Red Shirt, 20" x 25.5", oil pastel, watercolor and graphite on paper
Lemon, 20" x 25.5", oil pastel on paper
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it's been a banner inter-cultural exchange weekend here.
last night i was stopped by Sweet Hair Girl as i walked up to the market. she was excited and animated–after a proper greeting (kiss kiss, ca va?) i understood that she and her two girlfriends (whom i was introduced to!) were telling me that she's left our usual salon! non! she was worried about finding me and Maman again–she knew we lived just down the road, which she wandered up and down a few times searching for us. imagine. thank goodness we ran into each other–i'd not have anyone else do my hair–she's absolutely charming and i really enjoy speaking in french with someone near my age, someone i would be friends with. well, maybe we are friends now–after she's settled in her new salon, opening in two weeks, we're going to go get a coffee!
then this morning, Monsieur Bernard rang the bell at the house with mom's wallet, keys and Carmex (?!) in hand. we had arranged to meet at La Poste because he wasn't familiar with Antibes, but he managed to find it afterall from my inadequate-in-any-language directions. another happy greeting (kiss kiss ca va?) what a charmer! he was expressive and excited to have found Maman. though the cash and cards are gone of course it is a comfort to have the wallet back–and the all important Carmex.
and then, a few minutes later i was walking Ruby down Dog Pee Lane when a small Frenchman started talking to me–i wasn't paying attention at first, but then realized he was complimenting me on my 'picking up'. he did a little dog-poo-avoidance dance to demonstrate how he has to walk down his lane until everyone picks up 'les crottes' like i do. and he smiled.
i can't describe what a triumph a few interactions like this feels like. the frenchies walk about with grim, dour faces on –a wall between themselves and the strangers they are surrounded by. to crack that, to make a connection–especially in their language–is a feat! and when it happens–their smiles are so genuine and remarkable. it makes me feel good all day. -
Coast II, acrylic and ink on paper, 25.5" x 20"
Coast Night, acrylic on paper, 20" x 25.5" -
Mom's purse was stolen last night while she and Bert were eating at DeCito. money, credit cards, French bank card—gone. (and i'm really bumming–she had our only pot of Carmex in there). that's what she gets for going to our local without me. the staff was just as upset as she was, Cute Waiter said he knew they'd be back to pay another time—they're there like clockwork often more than once a week.
the form at the Gendarmerie was in French, German, Italian and English–no trouble really there, they see this kind of thing quite regularly. Bert has a set of housekeys so they were able to get in the house, though he had to add a dark comment before going to bed : "I hope no one comes in and murders us in the night." nice.
i got a call this morning on my cell phone–a message from a Monsieur Bernard who found mom's "petite porte-monnaie" in the lane behind the restaurant where he works in Villeneuve-Loubet. he was so excited when i called him back–thrilled to bits that he was able to reach me, especially when he found out the wallet he found belongs to "Maman". he went on and on about how he had to try to figure out who this unfortunate dame was by sorting through the strange bits in her bag. and then he found my "girl at large" card with an obviously french phone number on it. formidable! and he's even kind enough to come to Antibes tomorrow morning to drop it off though it has to be early, as he says, because he has to have Sunday lunch with his Papa at Maman, "C'est tres important" you know. yes, i know.
p.s. oh, and we did the whole thing in french! i understood every word! proves my theory–when you HAVE to understand and speak another language, you CAN. -
i got scolded again today for not bringing Miss Ruby with me to the Tabac. i scored smiles and laughs (so rare!) when i said, in french, that she's trying to quit! yeah me.
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Mike is coming for a visit! not until May though, i shall hardly be able to stand the anticipation! i should get some rest beforehand–i'm guaranteed not to get any sleep the week he's here.
And Miss Dawn is still considering her options for a visit this spring as well.
gee guys, good thing i ended up staying longer, i was supposed to be back in the States by now remember? though you could have always visited mom i suppose. -
i have to have a Huf Haus. the entire thing is PRE-FAB in the factory in Germany–the structure up onsite and water-tight in ONE WEEK. freakin' brilliant. now, where's my latest copy of dwell magazine?
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Haut-de-Cagnes
we've been feeling a little house-bound lately, so mom and i decided to spend the afternoon in the medival village of Haut-de-Cagnes (above Cagnes sur Mer), have a little lunch and a wander around in the tiny, charming lanes. lunch was great–the town is dead quiet this time of year, though it wasn't much busier when i was there this past summer (the tourists don't know that much about it and head to nearby and over-run St. Paul instead). i took a few shots for some future work, i'll probably return soon for some sketching–i had done Rue/Haut de Cagnes some time ago from sketches/pics of one of the narrow, moody streets. lunch was great; enough warm sunshine to eat outside with a sliver view of the sea, enjoying a warm slice of apple and pear tart. our wander around was great–though steep–until we inadvertently wandered right out of town! so, we really only killed about three hours and are back in the house again already. oops. -
i'm still amazed. i can still be stopped dead in my tracks in rue d'Antibes, mesmerized. how do they do it?
how do these women walk in those heels? i'm not talking cushy platforms or one inch business heels or even accommodating stewardess numbers. i'm talking 4 to 6 inches of spike resting precariously on a rubberized cap the size of a pencil eraser. the angles of these things are sharp, steep and terrifying to me. how the tendons of the ankle can handle the stress, i can't imagine. i don't even think Barbie could manage it.
and everyday, everywhere i see ladies of every age wearing them shopping, walking the dog, even running to catch the train–over gaping grates, through cobblestones more closely resembling earthquake rubble—teetering and tottering they go in shoes that can only be described as death-defying.
i'm a convert to French fashion sense, i won't deny it. i've been wearing mostly black for a decade (longer if you count the mod years), i've traded in standard cut jeans for boot-leg in a mild-to-moderate camel-toe fit, most of my handbags now come in bags of their own, i've nipped in my dresses, tossed out the baggy sweaters, paid so much for bras and undies that i can list them on my renters insurance, and am no stranger to the endless ways a scarf can be tied. yes, Dawn, it is a law that you have to wear a scarf here.
but those heels. there are some things i just can't bring myself to do. i'll blame it on my fear of hieghts.
