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happy accidents
{the mausoleum}Do you know what a happy accident is? Well, in case you don’t, it’s like when you stumble across something completely unexpected, and it’s completely wonderful too. For instance, when you find the absolute most perfect pair of shoes, and they end up being like, 30% off… voila… happy accident.
Something like that happened when Disco Gayle was visiting…
We were on our way to spend the weekend at The Husband’s Uncle’s house in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, and we passed an arch. Although the arch looks like an arch, (and I guess it is) it was actually the gate to an ancient city named, Glanum (and by ancient, I mean crazy old, like sandals and toga old).
{Disco Gayle & The Husband looking at old stuff}Yeah, looks pretty old doesn’t it? That’s because it is.
To the right is a mausoleum, which for being like 2000 years old, looks pretty darn good (if you like, you can read about both the arch and the mausoleum here). Let me tell you something, It’s pretty amazing to be driving down the road, looking out the window, spotting this ancient arch and mausoleum, suddenly exclaiming, “holy snooki, what is that?!” And then when you decide that of course you need to stop the car right now, pull over and look for parking, you end up driving right up to the old asylum where that nutty genius Van Gogh used to live.
See… happy accident.
Van Gogh wasn’t there but this statue of him was.And let me tell you about Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, I think it’s my favorite village in Provence. It’s pretty and charming, and I want to live there (but don’t tell Cassis I said so). And I’m dying to have a nice evening dining outside somewhere, but since Uncle lives there, we dine at his house which isn’t bad at all. You want to know why? Because he happened to be hosting a pizza party when we there (re: happy accident). And here in Provence, we make our own pizzas in outdoor pizza ovens at our pizza parties. And on that night, Uncle made thirteen different pizzas. Thirteen! And both The Husband and Disco Gayle ate a piece from every single one of them. I guess they figured it would be rude not to. For the record, I was rude.
We also went to Arles so we could show Disco Gayle some more old, old stuff. Like that coliseum we’re standing in front of. See, old.And since it was Saturday morning, we strolled through the enormous market. And as we did, what did we happen upon… an Irish pub… just in time to watch Ireland play Australia in the Rugby World Cup (again… happy accident).And you know what happened? Ireland won.And that was the happiest accident of all.bisou
P.S. Unfortunately Ireland bit it playing against Wales and didn’t make it to the semi-finals. And that’s all I’m going to say about that. -
the end of summer
{long gone lavender}How do you spell ‘exhausted’?
S A R A L O U I S E
That’s how.
It has been one big doozy of a summer. And I know I touched on the whole, summer has been long gone, thing on my last post, but for me, it literally ended like, last night at 9, when The Husband and I got home from picking up Fifty at camp (again.. the poor thing has been at camp a lot lately) and before that, Marseille airport to drop off Disco Gayle, and before that Montpellier, and before that Avignon (all in one weekend, can you believe it?!). But that’s a story for another time.
So here’s the deal, I’ve got loads to tell you, and pictures to show you, but I am a tired old girl so we’re going to do this bits and pieces like. Plus, since The Husband and I are planning on being hermits for the next few months and not getting up to much, (minus a crazy November with a weekend in Avignon, a trip to Dublin, and Thanksgiving with the Conjugating Irregular Verbs crew), and I’m not going to have much to tell you, it’s best if we stretch this whole thing out. You know. And by this ‘whole thing’ I mean some tales about traveling all around the south of France, homemade pizza parties, aioli, pétanque, a raclette, and toddler bar fights at Le Petit Bar. It’s been a nutty month.
But for now,I’m going to take a nap.bisou -
style: fall edition
I am much obliged to Champagne Blonde for passing on this Stylish Blogger Award to me, it’s given me a nice little segue between Texas, and life back in Le Petit Village.
(Since she passed it on to me, she has actually started a new blog called 2onplateaus… that’s how long it can take me to post one of these, here she is blogging away on her second blog, and it takes me three months to come up with seven things… I’m a slowpoke.)So how about a little bit about what I’m looking forward to about Autumn? Seven little bits to be exact. (I’m sure some of you are thinking, “but it’s already Fall crazy girl”… true, but you wouldn’t know it here. For one, I have a house guest that’s been visiting since my Texas holiday so that has kind of put an extension on my summer what with traveling all about and such… Saint-Rémy, Arles, Monaco, Cannes, Avignon, Marseille, and soon Montpellier too… and also, it’s been a beautiful sunny 80° everyday, nothing really Autumny about that).
OK?
OK.
I’ll miss the warm weather, of course, but am ready for the wardrobe change. The shorts and whole bare leg thing is beginning to get on my nerves. Plus I bought a really cute pair of shoes in Texas that are clearly made for cooler weather…
They kind of look like boy shoes don’t they? Well I don’t care. I like them.Besides the wardrobe change, I’m ready for a cooking change. Cooler weather means I can cook soups again. I love soups but not in summer. And I cannot do gazpacho and other cold soups. no, no, no. It messes with my mind. It’s like I’m looking at a bowl of soup, my brain tells me soup = hot, I get a spoon, I put it in my mouth and then Y U C K … why is it cold??!! Gross.And as much as I’ll miss rosé and sipping it outside in the evening with my book propped up to block the setting sun, I’m anxious for evenings cuddled up on the couch, reading in front of the fire with a glass of red instead. It’s just plain cozier. And I’m all about the cozy.
We’re spending Christmas at French Mommy’s this year. I know that’s Winter and not Fall, but I don’t care, I’m looking forward to it. And yes, it’s only October, not even Halloween, and I dared uttered the ‘C’ word, but you know what kids, it’s only 79 days away! (OK, that’s kind of far away, but whatever). Anyway, I’m looking forward to infusing French Mommy’s home with Christmas spirit. You see, we spent Christmas there two years ago, and had a wonderful time, but it wasn’t very Christmasy, you know what I mean? There was a tree and a Christmasy dinner, but it didn’t feel like Christmas. I think it’s because The Husband wasn’t always around that much, and since there weren’t any other children (he’s an only child and only grandchild on that side), somehow the Christmas spirit kind of left the building, and I’ve taken it upon myself to bring it back. Heaven help them.
Even though I’m nowhere near a Starbucks (the nearest one being 93.6km/ 58.2 miles away, door to door), I still love all the fall and Christmas flavors (there I go talking about Christmas again). And in November when I go to Dublin, you better believe I’m heading straight for a Pumpkin Spice latte. I’m just peeved that I might be too early for my favorite, the Gingerbread latte. I can’t drink one without Christmas Carols swimming around in my head (I’m a strange little person, please forgive me).
And a big summer being over bonus… Fifty is keeping his winter coat on, and that means that me and the Dyson, get to spend some time apart. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Dyson, but we really don’t need to spend that much time together. A little time apart is good for any relationship.
It was one crazy, fun-filled, action packed summer and I’m tired. From May 1st, until the second weekend in October (as in this coming weekend when we will be going to Avignon and Montpellier), The Husband and I have only spent five weekends in Le Petit Village just chilling without visitors. We were either there or they were here. And keep in mind that one of those five weekends was the crazy Fête and Brazil Day. So yeah, tons of fun, but exhausting. I’m looking forward to some serious cozy, hermit, hibernating. With lots of red wine.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………Is There Such a Thing as Too Much Cheese
Would you like to tell me seven things…bisou -
Some Down Home Texas Goodness
How do you end a trip to Texas (and the subsequent blog posts)? With some down home Texas fun with friends at the rodeo (Did that sound folksy? I was going for folksy.)
The county fair and rodeo was being held Labor Day weekend and just around the corner from my mother’s house so of course we had to go, because what better way for The Husband to sample a big ol’ slice of Texas pie.
(still going for that folksy thing)
The fair seemed smaller than I remembered, but still full of cotton candy, turkey legs, and funnel cakes (I’m a big fan of carnie food). And after we got our Lone Star beers, we headed over to the arena for the rodeo. Let me say, I love the rodeo in Texas, love it. Small ones, big ones, flashy ones, they’re all pretty great, and I love how they start with the Texas flag being ridden in and around…
Or loads of Texas flags. We really like our flag.The parade of Texas flags is followed by one woman flying the American flag. And we all stand for the National Anthem (I didn’t get a picture of this because you know, I was standing for the Anthem, hand on heart and stuff). It’s pretty moving, especially if you’re an expat who doesn’t get back home a lot.And you want to know what else is really Texas-y?
Longhorns.And playing shuffleboard in a barn…
Even if Texas Girl’s South African husband was playing with my French Husband (we’re an international crew). They’re adopted Texans and that big American flag overhead makes any international brouhaha null and void anyway.And beer can chicken.
That’s a Miller Lite can up there if you’re interested, but really any type would do. And Texas girl was kind enough to give me my very own beer can chicken stand so I can bring the deliciousness to Le Petit Village, which we all know is totally going to freak them out, but we also know that I’m all about that so win win.And clearly generosity runs in Texas Girl’s family because I met her Aunt (the sister of Kiki), and you know what she did? Not only did she bring over salted caramel mini tarts (for a savory not really sweet kinda gal like me, salted caramel is the way to my heart… oh my goodness they were little bites of heaven, like angel tooshie bites). She also remembered this post, and gave me a copy of Larousse Gastronomique! Can you believe it?! And not even that but it’s a first English edition. I love this woman. I wonder if she’d be my Aunt too?Proving that Texans aren’t the only ones who can be generous, The Husband brought a bottle of Pastis (Ricard of course) along with him so everyone could sample a little bit of Provence in Texas.
Santé y’all!bisouP.S. The trip was fantastic and so much more than I could ever blog about, and there was only one thing missing… I didn’t get to see my friend Miss Minnesota. Well Miss Minnesota, next year, you and me are going to IHop for some silver dollar pancakes.P.P.S. And no little cowboy boots for Fifty although I did look. So we bought him a ball that had little feet attached to it and squeaked, but he loved it so much, he ate off the little feet within an hour, turning it into a plain old ball. and now that thing is MIA, I have no idea where he hides things. -
staying cool
You know how I said that this summer in Texas was hot, so hot in fact that the whole state just about burst into flames (this is no laughing matter, it really did), well it was, and it did. So basically The Husband did everything he could to stay cool, which meant water (I’m guessing his delicate French nature wasn’t accustomed to the scorching Texas sun).Here he is sliding down the slide.
And riding the floaty turtle.
Poor floaty turtle.C A N N O N B A L L !
And here he is staying cool and cheating on Fifty at the same time. Poor Fifty. But no worries, while we were on holiday in Texas, Monsieur Fifty was at ‘camp’.
We went to the lake too, where we tried to cool off, but it’s a little difficult when the lake has been baking in that scorching sun all summer, it basically turns into a lukewarm bath. It’s kind of icky. So we opted for pulley fun time instead.That’s me and Disco Gayle (who is currently with me in Le Petit Village, but at the moment she’s sleeping so I’m typing as quiet as a little mouse) all set for pulley fun time…
W O O H O O !We love pulley fun time!
Love it.
Until this happens…
{not happy}Getting flipped off of a raft during pulley fun time, is not nearly as much fun in your thirties as it is when you’re a kid. That sh*t hurt.And look who got to drive the boat…
But never during pulley fun time.Never.bisouP.S. If you would like help the many people who lost their homes during the Texas fires and look super cool at the same time, click this link here, and buy yourself a t-shirt. They’re awesomesauce. -
touristy bits & pieces
Behold… The Husband’s very first margarita. Ever. Almost thirty years old and never had a margarita. Deprived child. He loved it, which of course meant that he was trying to slurp it on down as fast as possible, but everyone knows that you can’t slurp a margarita down without… dun dun dun… B R A I N F R E E Z E.
My mother’s response to the dreaded brain freeze… “eat more salsa”. She thinks the spice of the salsa counteracts the freezing cold of the margarita. Maybe in your mouth but not in your brain. Bless. (I have a feeling I’m going to be in trouble later).The margaritas were had in downtown San Antonio on the Riverwalk. We decided to do our touristy stuff on the hottest day of the year (seriously, on the news later that night, they said that that day had been the hottest so far, which says quite a bit when the whole entire summer happened to be the hottest… aren’t we clever to be out and about in the sun on that day… and could be a reason why The Husband was slurping that margarita so darn fast, poor guy was withering).
{h o t}And of course we had to walk on over to see the Cradle of Texas Liberty, aka Mission San Antonio de Valero, aka the Alamo (just wanted to give you a little dash of Texas history… I’m not all fluff all the time you know). Heat be damned. And that scorching hot journey through history was followed up by the Tower of Americas which I had never been to before. Isn’t it funny how when you live somewhere, you don’t actually go anywhere. You know what I mean?
{The Husband and new buddy at the Alamo on left, the Tower of Americas on right}We finished off the day with a beer at air conditioned Hooters (which The Husband pronounces as ‘Ewteurs’). I knew he had to see it to believe it. But honestly, I still don’t think he believes it.You know what else is touristy in Texas… a high school football game. All the hoopla, the cheerleaders, the dance team, the crowds. The Husband was in awe that this was all for highschool. I was in awe at how young all the students looked, and how old I felt. Boo. That’s not a fun feeling.
Anyway, here’s me outside the stadium of my old Alma mater (I don’t look too old, right?). Gotta love those Friday night lights. To quote the immortal words of one Tim Riggins…“Texas Forever”bisouP.S. hang on in there… just a couple of chapters of Texas tales left to go -
a day at the ranch
{Texas BBQ}You would think that me being from Texas, and Papa being all about the hunting, that The Husband and I would be knee dip in camouflage, but nope, we’re not hunters. But somehow we still found ourselves at a hunting exposition in Texas (a friend was putting it on), which was kind of fun for The Husband, he got to play with guns for the day.
They even had pink ones for girls (or for boys who happen to like pink).
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Then next day, we went out to the ranch so The Husband could play with some guns for real. But first I needed to feed Kelly.
Kelly is a deer that thinks she’s a dog. Although I’d never let Fifty eat out of my hands like that. He doesn’t have Kelly’s impeccable manners.We loaded up the old Willys jeep (aka The Nazi Hunter) and headed out.
Love The Nazi Hunter, but loving The Nazi Hunter means you have to love all of it. Even it’s popping out of gear when you’re almost to the top of a steep hill. Not that it’s not fun sliding back down the hill, it is. But then you get stuck in a ditch and the tires spin, spin, and spin, and you begin to think that you’re going to be walking all the way back to the ranch house in 100+ heat and that wouldn’t be any fun at all, but then The Husband comes to the rescue jumping on the hood to add a little weight to the front tires.
My hero.After the rescue, The Husband did some target shooting for the rest of the afternoon and I hung out with Kelly, covering her little deer ears while the shots were being fired. I wish someone had covered my little ears.
Not too shabby.And you know what else isn’t too shabby?
A Texas sunset.bisou -
tacos & the walmart
I had tried to prepare The Husband for the heat but I don’t think he was aware of how truly hot Texas can get, especially this summer (it was a scorcher… literally). All he wanted to do was sit in the pool all day, everyday. Fine with me, that gave me some one on one time with the Walmart.We were there for sixteen days and we maxed those sixteen days out to the fullest (tried to anyway, when The Husband’s pool schedule allowed). So I think I’ll just tell you mini stories about some of the highlights, and show you some pictures too. (I wish I had all my pictures, but unfortunately a USB key has gone missing somewhere between my mother’s house and Le Petit Village. For the record, I’m positive that it’s somewhere in her house although she denies this, but whatever).
………………………………………………………………………………………………….I brought The Husband to eat at a Cracker Barrel on our drive from Dallas to San Antonio, let’s just say his first encounter with biscuits and gravy was pretty interesting. He stared at it for a bit with a strange look on his face while I sipped my sweet tea. Aw… Texas sweet tea… sweet nectar of the Gods.And I basically ate my weight in Mexican food while I was there. I sure did. My plan was to eat it until I was sick of it. I succeeded by my last day there. The Husband couldn’t handle it after day four. What can I say, I guess I’m made out of tougher stuff than he is.
On one of the many Mexican food nights, The Husband and I headed to a little local place for dinner, and as we got out of the car, my friend Texas Girl’s mother, Kiki pulled up (you may remember her from this adventure) confirming that not only do I live in a small town in France, but I’m from one as well. We ate together and got all caught up. I love happy little accidents.
And The Husband got in on the Walmart fun too. He found this large jar of dill pickles…
and thinking that they were giant cornichons, he threw them into the cart (he later discovered that they are not indeed giant cornichons and made a yucky face). And then he added a gallon of ice cream to the cart too. So, The Husband was craving pickles and ice cream.I wonder if there is something he needs to tell me.bisouP.S. Be sure to stay tuned for more Texas tales… pretty please… -
we're hunting wabbit
We interrupt my regularly scheduled Texas posts for this post of scandalous happenings in Le Petit Village.(Our little village sure does get a lot of action, doesn’t it?)
You see, the week before we left for Texas, The Honey house was robbed. They were out working with the bees and came home to find that some jewellery and money had been stolen (and let me tell you, there can be a lot of money in honey). But here’s the thing, because of how it was done (not going to go into details here) we all kind of assumed it was an inside job, because the burglars seemed like they would have had to have known certain things to pull it off.But then, last week, a holiday home down the road was robbed. Coincidence perhaps? Maybe not.Fast forward to yesterday… a gendarme (police to you and me) helicopter was hovering over Le Petit Village (or as I like to call it, a ghetto bird). And because that is definitely not a regular occurrence, I had to go out and see what was the what (along with the majority of other villagers as well… we’re a nosey bunch).So this is the what what… four men were spotted attempting to break into a house (a house that belongs to the nephew-by-marriage of my friend The Croupier’s Aunt… got that? Good). And because some gendarme already happened to be in the area, they were on hand to nab the burglars (get this… there has been some crazy, drunk hobo wondering our little streets for the past couple of days, and the gendarme were called in to shoo him away… I swear it’s true. I couldn’t make this nonsense up if I tried). But they only nabbed two of the burglars, the other two made a run for it. One ran into the old village and was soon caught (I’m sure with the help of Medieval Banshee that lives in there) and another ran into the woods. That’s when the ghetto bird was called in.But here’s the fun part. Not only was this man being stalked by the ghetto bird, and the roads in and out of the Le Petit Village blocked by the gendarme (it really must have been a slow crime day in France), but all of the local hunters decided that instead of hunting boar, they would do a little burglar hunting. So off they went into the woods with their guns and their dogs, and more than likely, their pastis too. And do you want to know who went with him? Papa did that’s who. Along with the brand new Texas Ranger badge with his name on it, pinned to his hunting vest (he thinks he’s been deputized, he really really does, I don’t have the heart to tell him it was a $5 souvenir from the Towers of America gift shop).If I was that burglar, I’d hope the gendarme found me first.And here’s my two cents… I’m kind of thinking that this band of burglars has been on the prowl casing the village for quite awhile and it was them that got the Honey house because they were just super prepared and here’s why… back in April, the day before The Husband and I left to go up to French Mommy’s for Easter, there was a knock on the door. Fifty starting going nutty, barking his little head off (a bit more than usual to be honest) so instead of opening the door I pulled back the curtain and could see a strange man standing there (strange as in I had never seen him before, not necessarily that he was weird, and we don’t usually see ‘strange’ people in these parts, except for tourists). I motioned for him to wait and kept the curtain pulled long enough for him to see an angry, going berserk, Fifty. I went over to the window, stuck my head out, and asked him what he wanted. He said he was selling calendars.Hmmm… strange man with accent that comes from a place far more east than France, selling calendars four months into the year, door to door in Le Petit Village. Yeah, nothing suspicious about that at all.I’m pretty sure that the strange man took one look at Fifty and crossed us off the burglarising list.So in my mind, Fifty totally saved the day.At least my jewellery anyway.bisou
P.S. Before I left for Easter at French Mommy’s, I did let the Mairie (aka the town hall) know about the strange calendar selling man.P.P.S. The last remaining burglar was nabbed but I don’t have the scoop yet on whether it was by the gendarme or the hunting party. As soon as I find out, I’ll update my Facebook page. -
Me in Texas (an introduction)
My, my, my, how do you write a post as big as Texas?
A little bit at a time, that’s how (and with absolutely no idea where to begin, hence the reason there’s been nary a peep from me for a week). So since I’ve been having a hard time getting this going, I’m just going to go ahead and jump in all bumbly like.
Y’all with me? Good.
Let’s talk Texas.
Or more precisely, me in Texas.
Apparently as soon as I step back on Texas soil I lose all my mojo. Any sense of coolness disappears and I kind of bungle about bumping into things and tripping a lot (my nickname in Texas is Handy… short for handicapped… I’m not joking. For the record, I’m pretty sure that if The Husband had met me in Texas, we never would have been. I’m that dorky there. For reals). And the way my lack of mojo-ness decided to manifest itself on my very first day back in Texas was through a random and strange swelling of my lips a few hours after I arrived (it may have been an allergic reaction to the mohair couch I was napping on, but we’ll never know, and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t change the fact that I looked like I had over done the lip injections… which kind of made me blend in a bit in Dallas, so kind of a bonus).
Yeah, so me and my big ol’ lips went to dinner at The Porch in Dallas with The Husband and my dear friend, The Puma (last seen here). And you know what? Having big ol’ swollen lips can really take it out of you, I was so exhausted, I couldn’t even drink my martini (in fairness, it was like 5am French time, and I don’t usually drink martinis at 5am). And while I was trying to keep my heavy head and big ol’ lips upright, The Husband was tackling his over sized French dip sandwich and trying to figure out why it was ‘French’. I told him to just go with it and enjoy the deliciousness. He did.
The next morning I woke up with normal sized lips in time for the drive on down to San Antonio. It felt good to be back on a large open road seeing Cracker Barrels and firework stands on the side, and once I cruised by Austin on I-35, I knew that I was home.
And as lame as it might be, that concludes the very first part of my Texas tale.
(but let’s treat it as more of an introduction)bisou
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It's Me, Sara Louise 