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Rules For Tourists
Today, Le Petit Village is hosting a small festival. It’s small because Le Petit Village is small and small is all we can handle.But even though it will be small, we are expecting an even greater number of tourists than normal (the parking lot was filled last night, with cars parked in the field next to it).
In an effort to help the tourists enjoy their time in Le Petit Village, I’ve come up with a few guidelines so we can all get along and play nice together…
1. Please keep your dog on the leash, unless you are a dog whisperer and I’m guessing that you are not. You don’t know if your dog is going to play nice with the village dogs or perhaps, maybe one of the village dogs is in heat and you don’t want to look like an idiot chasing your dog as it tries to get some while we all laugh at you (although that was very funny, thanks for the chuckle random tourist).
2. If you find a parking spot that is just too good to be true and the spot is outside someones front door, please use your noggin, and your manners. Don’t park there. (And thank you random tourist, for all that exercise I got when you were in my parking spot and I was moving. All that lugging of bags and boxes to my far away parked car was a lot of fun for me.)
3. If you arrive in Le Petit Village before 9am on a Saturday or Sunday morning, please keep your voices down. Remember, there is no traffic and city noises to drown out your chatter and it’s not our favorite way to wake up.
4. Please do not park your two camping vans in the middle of the public parking lot so no one else can park there, and then set up chairs so all fifteen of you can have your lunch (Belgians I’m looking at you). No one else can get in the parking lot and I could barely walk in to unload my recyclables. Why would you want to eat lunch three feet away from a recycling container anyway? Weirdos.
5. Please don’t stare into house windows. That’s just rude. I’m not doing anything quaint. You’re not missing anything. Unless you would like to help me with the dishes and ironing, or perhaps walk Fifty, then by all means, knock on the door.
6. If I say bonjour, I’m being polite. It’s polite to return the favor.
I will write these out on a large sign to hang around Grandma Honey. Grandma Honey is like the Sheriff of Le Petit Village and she knows everybody’s business. She can wear it as she patrols the main street, using ‘watering her flowers’ or ‘shooing cats away‘ as her excuse to be all up in everybody’s grill.
Now, time for me to have my coffee,P.S. I’m feeling feisty this morning
P.S.S. But please notice how often I said please. I maybe feeling feisty, but I’m always polite.
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Inspired Questions…
Debby Lee at Inspired Design has tagged me in a blog questions and answers round. I shall do my best to be honest and somewhat entertaining. Coffee should kick in and brain should turn on any minute now…
1) What is the most interesting trip you have taken?
This one is a toss up…
I spent Xmas in Bucharest three years ago. Landing at the snow covered airport reminded me of Rocky 4 when they flew to Russia (I don’t know what it says about me that at 30 years old, sitting on an airplane, I thought; “ooh, this is just like Rocky 4.” I should probably keep some thoughts to myself). Bucharest still seems very cold war like and very foreign. When you travel to Spain, Italy, or France, they may speak a different language, but they are in Western Europe, and Western Europe and America share more similarities than differences. Eastern Europe is a whole other ballgame (and it’s not baseball). On Christmas Eve, I was at a dinner party for twelve people, who were all smoking (everyone there smokes, and drinks, a lot). The room was thick and the hostess feeling sorry for my reddening eyes kept insisting on opening the window of the apartment, despite the objections of the other guests who would close it immediately. Here’s a lesson… don’t open a window in the middle of winter in Bucharest. We’re talking a whole other realm of cold. We sat at that table for five hours as course after course of meats and pickled vegetables came out. I was in desperate need of vast quantities of wine to help wash the odd food down and numb my sore, red eyes. Have you ever had Romanian wine? Don’t. Luckily a shot glass is set on the table next to your wine glass for vodka and homemade fruit brandy.
The other was a trip to Australia when I was eight. It’s the last family holiday I remember taking (parents split when I was twelve). It was before the direct LA to Sydney flight and we flew from NYC to LA to Honolulu to Fiji and then on to Sydney. We spent the day on the beach in Honolulu and my dad bought flip flops at a drugstore. For some reason (and I maybe wrong in which I’m sure I’ll get a call from my mother) but I think that day in Honolulu, was the day I had my first chicken McNugget (this was like 1985 and obviously a monumental day in the life of a child).
In Australia, I held a koala bear, and played with baby kangaroos at Andalucia Park. My brother held some sort of huge snake because he’s crazy. We took an old rickety boat to the Great Barrier Reef and I threw up. As payback I stole some coral which I later used for a science fair project.
On the Gold Coast, my mother and I built a sand castle that we could see from the balcony of our hotel. It was there for two days until some bratty kid decided to play Godzilla and stomp on it. I hate that kid.2) What is you favorite item of clothing? Why?
My fitted, black DKNY suit jacket. Hardly ever wear it.
For my 16th birthday, my step-father gave me a gift certificate to Saks. My friend Bun and I waited outside the store on 5th Avenue in the February cold until they opened (Bun was wearing her black motorcycle jacket, such a hooligan). We headed straight to the sales rack and found my jacket. It was originally $400, and I got it on sale for $200 . I will never part with it even though it hardly ever gets worn. Too many memories in that thing (and it still fits!).3) What is the funniest thing that you have experienced?
The fact that I used to live in a bustling city and now live in Le Petit Village is pretty funny.4) If you could speak to one type of animal what would it be?
Dogs; Fifty, Ruby (Papa’s hunting dog), and Python (Brother-in-Law’s favorite Jack Russell)5) What would you ask said animal?
Fifty: What’s up with the abandonment issues? We’re not going to leave you, so chillax. Oh, and we know that you love us, you can stop with all the licking.
Ruby: Why are you so snobby and standoffish? Stop acting like Prince Phillip and get over yourself. You’re a dog
Python: Why are you such an a**hole? Seriously. Does Brother-In-Law not give you enough cuddles or something? You weigh like 20lbs, I could punt you across the village, so learn your place or else I will.6) Who has made the biggest impact on your life?
Probably The Husband, because I’m here, learning French, and surrounded by French things, and French people. It’s all very French. And weird. I keep thinking I’ll wake up one day, get dressed, and go back to work at that bank that’s going under. And not have to speak French. Because it’s all been like one big, weird, French dream.7) What was your favorite childhood tradition?
We dressed for dinner on Sundays; china, crystal, and elbows off the table.8) What was your biggest decorating faux pas?
I don’t really have one yet because I’ve never owned my own home and The Husband and I aren’t in a place yet where we will be decorating decorating. It’s still a hodge podge of his and my (mostly my) stuff. But we could count The Husband’s weight bench being in the living room as a faux pas. Thankfully, it is now in the garage where he and Honey Jr hang out. I might lock them both in there one day.Would you be so kind as to indulge my curiosity?I’m dying to know your biggest decorating faux pas -
Let Them Drink Rosé (and Pastis)
some guy named Monet painted thisToday we celebrate La Fête Nationale.221 years ago (2010 – 1789 = 221, right?), the Bastille was stormed and some heads rolled (literally).In honor of the revolution, the guillotine, and all that storming, I will be doing my own storming… -
Boo-Boo
Remember that random moving injury I got?
What seemed like an innocent enough cut on my shin has grown angry, red and swollen over the past few days. It’s hot and throbbing, and I can’t jog. It’s making me miserable. All the antiseptic and iodine in the world is not making it any better so tonight, the doctor is coming (house call!) to hopefully make it better and in turn, make me a happy camper.
In the meantime, to try to cheer me up and take my thoughts away from how ugly my leg looks and how ugly it will probably still look at The Cousin’s wedding at the end of July (big ugly cut does not make a fab accessory) let’s look at some happy summertime photos…
Strawberries. Bright, cheery, and delicious. What’s not to like?And how about this view from Le Petit Village…Absolutely breathtaking.And check out this guy on his moped…It’s hot, so naturally you would attach a garden umbrella to the back. I mean who wouldn’t?Because I have a huge boo-boo, The Husband is trying to take care of me…
This is The Husband’s attempt to cook. He made a salad. Or should I say, a cheese salad. There is like three or four different types of cheese in that with a little bit of endive at the bottom. God knows he tries. Bless him.Lavender, lavender, and more lavender….But be careful, lots of bees in that lavender.Sidebar – Mr. Honey and Honey Jr are basically immune to bee stings. Since their family has been honey farmers for generations, it’s like their DNA has been mutated and bee stings do nothing to them. Mutant X-Men freaks.Kicking it on a mini-moped…And no explanation required…Rosé.Or as I like to call it,Pain Go Bye Bye Juice. -
Happy In France
Scottish farm girl, Sarah Elizabeth (who lives in Italy and is about to marry her gorgeous Italian man) has kindly passed on the Happy 101 award to me.
Grazie Signora!
I’ve decided that instead of listing ten things that make me happy (like this time), I’m going to list things that make me happy about living in France. It will be interesting to see if anything has changed since my Petit Rave awhile back…
1. When the weather is nice and the sun is shining, Provence is truly beautiful. The sky is a perfect blue, the scenery is breathtaking, and the air is scented with lavender. Everyday is a holiday.
2. My morning jog with Fifty. The views are stunning and it’s quiet, only the two of us are on the road (sometimes Vicky joins us). I love to watch the wind make waves in the tall grassy field as we jog on by. I like to pretend the grass is waving at us, so we wave back (I totally made that last part up… that would be a little nuts).
3. Serious food. Serious meal time. Once you sit down you’re not getting up for at least two hours. Seriously.
4. Learning about French wine. I’m not studying or anything, it’s a trial and error kind of thing and I’m loving it. Before moving here, I was more of a New World red kind of girl. I loved big brash Australian Shirazes, Argentinian Malbecs, and South African Pinotages. When I did dabble in the Old World, it was usually a Spanish Rioja or Italian Barbesco or if my wallet could afford it a Barolo, but I always stayed clear of French wines. Maybe I was intimidated by the Bordeaux and Burgandies, never knowing that there seems to be so many more French wines then I could have known (and I’m sure some are not very sophisticated but I’ve grown fond of them)… Corbieres, Vacqueryas, and Bruilly oh my! And don’t even get me started on my Provencal Rosés… these are dangerous because they are so good, and so easy to drink, before you know it… oops, bottle gone!
5. No convenience food on my doorstep. As much as I hate this sometimes, it’s better because I’m forced to eat healthier (hardly any processed foods passes my lips these days). And truth be told, while in Dublin catching up on one of my hungover treats (watch out Dipso alert!) of chips and curry sauce, I couldn’t finish eating it because it made me feel so gross. All that healthy eating has now begun to repel bad eating, and that has to be a good thing.
6. The new bar owner, aka, The Parisian. He makes Mojitos and Caipirnhas! I can now get a cocktail in Le Petit Village! A pig just flew by my window! I may be the only one who orders them (while Le Villagers look on curiously), but who cares, more for me!
7. Le Petit Village is less than a three hour drive to Monaco and from there only about twenty minutes to Italy. That’s just cool, I mean Monte Carlo, really. How James Bond is that? (And by the way, the booze in Italy is ridiculously cheap, it reminds me of my Texas days when we’d drive to Mexico.)
8. My little garden at my new house. It’s not the least bit pretty at the moment, and still needs a lot of work, but I’m loving sitting outside in the early evening with a book and Fifty at my feet.
9. The TGV. Now I have yet to take the high speed train anywhere, but I’m always talking about taking it somewhere. It’s nice to know that it’s there, ready to whisk me off somewhere fabulous, and at a high speed.
10. The Husband. He’s a happy kind of guy.
(great name for a girl, isn’t it? she must be a Zappa kid) -
Oh My God She Found Us
Looks like I’m not the only one who’s back…After being locked inside with a bad case of the heat,Miss Vicky is back out on the prowl and looking for her man.I wasn’t ready to bring Fifty out to play,so she waited (more like pouted and sulked)…And Fifty cried.Aw… -
Guess Who's Back…
Back again. Sara Louise is back. Tell your friends.(I just ganked Eminem’s lyrics a bit there)
Yes my peeps I’ve returned to the wonderful world of Internet. In a very un-French like way, my wifi has been hooked up much earlier than expected. A wonderful surprise (French Yeah!) after a week of hell that besides being made up of packing, cleaning, more cleaning, and unpacking, it also included…
An ironing injury…
I truly am specialGetting yelled at by a rude man. All I can say is he’s lucky he can’t understand English. But, I’m sure he understood some of my colorful French phrases (I’m really getting good at these, I used hand gestures and everything).
A random moving injury…
this is my shin by the wayAnd the cherry on the Sundae… Brother-in-Law’s 18 year old girlfriend is pregnant. That doesn’t hurt my 33 year old self at all. Not in the least. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.
Because The Husband is less than handy around the house (although he does try, God love him) the fridge is full of beer for more handy friends who have been coming over to help here and there. We’ve got; Italian beer (Birra Moretti), Mexican (Corona), Belgian (Stella Artois and Abbaye du Ry Ternel) and French (1664). This keeps our friendly workers happy. And me happy. Because when it’s hot, it’s Corona time (I’ve been hoarding the Corona but I’d kill for a Dos Equis).
And in true Provencal style, it took Papa four trips (evenings drinking beer) to fix the washing machine. He would come over, have a beer, and stare at it for awhile telling us what he needed to do and how easy it would be.
Because it was 4th of July, and Papa was coming over to finally fix the washing machine and put up some shelves, he would be eating with us. I decided to make 4th of July fajitas and invited Papa’s Wife as well. I warned them that this would be a very casual, non traditional Sunday lunch, especially since Papa was supposed to be doing stuff, not sipping Rosé and Limoncello. Casual my foot. I had everything setup buffet style and then Brother-in-Law and his girlfriend showed up unannounced and lunch went from four to six and I realized that the French don’t understand buffet casual and ended up having to set the table, and lunch became a two hour affair. The fajitas didn’t go down so well. My french family clearly doesn’t understand Texan cuisine. They just sat there looking confused and referring to them as crepes. Maybe I won’t cook them Chicken Fried Steak after all. Or maybe I will, and really scare the crap out of them.
Bonus of 4th of July lunch, I got to use my awesome new Texas glasses…
(Thanks to The Puma, Keeks, and Texas Girl… my Texas crew that was here a couple of weeks ago… I’ll fill you in on their craziness soon).It’s been one week in the new house but I still have a whole bunch of work to do. Here’s some of the stuff waiting to be unpacked (only some)…
I collect suitcasesLast night I ordered those vacuum storage bags to store our winter clothes. Let’s hope climate change doesn’t French that plan up (you can really apply that phrase anywhere).
But while I’m covered in that moving cleaning grime it’s nice to take a break and check out one of the best things about of the new house, the view…
from my kitchen window as the sun rised this morning -
à bientôt
This is it.
Last day to finish up at the old chez moi.
Here’s a question….
How come when The Husband moved into our old place it wasn’t clean, and our new house wasn’t cleaned for us, but I have to spend a day cleaning the old place to leave it clean for the new tenants?
I think I’m getting Frenched.
(Frenched is my new term, ie; I’m being Frenched over, or my favorite; French you.)
So here we are…
The garden at the new house has been tamed (tamed, not finished). 99% of our stuff has been moved. But that 99% of our stuff is everywhere. I was trying to move everything in a calm and organized manner, but the thing about moving down the road, organization goes out the window. Since you don’t have to pack for a long haul journey, everything is pretty much thrown into handbags and shopping bags and then dumped.
And now after sleeping at the new place, I’m back at the old place with my coffee (it’s 5am) and Fifty to get finished and say goodbye to the internet.
(Poor Fifty, he’s very confused at the moment.)
Because sometimes French companies are less than efficient, I will be without my friend WiFi for the next two weeks until it’s setup at the new place.
No internet. No blog. No Facebook. No contact with the outside world. No Real Housewives of New Jersey.
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Busy Busy Busy
It’s moving weekend.
Yesterday we got the keys to our new home and have started the massive clean up (homes in France don’t come sparkling clean and empty).
I want it clean clean clean before we move our stuff over.
And that wonderful little garden I’m so excited about needs a little work…
A lot of work.And in the middle of cleaning, moving, and gardening, I’m trying to keep a heated Vicky away from Fifty. This is not an easy task. I think she’s feeling a little bad about that whole Leo affair and now she’s working overtime to keep her man (and steal his innocence).When I opened up the shutters yesterday morning, there she was, waiting.Stalker.
So yeah, busy.
But the sky in Le Petit Village was so beautiful last night, I had to take a photo and share it with you…
The Husband told me that pink skies mean the return of the Nazi Ghost Zombies.Great.One more thing to worry about.Like that stalker in heat isn’t enough.bisou -
The Husband's Birthday
Yesterday, was The Husband’s birthday and to celebrate, I did something I rarely do, I baked (I’m a cooker, not much of a baker).(And if you remember a couple posts back, it was Brother-In-Law’s birthday only a few days ago… guess what Papa likes to do in September… bowchickabowwow).
We have a teeny tiny oven, it’s bigger than a toaster oven, but not quite an adult sized oven. It makes me feel like I’m using one of those lil’ Suzy Homemaker ovens. And because I felt like I little girl, baking little girl goods, I baked little girl cupcakes.
(It took three batches, three separate baking rounds in that teeny tiny oven. We’re talking a whole morning, gone, baking).
I opened up the windows to let the sunshine in and cranked up some Lynyrd Skynyrd for my baking enjoyment (and it gave the tourists a nice soundtrack as they rambled around outside… I have to hear their chatter, they have to hear my Skynyrd… WOOHOO!! Free Bird! YEAH!).
Baking does give me the excuse to get all retro and bust out one of my vintage tea aprons. Yes, I collect vintage tea aprons. Because I’m that dope.
The chaos of my cooking (method to my baking madness)…
Some of the finished little bitty girly cupcakes…(I’m a terrible food photographer)And Fifty insisted on wearing a bow to look more festive…He’s smiling because he looks dapperThe Husband, right after blowing out the candles on his little girl cupcakes…(he didn’t want to wear a bow)And then in honor of The Husband’s birthday, the good ol’ USA, went ahead and beat Algeria in that Sporting Even That Cannot Be Named.

