Finding Peace

November 11^th is Armistice Day in Europe, marking the day the Allies and the Germans signed the peace treaty ending World War One. It was deliberately scheduled at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. An 11-11-11 to signify that it truly was all quiet on the western front. So it’s a national holiday here.

The Fruits of Fading Summer

All around me people are planning the return of the school year with autumn around the corner. My garden, however, seems to have, at least temporarily, caught itself in a time warp.

Only this week have the tomatoes that went in during mid-May started to redden. The season was so slow that I didn't have the heart to pluck out the rogue tomato plant that sprang from the upward sliding door at the foot of my compost bin, thereby making it impossible to open the drawer without severing the plant. I've had what feels like boatloads of peaches, apples and squash from well-meaning neighbors, more than I can ever eat, can or otherwise preserve. (I still have five liter-sized jars of peaches from last year soaking in rum because I didn't have the time to preserve them any other way.)

Living in Days Gone By

I was chatting to an ex-boyfriend just last night, trying to describe how different my life here in France is from the days of Wall Street when he knew me as a complete Type A personality. Those days are long past, writing and editing at my patio table whether the sun's shining or not (who knew with am American-sized patio umbrella that I could work outside even in the rain?) and taking brief breaks from work to hang out laundry to dry in the sun, prune or harvest vegetables, and cut tea roses and hydrangea blooms.

This man could not fathom my tales of buying meats and poultry direct from the farmers (or the high prices we pay for it — in France they do pay a living wage and don't economize by jamming animals into cages — $10/lb for chicken anyone?). He laughed in amazement as I described walking into the village market for supplies on those days when the butcher, veg and bread vans don't drive down my street to deliver. We buy cheese from the cheese-makers and wine directly from the vineyards.

Too Chicken to Blog?

   A friend of mine just woke me up to the fact that my blog has done yet another Rip Van Winkle of late.
   Work, admittedly, has been gratifyingly busy, with several books, articles and short stories to edit, not to mention the articles I ghostwrite for various websites, to the point where my own book has also gone back into its regularly scheduled hibernation.