History of a home continues. . . . . . .

A house is a collection of objects, but a home is a collection of stories.
Favorite pieces often come to us with a history.

Antique, hand stitched  table linen from Carcassonne, France

I'm ready to get some serious Spring cleaning underway as my role of 'Nurse Grandma'

 (Jasmin returned home and is doing well and should be driving/working by mid-week)

 is over - many thanks again for your get-well wishes, she read them all.

During the' nursing' period, while Jasmin recuperated from her Appendectomy

 surgery, I was also a landscaper.  Bob and I moved, and spread, 10 cubic yards

 (imagine a small Mt. Everest arising from the driveway) of cypress wood chips

 around the back garden for water and weed control, clean walking areas etc.

 I recall when we could do it in a day, this time it took most of the weekend in

 such intense heat! Aching backs and hips, but we survived, finishing up  

yesterday afternoon after brunch.

 I was actually the impromptu Mother's Day Brunch 'chef' - I'm a glutton for

 punishment, right?  Served in the gazebo despite temperatures reaching

 the high 90's by early afternoon. It was so much nicer in many ways -

 requiring no standing outside in a restaurant line in the raging heat, fighting

crowds at buffets, or being served perhaps not such great food, and at those

 huge prices they charge on such family occasions.

A French pear and blueberry Gateau de Mamy - Mother's Day dessert - whipped up

Sunday morning. . . . . . . . 

. . . . . after fresh fruit smoothies, Muesli with strawberries, warm croissants

 with scrambled local farm eggs and Manchego cheese, hot coffee, and

 of course a chilled, very chilled, rosé from Provence with dessert.

I'm hoping your weekend was lovely whether you were part of the 

Sunday's celebration as a mother, or enjoying time with, or memories

of, your own dear mother.