friends and try not to be too conspicious as I park myself at the home of this person or that during the 2 months. Most of my time is spent at my sister and brother-in-law's home. My poor brother-in-law. I am quite sure he didn't sign on to have a sister-in-law who visits twice a year and seems to stay…and stay….and stay!

As I was packing and cleaning yesterday, I found a little post-it note in the suitcase that I used for this same journey a year ago. I'm not sure why I saved it but it cracked me up when I found it.

At the time, while staying with my sis, I was expecting a call from France. From somebody who did not speak English. I needed to go out and knew I wouldn't be there to take the call. The idea of answering a phone call in French raises panic around those parts so I posted a note by the telephone to help out whomever should answer the phone.

Here's the note.

No this is not Hungarian, Sundanese or even Pig Latin. This is apparently my version of phonetic spelling.

In real French it would go like this: 

Elle n'est pas ici en ce moment. Elle fait le shopping avec ses enfants. Elle va revenir vers cinque heure.

Translated this simply means:

 "She isn't here at the moment. She's shopping with her kids. She'll be back around 5 o'clock".

It seemed so simple. In reality it was not and no usable information was passed between the two parties. I guess I need to work on my phonetic spelling.

This year, Jennie, I promise no phone calls and no home improvement projects. And Dan, I'll try to not hang my drying underwear all over the bathroom. And I will cook Thanksgiving dinner in its entirety (my first Thanksgiving home since 2008!).

Your sister ay tray um-pah-see-ahnt duh reh-veh-neer shay voo.

P.S. Provence Rugs will be offering free shipping from November 23rd until Christmas Day. Our new Brocante items will be on the site starting tomorrow. Yippee!

hint

Royalty's Revenge

Yesterday was Bastille Day here in France. They don't call it Bastille Day. The call it quatorze julliet or La Fete Nationale. Nonetheless, the day would be similar to our 4th of July in the United States. It celebrates the storming of the Bastille and the ensuing overthrow of the monarchy. Okay, it was sort of a hijacked and botched attempt at democracy...but every country has to start somewhere! France still had to get through Napoleon a couple of times and another king or two. Nonetheless, it's a big deal and all over the country the day is celebrated with military parades, awesome fireworks displays and cultural events.

I've been to our fireworks event here in Aix before and it is superb. It's held at the Rotunde, the big fountain at the center of the city.  This magnificent display is coordinated with some morsel of inspiring classical music and the most awesome thing is, it's not performed in a stadium, seemingly miles away. Or an athletic field....or across the river. It's right in front of you... over you...smack dab in the middle of the city. No lawyers are waiting in the wings to sign up the injured. No police officers are barring entry any closer than 3 miles from the display.

Last year I attended the military parade in the afternoon. It was fun...interesting....and one military parade is usually enough for me, so I chose not to go this year.

But I'm not going to miss the fireworks. No siree! And...and....and...I read that there was to be a ball afterwards. At the Rotunde. Well just how cool is that? Especially considering that when I was home in May, my darling person-who-birthed-me-whom-I-promised-to-never-mention-in-a-blog-again gave me...yes folks...my life just keeps getting better every day...my very own......TIARA. Complete with pink feathers. She knows how much I've been missing one...mostly because I mention its absence every year on my birthday. And she knew how happy it would make me. And it DID! And now, it would be a perfect accessory for a Ball.

So last night, I donned my tiara, and everything pink to match, and my friend Tenley and I went to the fireworks. Amazingly we found a table at the outdoor cafe just next to the Rotunde. Amazingly, we got a drink. We watched the fountain as it was lit up for the pre-fireworks show and listened to the accompanying music (when we could actually hear it over the ghastly techno music that was playing at the cafe. Why didn't they turn it off?) We wondered just how dark it had to be before our real entertainment would begin. I marveled at how the crowd was just "not what it used to be"(makes me feel so settled to be able to say something like that). Eventually we got up to move closer and we were able to walk in right next to ...I mean within touching distance... of the fountain. We were just so....AMAZED.

Ditto for when the gentleman walking around the Rotunde informed us that, no...of course there would be no fireworks tonight. Because of the mistral. Our lovely mistral wind that had so kindly cooled down our city! We moaned, we groaned. Tenley protested, "but I've spent the entire evening hanging out with a woman wearing a pink, fuzzy crown!"

French shrug. "What can you do about the mistral?"

So there we were. All dressed up with no place to go.

We wandered down the Cours Mirabeau, teeming with people enjoying the cool, clear, night. We eventually found The Ball. It was a 12 piece band set up on a grand stage at the head of the Cours. They were performing disco...which I didn't even like when disco was king.  Some people were...LINE DANCING! There was not one single prince in sight and I was decidedly overdressed.

We listened for awhile because the band was good but eventually agreed to leave the ball before midnight. I did not want my precious crown to go poof! At least not before my next birthday.

Still it was a beautiful night with a just waning moon. And it was so nice to be out. And a little promenade while wearing a crown can never be a bad thing. Well, unless it's after the July 14, 1789 and your name is Louis XIV or Marie Antoinette.

Perhaps it's bad form to celebrate the demise of royalty with a crown. Perhaps that is why we never got our fireworks. Some sort of cosmic intervention. Frankly, I don't care. Marie Antoinette never said this...but I will....

Let them eat cake!

Le Blè de l’Esperance

I have ignored my blog and the blogs of everyone else for weeks. School seems to be taking precedence and that's okay...however, I feel so out of touch. I keep writing in my head...it just never gets as far as the computer. I actually wrote this article Monday and am just getting around to posting it today. My niece is here now for a long weekend visit so I'll probably continue ignoring it for awhile. I hope everyone is well and I can't wait to catch up.

Monday is a busy day. It’s the day I have to finish (or start and finish) my weekend homework assignment, write my blog, and finish (or start and finish…yes, there’s a pattern developing here) my weekly article.  I know… I should be at least starting all of these projects over the weekend…. and sometimes I actually do. But this weekend I blew everything off and thus; here I am with a pile of work and one afternoon to do it.

So, as I walked home from school, I tried to think of a subject for this week’s article. And I had nuthin’!  When this happens, the whole day gets set back as I dilly-dally on my way home. I tell myself I’m taking my time trying to come up with an inspiration. In fact, I’m really just delaying the inevitable. I’m SO good at that!

I stopped at my little coffee shop and when the owner (and my friend) Fehti, asked me how I was, as is my new French practice, I complained. I explained that it was deadline day and I didn’t have a subject for my article. He tapped on a box sitting in front of me filled with little packets of what looked like seeds. He said, tell your readers about this; it’s a very old Provençal tradition. I replied that I’d be happy to explain…really happy… if I had any idea what that was. All the patrons then commenced to tutor me on this lovely little Provençal holiday tradition called Le Blè de l’Espérance (also called Le Blè de Ste. Barbe) which translates to The Wheat of Hope.

The tradition stems from an old Roman custom during which people would test the strength of the wheat seeds for next year’s planting. If the seeds sprouted well, the year would bring prosperity. If they emerged yellow and sparse, things weren’t looking so good. From this tradition stemmed the proverb “Blè bien germé, c’est prospérité pour toute l’année”. Which means” wheat well germinated is prosperity for all the year”, but it sounds better and actually rhymes in French, like a good proverb should.

So here in Provence, every year, on the Jour de la St. Barbe (the day of St. Barbara) people plant their wheat. By December 24, the wheat has grown tall and green…hopefully. Then a red ribbon is wrapped around the wheat, tied with a bow, and this adorned symbol of an abundant upcoming year is placed on the table as a centerpiece.

After a little research I discovered that in the 14^th century, St. Barbara was beheaded by her own father after her conversion to Catholicism and her father was then duly struck by lightening.  Barbara subsequently became, in the world of saint-dom, the saint who protects against violent death and later developed into the Saint of Hazardous Occupations. I found it a little odd that this girl would be also associated with fertility and abundance.  With a little more fact-finding I learned the St. Barbara just lucked out on this one. Actually, the ancients discovered that it takes 20 days to get perfect wheat for Christmas and 20 days before Christmas Eve just happens to be December 4^th, the day of Saint Barbara.

So this year, and all years henceforth, I’m adopting this little holiday ritual. If you’d like to join me this Saturday, here’s what you do. Place a bed of cotton in a saucer or shallow bowl and sprinkle in a handful of wheat seeds or lentil seeds. Dampen it with water and keep it moist; you don’t want it standing in water. Let it rest in a warm place but not directly near heat. If you’re nice to it, it should grow 5 to 10 inches tall. On Christmas Eve, encircle the stems with a red ribbon and place it on your holiday table.

Since the 1980’s, a benevolent organization here in Provence sells little packets of these seeds at various businesses for one euro apiece and all the proceeds go to benefit children in various hospitals in the region.  Which makes it an all-around delightful custom, in spite of the fact that it celebrates a woman who lost her head. And having this new tradition in my life just proves that my tradition of dilly-dallying has got a definite up-side. 

I wish you tall, green wheat and great abundance in the year ahead.

Fête de la Lavande

To continue with my "what I did this weekend in Provence" post from yesterday, I promised the Lavender Festival in Valensole. I know I've already inundated you with photos of lavender, but I happen to like the stuff. This is a recent taste reversal, however. 

My mother had a bottle of Yardley Lavender cologne or talcum powder...or something, which she never used but whose scent seemed to permeate her drawer full of stuff I was not supposed to dig through. Which, of course, made it the drawer that I spent many stolen hours ransacking...I think hoping to find something really naughty. Which I don't remember finding. I also remember being supremely disappointed. I wanted my mother to have a history! My boys, I'm quite sure, would not be so disappointed and I hope I get all those long ago written journals that are hidden somewhere, properly torn up and burned before they start going through my stuff. Which they probably already have, if I'm going to be realistic about it.

Okay...off track...so.....

Anyway, I always detested the smell of that perfume but since coming to Provence, I've discovered how wonderful it is to sleep with a lavender filled pillow under my head. It's relaxant qualities are truly comforting. And how delicious the apartment smells when I've sprayed the distilled oil on my little clay cigalle that hangs in the bathroom. Lavender's  bug repellant qualities keep moths away in the closet or trunk and beat moth balls all to hell.  I knew all of this stuff. What I didn't know is what else one can do with lavender.

There is Lavender mustard and chutney...

Salts and spices...

REALLY PURPLE and REALLY BIG incense....

Cookies and breads..

Sausage...yes, Lavender Saucisson!

And pâté...oh man, I just don't know about that!

There are syrups, ice creams, and jams but their mugs didn't make it here because my camera battery died.

But not before that I got to see the traditional dancers weave their ribbons

and the tired dancers rest their feet.

We were treated to mounds of freshly cut lavender to make our own bouquets...

and the townspeople decorated for the occasion.

So...my summer weekend in Provence rocked!

But I'm never going to change my mind about Yardley Lavender perfume.