What is it?The Daily Cure for me is trying to smell taste touch—really experience— something, each day, that reminds me that I'm alive and, mostly, happy to be here. A small moment that should go a long way, at least in theory.
Category Archives: FRANCE
That make-it-pretty gene? The French have it too. Let things get old. Honor them. Live with them. Stack them. Layer them. Let them be. The hilltop town of Vézelay is the proof.
It was sunny and hot for weeks. And then as intensely as it had been feverish, it was the opposite. Sweaters out of the mothballs. And a chance to look at things under a different sky.
My first post here was entitled “The importance of blue.” That was August 8, 2010. Nearly 5 years have gone by, and in those 5 years, so much has happened, hasn’t it? For you, I hope they’ve been 5 amazing years … Continue reading
There’re a ton of jokes out there about how hot it is. It’s so hot, the fire hydrants are chasing dogs. It’s so hot chickens are laying hardboiled eggs. It’s so hot I can’t be bothered to list another one. Round … Continue reading
The Fisherman always says—so I assume it’s an Italian saying although it might just be his—“Look back. Go back.” He means, if you practice the ritual of looking back as you’re leaving a place you love, you will be there … Continue reading
Remember that scene in Mommy Dearest, when the Joan Crawford character is screaming at her daughter about wire coat hangers and how much she can’t stand them? Edited, it basically goes like this: “No… wire… hangers! … What’re wire hangers … Continue reading
I am married to a fisherman. In some households that constitutes widowhood: a spouse abandoned, while the other stands next to a stream or river or sea. I’m most usually only a Sunday widow. But it’s OK in the extreme. … Continue reading
I confessed to a good friend of mine just yesterday that I felt stuck, lacking direction and waiting rather impatiently for my personal fog to clear. She gave me the best advice a girl could give: to enjoy the fog and … Continue reading
Blacks are black. Greys are infinite. The surprises are red and ochre and frosty sage. My toes lose feeling—it’s cold—but I’m distracted by a passing train and the beauty of ice hanging in the air over freshly turned clods of … Continue reading
Yes, the 25th of December was indeed Christmas. If there’d been any confusion about it, the stockings, gingerbread house, fly-away bits of wrapping, and abundant food would have clued you in. But I knew it was Christmas, really Christmas, when I stood … Continue reading