What sign are you?

Posted on August 10, 2012 by The Daily Cure

I’m not sure anything is more iconic, here, than the street signs. Blue. Usually ornate. Most commonly with a sans-serif font enhanced by a slight, clean, white linear drop shadow.


When I take my walks, I invent stories for the signs I see, filling in the blanks started by such words as dames, soeurs, neuve. Ladies Street, but which ladies? Sisters Street, but which sisters and what virtue or misdemeanor were they known for? Were they great beauties? Were they criminals? And, excuse me, but Rue Neuve, New Street, looks utterly ancient. Ancient.


Some sit gracefully under branches heavy with maturing plums or window boxes with draping geraniums. Others are nothing more than functional. Some are practically hidden from view, posted on streets so narrow, you forget to look up as you squeeze between the walls that flank you on either side. Some describe a location, destination or feature connected to the street itself. Others describe the street’s function. Some name abstract concepts. Some name names. But most leave much to the imagination.


It would be nice to make our own names, to fill in the blank and the story behind it, as if we were pre-mapping our own destinies, or at least our next move. Rue de la Passion. Rue de la Moitié de la Lune. Rue de la Poésie. Rue du Fou Rire. Rue de la Mère Contente, which intersects with Rue du Martini Parfait. (Passion Street, Half Moon Street, Poetry Street, Fit of Laughter Street, Happy Mother Street, Perfect Martini Street.)

Or, if our French were lacking, as mine really, truly is, we could misconstrue the meaning entirely in French, and make do with the English verb. Here’s mine. Rue Nothing. No regrets. Now, that’s the street for me to follow! What’s yours?

Posted in AROUND US, FRANCE | Tagged , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

“Habituating” myself, Jefferson-style

Posted on August 9, 2012 by The Daily Cure

I know it’s dreadfully tacky to begin articles, essays and thoughts in general with quotes, but indulge me. Being in the country makes me think about other people for whom country living is or was important. And so, sometimes, I think of Thomas Jefferson who said: “Walking is the best possible exercise. Habituate yourself to walk very far.” I have found, and it’s no exaggeration, that walking has come close to curing me of many dark ailments. Depression. Difficulty in general. Lapses in creativity or mental acuity. And, pain. Walking got me through a divorce. And it saved me when culture shock was doing me in. Walking is, in a word, miraculous. It makes everything move, body and brain, and like the aforementioned vacation effectively empties the mind of trash, making room for good stuff or at least interesting questions to ponder. So let’s go. And let’s see what bubbles up. One step into it, the questions start:

Why was my last blog so profoundly boring?
Why do I feel the need to write?
Wouldn’t it be better to serve people in a more “real” way?
Is one person’s life really any better than someone else’s?
How quickly can a sky change?
Am I feeling different yet?
When was this road last paved?

If someone tried to assault me out here, where would I hide?
How many hours or days does it take to plow these fields?
Does the man driving the tractor get bored?
Does he dream of living in a city?
Does he practice philosophy or zen meditation up and down the rows?
Deer, where are you today? Are you hiding in the copse?
What did this all look like before man was here?

How long has this land been cultivated?
Why was a bench placed by the roadside just here?
Who thought, like me, that this was a view worth looking at?
How many young couples have kissed here?
How many people have contemplated existence here?
What will I see at the top of the hill?
Even though I know the answer, why is it always a beautiful mystery?

Why was a lone tree left standing?
Does a lone tree have feelings of independence and uniqueness?
Does it know how beautiful it is?
Is it possible to become great at something now?
What does it mean to age?
What is getting older really about?
What will it feel like to die?

Why does the question not scare me right now
even though it usually does?
Why does this scenery make me tingle?
What is it about being alone?
Why is it so good to disappear like this?
Is anonymity a cure?
Would fame be a good thing or a bad thing?

Where am I going?
Is it time to turn back?
What’s lying over there?
Where does wind come from?
Is anything more beautiful than the underside
of a wind-whipped branches?
What is light?
How thrilling is gravity?
How many steps does one take?
Is there really no end?
No end? No end.

Posted in FRANCE, WHAT TO DO | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

Old thing. New life.

Posted on August 8, 2012 by The Daily Cure

Vacation’s over. Time to get to work—scare up a project or two, roll up the shirt sleeves and apply some muscle. God knows there are enough of them (projects, I mean) lying around waiting to be ticked off the list. One of the great things about passing time in an old country barn is that “things to do” practically leap out at you. There’s always something to be cleaned or maintained or loved or re-fashioned.


There’s long been a collection of lovely, old things lying around that don’t quite make it into modern life. They’re almost broken. Almost functional. Almost beautiful. Most definitely long past their prime. Relics of the way things were. I grabbed up as many as I could a year or so ago, cleaned them, repaired them if I could and put them to use where it was possible to do so. A broken whetting stone. Munitions boxes from World War II. Barrel staves. Tools. A broken ladder. I love these old things far more than I love any new ones. So this time, I took the ladder, some planks of wood and the old saw, and made myself a gardening étagère.


There wasn’t much to do, except saw. And saw. And saw. It took me and my girlie arms an entire day of sawing and sweating to make the pieces—the handle of the saw was disintegrating in my damp palm by the end of it all—and the following sunny morning to assemble. It’s not pretty, but it’s just what I’d envisioned. First job, planting that lovely purple-flowered cat mint, and putting in three “Caramel” coral bells. The undersides of the leaves are a beautiful, rich magenta which plays beautifully against the ivy and the hot pink anemones, rocketing upward in the plant next door. Ah gardening…but that’s another story for another time…

Posted in FRANCE, WHAT TO DO | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

Day 10: A dog’s life

Posted on August 7, 2012 by The Daily Cure

We don’t go anywhere without our dog. She’s fourteen and a half. We don’t know how much longer we’ll have her. She’s been with us from the beginning of “us.” Like so many dogs, she was the first real commitment—the first other being who needed us to take care of her. She taught us how to care about someone else in that way that dogs do. She was our first child.


Her greatest love has always been water. And so, this year in Cap Ferret, we took her to the gentle water of the Bay at high-tide. The waves are non-existent. Nothing unexpected to knock her off her unsteady feet. At first she just sat, sinking in the sand, her legs folding under her at odd angles like they do now. (In her old age, she’s become a yogi, surpassing impossible tests of flexibility and holding unthinkable positions while maintaining a relaxed mental state.) She looked out at the water as if to say, “Hmmm. What exactly am I supposed to do with all this wetness?”


And then it came back to her. She let the water lift her up and away from the weight of her own body. She headed out toward the horizon, her tail acting as rudder (her tail hadn’t forgotten how to do its job!) And she was off, making large, lazy circles in the water like once upon a time. This was probably the last time she will swim, so I was both really happy and really sad to witness it. But dogs don’t let sadness linger. She shook off my melancholy along with the excess water and said, “I’m done. Let’s go home and dry off.” So that’s what we did. Once back at the house, she had one more thing to say: “It ain’t over ’til it’s over, so cheer up.”

[If you enjoyed this post, you might also like to see Luna in another blog cameo. “Thing 1: The Sea.”]

Posted in FRANCE, OUT & ABOUT | Tagged , , , , | 11 Comments

Day 9: The heart of the matter

Posted on August 6, 2012 by The Daily Cure

The thing about a vacation is this: it’s not really your real life. And most of what you do on vacation is an active escape from the day-to-day that normally defines you. Play-acting in that parallel vacation universe helps you to forget and to unwind. It helps you let go just a little bit, hopefully just enough, of the stuff—all the stuff—that can weigh you down at home.

I’ve been thinking about the heart of the word vacation. We vacate when we empty our houses for other places, or even when we voluntarily leave our workplaces for the sheer purpose of doing nothing. But the real vacation happens when we find that we’ve somehow managed to empty ourselves, unwittingly making room for fresh feelings and hopes and perspectives to take up residence and nest inside us, healing the bits that needed healing. And so—

And so, perhaps the heart of my vacation in Cap Ferret had little to do with food or wine or anything you could or couldn’t buy. It had nothing to do with the house we rented. Or the fancy people who were renting much fancier houses. The heart of my vacation was when I hit “empty.” And that amazing thing happened when I found myself alone in the middle of a place which, in the modern sense of the word, was itself quite eloquently empty…in a place where there were no other people (for that moment), where nothing was happening, where nothing was for sale, nothing was entertaining me…where nothing nothing mattered except just being there, being still, being empty enough to take it all in. Because in actual fact, the place where I found myself, was perfectly, abundantly, profoundly full.


Posted in FRANCE, OUT & ABOUT | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Closed/Week in review

Posted on August 4, 2012 by The Daily Cure

“Closed/Week in review” is something I did every week when I was blogging consistently. I’ll try to keep it up, but patience please if I can’t. Have a lovely weekend!

Monday
“Day #4: Sunny vs. cloudy—a test”
In which we debate which we prefer—sunny or cloudy—
and the balanced approach wins.
(Read this.)

Tuesday
“Day #5: Those come hither alleys”
In which we are invited/pulled/seduced by
those small spaces between fishermen’s cabins.
(Read this.)

Wednesday
“Day #6: C’est pas bon ça”
On the tendency of some shop owners to prohibit photography
and the tendency of some bloggers to wonder why.
(Read this.)

Thursday
“Day #7: Textures and patterns”
On the ever-present beauty of stripes
and polka dots on the coast of France.
(Read this.)

Friday
“Day #8: Time to eat (when isn’t it?)”
In which we pay homage to
seaside edibles.
(Read this.)

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Day 8: Time to eat (when isn’t it?)

Posted on August 3, 2012 by The Daily Cure

Breakfast
Try as I might, bran and yogurt just weren’t my choice for the morning meal in Cap Ferret. With a bakery like Chez Pasqual in Le Canon cranking out yummies every morning by 7:30 like the one you see below, I was doomed.


It’s called a “Sacristain,” and it almost defies description. I’d surrendered on the first day of our stay to an “Almandine” but it was too heavy, too luscious, too richly almondy and buttery. On the second day, my faithful breakfast delivery person (husband) came home with le Sacristain. A fluffy twisted puff pastry, crowned—at least in their version—by a paper thin layer (veil? mantel?) of what seemed to be meringue (if such a thing is possible) with flaked almonds and a dusting of that devilish powdered sugar we are told to avoid. Sinful, miraculous, and seemingly (though we all know it wasn’t) light as a cloud—it melted and crunched in my mouth at the same time and proclaimed itself the Pastry of Choice for the rest of our stay. Perfect, accompanied by a bol of café au lait and the International Herald Tribune.

Lunch
After the morning indulgence (above), a cruise around the various purveyors of fresh food for the evening’s victuals and—weather permitting—a dip in the Big Blue, it was time for lunch. One that would nutritiously make up for the dietary lapses of morning. And since none of us are squeamish and/or vegetarian, when possible we opted for the local specialty: oysters.

Each time we’d pick a different establishment (basically, any cabin sporting a sign for “degustation”), ask to be seated, then be ushered “out back” bayside to a picnic table or a bistro table where the menu included oysters, local crevettes (shrimps), bulot (something akin to a sea snail), bread, butter and wine. And that’s it. For the kiddies? Ditto, with water. No Coke. No lemonade. No sugary, fizzy anything. Perfect.

Dinner
After about, well, no time really, we realized that Cap Ferret was a bit pricier than we’d anticipated. Hmmm. (That explains why my husband saw an inconspicuous Scarlett Johansson* whip her head around in passing upon hearing me tell my children in American English that they were choosing postcards that cost more than I wanted to spend and that they should redirect themselves toward the 40-centimes, dusty, left-over-from-1960 variety. Aren’t those more charming anyway?). It was then that we decided to dine in as much as possible.



Luckily, I have an Italian by my side who not only travels with pasta of many varieties but knows how to cook it up into the most exquisite dishes even in the most ill-equipped kitchens. But first, an aperitivo of the local variety. Lillet. A fruity, easily-quaffed wine, served icy cold and with a growing appetite. Then, voilà, the master’s creation, whipped from its steaming pot and tossed briskly over the fire with cavatappi al dente. I had dish duty that night, but with a happy stomach and a happier heart, who really cares?

*We were never really able to confirm Scarlett Johansson’s presence in Cap Ferret but given the number of French and other VIPs who manage to hide themselves and their fancy houses in the pine trees by day, it wouldn’t have surprised us if it had been the actual luscious-lipped lady in the flesh. NOTE: We are not VIPs, just so you know. We merely happened to bumble into their space off season.

Posted in FRANCE, OUT & ABOUT, SAVORING | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Day 7: Textures and patterns

Posted on August 2, 2012 by The Daily Cure

Between sea, sand and cloud, are the things made by man. Fishnets and roof tiles, shopping baskets and hats. And somehow, here at the French seaside, they all blend into a harmonious tapestry.


In the realm of the manmade, the classic motifs reigned supreme: stripes and polka dots. They were everywhere. T-shirts, espadrilles, hatbands, and bags. Blended with weaves and inverted. The predominant colors? But of course! For the stripes, navy blue with off white. This is the mother of all French seaside patterns. The polka dots? Black and white. Or white and black. Of course there were florals and the (by now) been-there-done-that acid green and mauve combination, but the tried-and-true remain the crisp, clean winners of the show.

In the midst of the beautiful “usual,” however, was a quirky take on the classic French shopping panier: a woven bag with a wide, black lace border. Seaside bungalow meets Parisian boudoir. Well-suited to the woman who sleeps so late in the morning that she’s required to do her shopping in the evening, when the heat is a thing of the past and when one might have to knock down an aperitivo between buying bread and selecting the ripest cherry tomatoes. Very nice.

Posted in COLOR, FRANCE, OUT & ABOUT, WHAT WE WEAR | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Day 6: “C’est pas bon, ça”

Posted on August 1, 2012 by The Daily Cure

I have been duly warned by my husband that some European shop owners and restaurateurs do not take kindly to their properties being photographed. Never mind that you are a tourist. Never mind that the web is a means of promotion. There exist, still, people for whom privacy and ownership over their own “vision” (whatever it may be) reign supreme. I do respect this—quite a lot, in fact—but in this particular instance I could not resist the surreptitious click here and there.

The place is called “Tampico – Brocante”, and it is the most charming, ramshackle collection of antiques and hand-made articles (canvas bags, linen shirts, table clothes, journals) you have ever seen. It slumps beside the main drag in Le Canon, a mixture of cabin and tent, that spills its contents onto the roadside on sunny days. Enamel coffee pots. Miniature oil paintings. Galvanized watering cans. The odd bird cage. All styled with the impeccable eye of the proprietress.

The key it seems is to crush as many objects together as possible in the manner of a Dutch still life, blending color and texture with a painterly eye, and weaving it all together with the judicious placement of faded hydrangea blossoms and antique mirrors that pull you into reverse images of the lovely chaos (of which you yourself are now an ingredient) like the looking glass in the “Arnolfini Wedding.”

I had managed to take these four little photos, when the owner of the shop, a small woman of 65 or more with a Liza Minelli haircut and piercing black eyes, brushed by me proclaiming under her breath: “C’est pas bon, ça.” I pocketed the phone, blushed in embarrassment and proceeded browsing to show her that my only intent in being there had not been to “steal” the image she had created, but to appreciate it.

I wish I could have bought something, but alas, the prices were not to my liking. I might have held up a price tag and repeated her own words back to her, but I didn’t. We then exchanged friendly words, and I went on my way, still upset somehow that I had upset her. And yet, I seem to be publishing the photos anyway and urging you, should you ever find yourself in Le Canon on a sunny day, to pay her a visit with more money in your pocket than I had. Such is the modern world of blogging.

Posted in FRANCE, OUT & ABOUT | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

Day 5: Those “come hither” alleys

Posted on July 31, 2012 by The Daily Cure

I know, I know. I’m such a one-trick pony. I love the same things over and over again. Can’t help it. Windows. Doors. Gates. Anything that opens out onto a larger world, or closes in on a smaller one, hinting at untold stories or other lives to be discovered. In Cap Ferret, the irresistible draw was the alleyway. Who can resist—even if privacy hums about the place like a swarm of protective bees—wandering between the weatherbeaten and color washed cabins toward a glistening bay? I couldn’t.








[If you enjoyed this post, you might also like “The Door Within The Door.”]

Posted in FRANCE, OUT & ABOUT | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment