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