Author Archives: The Daily Cure

Harvesting future memories

One day last October, though I was deep in my Italian city routine, my hands smelt of lavender. I was making sachets from the flowers I’d harvested in France over the previous summer. I was missing Burgundy, the country, the … Continue reading

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The beauty of boredom*

With the city and all its built-in toys and distractions far behind, we spend more time wondering what to do with ourselves. Twiddling our thumbs. Sitting. The To Do list is shorter here** and so one has time to grow … Continue reading

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How much is that doggy in the arm chair?

Last Sunday, despite inhospitable weather conditions (the kind you grow to expect here in July), we repeated one of our favorite summer rituals: the antique market at Noyers-sur-Serein. This isn’t your typical vide-grenier. It’s a much more elegant affair with … Continue reading

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Let the games begin

Year round, moored in the river, mostly unused and waiting, are two small punts—one blue, one red—each with a raised platform at one end. On one side of the prow is written: “You will go.” Tu iras. On the other … Continue reading

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Byrrh, not beer

Browse around the houses up and down the street here—this one included—and you might run into one of these: an old publicity card for Byrrh apéritif. I’ve been looking at this one propped behind our telephone for 10 years, without … Continue reading

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A late happy 4th of July: Amber waves of blé

Like many of you, I grew up singing a national anthem about something I’d never seen: amber waves of grain. Not only had I never experienced them first hand; I certainly had no idea why one would sing an impossible … Continue reading

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Clafoutis

When I come to France, it is one of my small (and great) pleasures to browse the crumbling cookbooks that have been in this house for generations. My favorite is entitled La Véritable Cuisine de Famille par Tante Marie—”the good, … Continue reading

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Corrections

In my just-published post, I referred to David Lynch’s movie as True Story. It should read (and now does): The Straight Story. I also referred yesterday to Remembrance of Things Past as Memory of Things Past. My remembrance of things … Continue reading

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My kind of truck

Traffic—charmingly—doesn’t flow the way it’s supposed to. A tractor turns onto the road in front of you laden with logs that hang far off the back brandishing a red hanky. Your speedometer, accordingly, takes a nose dive. Or another, headed … Continue reading

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Aromatic in three languages

French dirt inspires me. I get here, and I have to plant something, sink my fingers into the layers of spent or rich soil, finding a way to give life to another color another leaf-shape another perfume another future memory. … Continue reading

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