a little more time

I'm back in France and tired. I'm more tired than I've ever felt before. But I wanted to say thank you for all your messages, thoughts, and prayers,  they truly mean a lot to me.

I'm not sure when I'm going to feel like me again, but as soon as I do, I'll be back here, telling you all about The Husband's and my anniversary trip to Lyon (feels like a dream now), and laughing again.

And I might even tell you about the eulogy I gave for my father, and how in trying to hold back my tears (completely unsuccessfully) and taking deep breaths, I managed to make little piggy snorting noises. Nothing breaks the ice like little piggy snorting noises. I'm sure my dad was laughing.

à bientôt

gros bisous

I'm not sure what to say

My dad has passed away. I am headed to the States. I don't know when I will be back here, but I will miss here and miss you.

bisou

on our first anniversary...

My true love gave to me... a trip to Starbucks.

{my moment of zen}

That's me in Lyon with my Starbucks fix.

(300km isn't too far to drive 

for a vanilla latte is it?)

bisou

 

one year

It's St Patrick's Day. Everyone will be wearing green, drinking Shamrock Shakes, green beer,  and celebrating. But today, I will be celebrating one year since The Boyfriend became The Husband. 

One year ago today, in a small chapel in Massachusetts, my father, The Reverend, performed my little wedding ceremony with a handful of people looking on and me translating bits for The Husband.

And after the ceremony, after the dinner, after getting free drinks in a bar from everybody because it was St Patricks day and we were in wedding attire (a fantastic cherry on top of my wedding sunday by the way), and after we returned to Le Petit Village as a married couple, this is what I had to say about the day... (originally posted 7th April 2010)
................................................................................................................

A funny thing happened on St. Patrick's Day. I married The Boyfriend. Oh, did I forget to mention that we were getting married? Oops, my bad.

That's us getting ready to walk into the church (the same church my great grandparents got married in). I'm not too sure what the confused look on my face is all about. At least I still look fabulous in my wedding tunic. Who needs a wedding dress when you can have a wedding tunic? Bonus of the tunic... not needing a bridesmaid to help you go pee. And I know what I'm talking about, I've been that bridesmaid.

Me again. This time wearing my Nana's fifty plus year old mink cape which turns me into my alter ego... Fabulous Girl. Fabulous Girl doesn't fight crime or anything. She just hangs out... being fabulous.

Me and The Husband (that's weird, not used to his new name at all) and some pretty nifty wedding presents.

Having our red velvet wedding cake and eating it too at The Old Inn On The Green with the Best Man Girl (who needs a Best Man when you can have a Best Man Girl) and the Matron of Honor (who by the way was 'that' bride I had to help go pee pee).

And finally us again, the happy and very tired couple at a bar much later that evening (it was St. Patrick's Day after all). The way all weddings should end; pissed in a bar next to someone wearing a moose hat.

................................................................................................................

To The Husband...

Thank you for being you, 

and letting me be me.

bisous

 

un peu style

{le style}

My fellow expat (very soon to be in her case), and fellow Texan, Sarah at Texpatsabroad awarded me the Stylish Blogger Award. I love these things. They're my flair. A big ol' Texas sized thank you to you Sarah.

Instead of seven fun facts about me, how about seven fun facts about Le Petit Village? Yes. I thought you might like that.

1. The population of Le Petit Village is about 260 but can swell to up to 1000 during the tourist months. Imagine what that's like for us? For example; that would be like if you lived in Manhattan and one day you woke up and there were 6.4 million people instead of 1.6 million. Crazy right?

2. We are perched at an altitude of 910 meters (2985 feet). You can see the Italian Alps from Le Petit Village (you really can). One day Fifty and I might walk all the way there (but I doubt it).

3. There is one standing house of worship in Le Petit Village (it's Catholic). There are also ruins of a medieval chapel in the old village:

{13th century}

But within the outer village, La Petite Notre Dame still stands. It originally dates to Roman times. It's that old.

{old}

3. And since Le Petit Village is super old you would think that all the buildings would look decrepit and crumbling wouldn't you? But they aren't and you want to know why? Because Le Petit Village happens to have an expert artisanal Mason on call that's why (not Freemason, plain old Mason). And do you want to know who that Mason is? (of course you do) It's Brother-in-Law. He restores the facades of old homes, making them look almost exactly like they did when originally constructed, but shiny and new again. So if you happen to need an old home in the south of France restored, give me a shout and I'll hook you up.

4. There is one épicerie (small grocery store. very small) in the village but it is only open from 8am - 12:30pm. Except for Wednesdays. It's closed on Wednesdays. How convenient is that?

5. And speaking of l'épicerie, it's currently owned by Child Bride's grandmother. Before that Mrs Honey owned it, and before that Papa's Wife owned it. See what a small, teeny tiny little place we are?

6. There used to be a Pizzeria in Le Petit Village. This is not to be confused with the Tuesday night Pizza Van but an actual Pizzeria. And guess who owned it.... Papa! (and even if he is retired from the pizza business, you'd think that he could still whip me up a pie every once in awhile).

7. Now as you know, we have one cafe/ restaurant/ bar. Most days it's 'opened' but is only open until noon on Mondays and on Tuesdays it's closed altogether. And it's also closed whenever The Parisian feels like it. Like last weekend. Seriously, it was closed this whole weekend. The b*stard. I'm thinking a little French style riot is in order. Like hello... where are we supposed to go? That's it, I'm going to find a car to flip over and set on fire.
................................................................................................................

Kirsty @ You Had Me At Bonjour... I can't wait to hear what my craft Aussie friend's fun facts  are (She's a little nutty. And crafty).

{av} at {long distance loving}... I know a little bit about long distance relationships and so does {av}, it's a bonding thing.

The Southland Life... she lives in Savannah and I've been obsessed with that place ever since I read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (love that book). Maybe she'll tell me seven fun facts about Savannah. Just a suggestion...

... no pressure

bisou

seven hours at the honey house

It was the best of days, it was the worst of days. I'm talking about yesterday. The Cousin called; he was at the Honey house with Mrs Cousin and Le Petit Cousin who is now all of three months of cuteness rolled into a onesie, and would we like to come over for a coffee? Oui, mais bien sur (that means, yes, but of course).

{cuteness}

And of course coffee and chatting turned into an apéro and I especially needed that apéro after we watched the rugby. I don't really want to talk about it. I have nothing to say. My thought process about the French match goes something like this... huh? what? no. no. no. hold up. wait. really? putain! (that last word that started with a 'p' isn't a very nice word and should probably be disregarded).

Honey Jr left. He was going to Marseille for the evening, and I played with Le Petit Cousin's little baby feet to try and make myself feel better (about the rugby, not about Honey Jr leaving). But it didn't.

And then the Ireland vs. Wales rugby match was on and all I have to say is W H A T E V E R. Really, whatever, that's all I'm saying. And The Cousin and Mrs Cousin headed back to Avignon so I didn't have all that three months old cuteness wrapped in a onesie to cheer me up anymore. So that sucked.

But then after all that misery, a marvelous thing happened; Mrs Honey and I were left in the living room alone and we talked. We conversed all by ourselves for almost an hour. Just in case you don't understand the gravitas of this situation; I WAS PARLAIS-ING IN FRANCAIS WITH MRS HONEY FOR ALMOST AN HOUR. This is huge monumental stuff. It almost made me forget about all that bad rugby (but it didn't). 

So seven hours after arriving at the Honey house for a coffee, we returned home. And Fifty had not destroyed a single thing. Not one single chewed appliance or table leg in a whole seven hours.

My little baby is all grown up. 

bisou

teaching a young dog new tricks

 

Vicky: Coucou! I'm here to see my boyfriend.

Fifty: Mom, can my girlfriend come over and play please? 

Vicky: Don't mind me, I'll just let myself in.

Fifty: Cool! Can you show me how to do that?

bisou

blogapalooza

It was all Aidan's idea (Conjugating Irregular Verbs, Aidan, in case you don't know). Weeks and weeks ago, she sent me a message asking what I thought about getting a few of us English speaking bloggers together for lunch. An afternoon speaking English... uh... oui.

So last Saturday we did it. A handful of us not originally from around these parts bloggers met up at Bistro Romain in Aix (I picked the restaurant because I knew the all-you-can-eat beef carpaccio would keep The Husband entertained).

We met up with Aidan first and it was like seeing my long lost friend. Her being from Texas and me being from Texas and both of us having lived in Dublin before ending up in the south of France means that it's virtually impossible for us not to be BFFs (love me some Aidan).

And then crafty Kirsty from You Had Me at Bonjour arrived (and I say crafty because she's actually does craft stuff. I need a crafty friend). Kirsty is mad as a box of frogs Aussie funny. She had me in stitches and she taught me something too... when I was chatting about the rugby she said that in Australia when you say, you route for somebody, it actually means, your you know, routing for them... naughty naughty... wink wink... so I corrected myself by saying that I support the French rugby team but I route for Morgan Parra (naughty naughty... wink wink).

Next Charley from 365 Things I Love About France arrived with her two American teenage children who both speak French perfectly and I may or may not be jealous of Charley's daughter's hair. Charley is très intéressant and her stories and knowledge of haunted France could keep you entertained for hours (Charley is who you want to sit next to at a dinner party). And don't you think that since Charley knows all about French ghosts she needs to come to Le Petit Village and sort out the Nazi Ghost Zombies for me? (The Husband had the audacity to say that the NGZs were all in my head... shock horror, right?).

Piglet in France and her husband waddled in next (Piglet did the waddling, not her husband and I say waddling in the most affectionate way). Piglet rehashed the story of her great escape. You see last week Piglet managed to lock her heavily pregnant self into a bathroom while she was home alone and had to shimmy out a window in her bathrobe. You'd think that we were related, wouldn't you?

And then lovely Tanya arrived (Tanya in Transition, Tanya) with her French husband (we've got French husbands out the gazoo) and I found out that French husband's parents don't live far from Le Petit Village at all. Good to know, might pop in for an apéro. (Bonjour, I know you don't know me, but I'm a blogging friend of your lovely daughter-in-law's so that practically makes us family. Do you have any wine?).

Then finally B arrived. My friend B from Is There Such a Thing As Too Much Cheese (uh, no). B is also an Aussie (so you know what that means, she puts the mad in Mad Hatter) and is in love with Anne Shirley as much as I am (Anne of Green Gables, Anne Shirley). So to sum up: B <3 Anne Shirley = Sara <3 B. It's girly math.

(It's a long one today isn't it? Don't worry, were almost finished)

I encouraged The Husband to dig in and eat as much carpaccio as possible because that meant for dinner all I'd have to do was throw a lettuce leaf at him which is quite handy for a Saturday night. But when he finished his whole plate of raw beef while Charley had barely made a dent in hers, and he looked around at all the inquisitive bloggers staring at him, his little Food Whore self got shy.

But then Aidan's mommy side came out (which really was the sweetest thing) and she quietly asked him if he was embarrassed, and when he said he was, she said it was OK, he could have another one, and not to mind the other children staring at him. So he slowly ate one more but then topped off at only four instead of his normal six or seven.

So dinner had to be more than a lettuce leaf. 

No rest for the wicked.

bisou

 

naughty bawdy winners

{gallic books}

The True Random Number Generator on random.org has picked the winners of the three copies of Monsieur Montespan written by Jean Teulé;

# 47 - Honey

# 41 - Jill 

# 34 - Metropolitan Mum

Congratulations to the winners (enjoy your naughty historical fiction!) and thanks to all who entered and liked me.

(I like being liked).

bisou

P.S. Another book giveaway coming soon...

spring is in the air

How do you know spring is arriving in Le Petit Village? When you see the tourists trickling in that's when. The past week there have been three different camper vans parked in le petit parking lot and random groups of people walking slowly past my front window, gazing around, hands clasped behind their backs in that, 'I'm relaxed because I'm on holiday and I'm very interested in my surroundings' tourist stroll. And then I see them again a few seconds later as they walk back after realizing there isn't anything to see up my way.

So yeah, spring is coming with it glorious sunny days and Le Petit Village is awakening from it's winter slumber. Soon the population will swell from 250 up to 1000 and Le Petit Village will be buzzing again. This all makes me think of last tourist season and the time Fifty and I got Papped.
(originally posted 4th June 2010)
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Yesterday Fifty and I got papped by some tourists while out for our walk. Tourists with the largest camera I've ever seen, you know, one with a crazy big lens that can be used to take photos of celebs sunbathing topless on a yacht off the coast of St Tropez. Like, one of those.

This just confirms what I've felt all along; Le Petit Village tourists are nothing more than undercover paparazzi trying to snap me (I may be feeling a tad delusional this morning, lets go with it). I was in my usual Fifty walking attire, as in converse, windblown hair, and ridiculously large sunglasses (best to shield my eyes from all the flashbulbs... delusional!). Fifty was in his new spiffy black harness. It's basically a bunch of thick black straps cris-crossing around his body, making him look like he is either 1. about to invade Poland, or 2. going to a sado-maso club. Either way he looks adorable.

Maybe it was Fifty they were trying to pap and not me?

Well that's a bummer. 

Delusion over.

bisou

Project Runway

My last few French lessons have been spent studying passé composé and it's conjugation (it's not nearly as fun as it sounds). This is seriously mind numbing stuff and my mushy brain has been dangerously close to shutting down. But because my professeur is awesome, and sensed that brain flatlining was imminent, she provided a little CPR through fashion. Today, I give you the special Project Runway edition of my French lesson...

I picked a photo from a magazine and described what the model was wearing (all in French of course... go me) and Professeur would draw it. Then it was my turn to listen to the French descriptions of her photo and translate it onto a page through art.

This is the picture that she was describing:

This is my artistic translation: 

{talent}

Clearly I should be pursuing a career in fashion. I mean really, look at that thing! Have you ever seen a more sophistically drawn piece of fashion design?! And It's perfect timing since I hear Christian Dior is looking for a new Creative Director.

C'est le destin, no?

bisou

P.S. don't forget to enter my naughty bawdy giveaway here