Merry France-mas

I know it is Christmas and this would be maybe a more relevant blog entry if it had anything to do with the birth of Jesus, but instead the topic pertains to how my morning has been spent. My lovely coworker, Cheryle, gave me a parting Christmas gift for the holiday in the form of Vicki Archer's book called, "My French Life". Little did she know that I have spent countless minutes sitting in Anthropologie getting lost in the story and images, but never could bring myself to just purchase it. This book is all about how Vicki Archer, her husband and three kids who were from Australia, find this farmhouse (more like farm mansion) in the south of France about 40 minutes outside of Aix-en-Provence. They purchase the land and broken down palace only to spend the next three years working rigorously to have it even livable. Livable in deed. I am obsessed with their story and her exceptional taste. I think I need to be her friend. She says so many things about the people of France, the way of the French woman, charm, the organic beauty of the land and praises the experience of travel, all of which resonate in the inner parts of my heart. I then proceeded to look around a bit on the internet at real estate for sale near the same area and stumbled upon this dream of a home. It is situated on three acres, and even though I have never seen it before, the image of the house seems oddly familiar and nostalgic. The last picture attached to this blog is of a door outside the apartment I lived in while studying at the Sorbonne in Paris. I also have a sincere infatuation with doors. They are the keeper of so many secrets, things & people to marvel at, lives, tears, great loves and a fortified protector to those they keep. This dried bouquet of flowers is especially intriguing to me. They are obviously dead and were once alive. No one ever removed them. Did the person the giver intended them for never receive them? Did they like them so much the receiver decided to leave them for all to see? Perhaps the mystery person was lazy or forgetful or always running late like me and thinks, "Oh yeah, I need to throw those out... I will do that when I get back." Only to forget until they are running out the door rushed next time? I would never think to paint my door that electric blue color and yet I appreciated that door so much on rue de Oberkamf. One of the details we made for our wedding was a fun questionnaire that was situated on all of the tables at the wedding. One of the questions asked us each where we would go and live if money and travel for limitless... Chris said, "I would say London, she would say Paris...I guess we will just have to take the Chunnel." He knows me well. My lovely new espresso machine makes drinks that taste like France and on a morning like this one where rest, indulgent writing and reading are the only things on my agenda; if felt like France, too.

Merry France-mas,
KP