Mourning the Loss of Notre Dame

As I prepare to go to bed tonight, flames are still shooting from the top of Notre Dame. The spire has collapsed and the roof of the nave has fallen in.
On Friday, as I walked from our hotel to the train station, I crossed a bridge and saw the beautiful cathedral. I took a picture. It was the last picture I took in Paris.

I can't believe that it will never be the same. 

While Earl and I were spending a few days in Paris, we found ourselves strolling around Notre Dame several times. 

I asked Earl if he had been inside and was surprised to find that he hadn't. I've even attended Mass at Notre Dame. 

We stopped to look at the bells displayed in a line outside. 

New ones were purchased to replace these in celebration of the 850th anniversary. 

850 years! I can't even fathom something that old. 

Our country won't be 800 years old until 2576.

Me trying to coyly pose along with crowds of other people in front of Notre Dame. 

My morning run took me past Notre Dame

You can see the scaffolding around the church where they were working on it. 

I hope that they find the fire was caused by a mistake in the work going on rather than an act of terrorism.

At the same time, I try to imagine a worker with a power tool in hand who started a fire that destroyed an iconic building. That just seems too mundane. 

Paris will never be the same. 

L'Atelier des Lumières - Van Gogh

Last year, as I reviewed some of the best things we had done in France, I included two visits to Carrières de Lumières and L'Atelier des Lumières, huge art installations that projected artwork onto walls and played music to go along with art. One was near Nimes in the South of France and the other in Paris. You can read my blog posts about them here and here.
When I learned that the exhibit this year would be Van Gogh, I had to go. Since Earl was flying out of Paris, we made a mini-vacation out of it with two nights in Paris.
I bought the tickets for the art show ahead of time, which was a wise choice because the tickets were sold out when we arrived in line. We went for the earliest show at 10 a.m. People seemed anxious about getting in, but there really was no rush because you can stay as long as you want, and there are plenty of places to watch the show.
We got in quite early and I had told Earl that I had been there before and didn't like the view from the balcony. As we perched on a round wooden seat, a guard came by and told us the best view was from the balcony, and there were comfortable seats. We decided to move to the balcony, but I should have listened to my own advice.
We could get some panoramic pictures from up high, but watching from the balcony was kind of removed from being down on the floor in the midst of the color, feeling the images move around me and getting a bit dizzy, as if the colors really were washing over me.

A panoramic view from the balcony

A photo I took on the floor when we stayed for the second airing of the Van Gogh exhibit

More irises

A shot of Starry Night from the balcony

The sun over the bare trees

One of the special things about the exhibit is that the creators find motion in the pictures and add that to the artwork.
I tried to record a few short videos that show the motion.

After the Van Gogh, there was a Japanese Dream exhibit. I captured part of that from the floor, which is where I recommend you plant yourself if you make it to the exhibit.

These look 3D, don't they?

Earl enjoyed the show, but admitted he preferred the giant limestone cave where the exhibit takes place in the South of France. Perhaps we'll get a chance to see it there again if we have any visitors this year.
Well worth the cost of 14.90 Euros for the ticket. Go if you can.

Dodging A Bullet

We've all read news stories about a business going under and wondered what happened to the people who had tickets for the cruise or the flight, but Earl and I had never faced that ourselves -- until this week.
Earl was scheduled to fly back to the States next month on Wow Air. That's the cheap airline that lands in Iceland, and they went belly-up on Thursday, leaving him holding useless tickets.
We hadn't heard about Wow Air until our friend Najah flew over last year. She drove from Columbus to Pittsburgh and flew Pittsburgh to Reykjavik to Paris.

Iceland looks a bit bleak

When Earl needed to go home quickly last August (the height of airfare costs from Europe to the States) he flew Wow. Then when I rushed home in February, going one way, the cost was cheapest again on Wow.
I returned on Norwegian, another low cost airfare.
Our experiences were fine, although, at one point when they announced, is there a doctor on board, I thought, "Really, would a doctor fly Wow Air?"
Unlike most airlines, Wow did not have in-seat entertainment. Maybe it seems spoiled to want to have movie and TV choices on an 8 or 9-hour flight, but it sure does make the flights go faster.
When we learned on Thursday about the death of Wow Air, we wondered if we should have been more aware. I had seen an article with the headline like "Why It's Safe to Fly on Wow Air" and I tried to click on it but I was blocked because I didn't have a subscription to The Guardian. That just made me think, huh, I wonder if we shouldn't be flying on Wow.
There was some muttering about financing, but other articles assured that the funding always comes through at the end through Iceland.
So we obliviously scheduled a flight on Wow.
When we saw through our online news that the company had gone under, we regretted not buying the flight insurance. Then we hopped on and rearranged another flight for Earl. We figured that everyone would be looking for replacement flights.
On Travelocity, we found a flight that was even cheaper than the Wow Air flight. So we booked it (he will have to pay for checked luggage since he's taking his backpack home for a hiking trip) but we felt fortunate to be able to schedule so last minute for $631 (561 euros).
Then we had to worry about how to get our money back. CNN told us we were basically screwed. We could file with the company but we would become one of many creditors asking for our money back. Another article suggested that credit card companies might have been keep track of the shaky finances of the airline and have held back money instead of paying upfront.
Earl contacted our credit card company the next day and they said the money would be refunded within 7 days! What a relief, and a reminder that using the right credit card company is important.
So no more WOW, but I'm convinced that we'll be better off choosing a specific airline and flying with them every time to earn points.
And will we be using that credit card again? Yep, whenever we book travel, count on us using our Sapphire card.

Flying A New Airline -- Norwegian

When I discovered the inexpensive flight from Tampa to London, it felt like Christmas morning. A direct flight from Tampa to London for $175 (153 Euros).  I splurged on the upgrade so that I could take a checked bag, pick a seat and get two meals on the plane for about $250. Still, an amazing price on Norwegian Air.
I visited Mom and Dad, and they are about an hour and a half from either Tampa or Orlando. The dilemma was that I flew in on Friday afternoon and took off in a rental car at 4 p.m. The car was already expensive and I didn't dare splurge on late check in, so I had to be back at the airport by 4 p.m. The problem? My flight didn't leave until 10:50 p.m.
So I was looking at a 6-hour wait at Tampa.
For my carry-on bag, I had switched to Earl's backpack because he hopes to go hiking when he flies back to the States next month. The backpack has no wheels and is a bit unwieldy, especially since it is made to fit a man who is a foot taller than me. But it weighed only 30 pounds, rather than the 40 pounds I was allowed to check. Once I got it onto my back, I was fine to walk from the car to the terminal.

Backpacking woman -- feels less cosmopolitan

The problem, this flight to London was the only flight out of Tampa for Norwegian that day. The check in didn't open until after 6, which left me holding the bag. I couldn't check the backpack and wander about the airport, smelling perfume and sipping coffee. I'm not sure if I'd flown another, more traditional airline, like American, whether I could have checked my bags six hours early or if they would have made me wait until closer to the flight time. Nevertheless, I ended up sitting in a row of seats across from the counter waiting. Norwegian also didn't allow online check in, so I if I hadn't checked a bag, I still would have needed to wait to get my boarding pass from the desk.
I met a few other people waiting for Norwegian to open. At one point, I needed to use the bathroom and didn't want to carry the backpack along with my carry-on bag.  The nice British man had dozed off, so I asked a woman who was waiting for Norwegian if she would watch my backpack while I went to the restroom. The door was within sight, I wasn't making a run across the airport, but the woman refused. Perhaps that's the smart thing to do, but the exchange woke up the British man who said he would watch my bag. And later, I watched his while he went to the bathroom.
I reached someone on the Norwegian app and they said that the check in would open three hours before the flight.
Once the check in began, apparently, people in line strategically pick which counter attendant they want to talk to. I was oblivious, in my own American way, assuming everyone would be equally helpful.
So I got the very gruff man who took the backpack, no problem, then said I had to weigh both my carry-on bag and my personal item and they had to way less than 10 kilograms. 10 kilograms is 22 pounds. I knew that my carry-on suitcase alone was 25 pounds, which is a normal allowance. Add my purse, which held my computer and the total weight was 18 kilograms, 39 pounds. The attendant suggested I could pay $15 per kilogram that the bag was overweight. Eight kilograms times $15 is $120. I was not going to eat that cost.
I always feel like the weight thing is unfair. My husband weighs nearly a hundred pounds more than me -- shouldn't I get to take extra baggage to make up for the weight I'm not using.
Anyway, I asked whether I could move things from my carry-on to my checked bag, since it was underweight. The man agreed and wanted me to do it while I stood in line. That's the worst. Now I have to open my suitcase and start making decisions. I moved a folder of papers (paper generally gets heavy) that I use for teaching, and I stuck a pair of boots on the top of the backpack. Then I struggled to get the backpack closed again. The attendant ended up helping me and didn't weight the bags again. But just in case he planned to, I had taken my computer out and set it on the floor in front of the check in. I figured that would help with the weight issue and then I would surreptitiously slide it into my purse again after the weighing. Instead, he waved me on and I scooped up my laptop.
So let the luggage thing be a warning to you if you plan to try Norwegian Air -- the carry-on for the overhead bins, and the personal item that goes under the seat in front of me had to weight less than 22 pound together.
I finally could move on to take the shuttle to the gate. The security guards were testy. I overhead them discussing whether overtime would be given. The TSA Pre check area wasn't open, much to the consternation of some pre-screened passengers. I went through the machine and they patted down my arm.
Then I found that my carry-on bag needed to be checked by hand. The guard (this one was nice)  gingerly moved things around in the suitcase, plunging his hand down between the (luckily) clean clothes.
"There's an umbrella down there," I said.
"No, I can see the umbrella. This is something like a bag of candy."
"Black jelly beans!" I said. Earl's favorite. I had stashed a bag in my suitcase.
"Yes! Where are they?" He explained that jelly beans are dense and hard to see through on an x-ray machine.
I reached in and got them. He took a cloth and rubbed it again several spots on the jelly bean bag.
"It tested positive," he said and set off an alarm that brought another agent.
"Positive for what?" I asked, imagining that jelly beans were about to send me to the Homeland Security secret office where I wouldn't be heard from for weeks.
The security guard assured me that it could be lotion, or anything that set it off.
Another guard arrived, looked at a machine and declared it "Not a match."
Ok, I was allowed to go on my way.
"Want me to lift the bag down for you?" the guard asked. "It's pretty heavy."
"Shh," I warned him. "Don't let on that it's heavy."
Finally, I was free to wander about the airport terminal until it was time to board the plane.
But I got a coffee at Starbucks, my last until the holidays next year, and I sat down to watch another episode of the Great British Baking Show.
The flight from Tampa to London was uneventful, which is the best you can ask for from a flight. I am never crunched for space because I'm short, but I did feel like there is less leg room. My husband would have had a very hard time in theses seats.
And the airplane did have screens with movies, television and games, but I have to say that they weren't as up-to-date as we might see on a mainstream airline.  And the food wasn't worth the time. 

Nope. Not even the Ghiradelli chocolate in the cup got eaten. 

Chicken, mushy broccoli along with instant mashed potatoes for dinner. It was after 11. I shouldn't have taken the few bites I ate, but since it was Norwegian, maybe I should just be grateful they weren't serving smoked trout or Tørrfisk. 

The next morning, breakfast was a piece of ham sandwich.

Okay, the coffee and orange juice made it worthwhile

Just ham bread and some wilted lettuce, along with a pre-wrapped Sara Lee pound cake that is in our kitchen now. The coffee and orange juice were necessary though.
So my recommendation, if you fly Norwegian, watch the weight of your carry-on and under seat bag. Don't buy the meals.
I landed in London Gatwick airport with three hours to kill before my flight to Toulouse. I wandered around in search of a crumpet. I never found any. Crumpets are similar to English muffins but better. The Brits I asked were astounded that we didn't have crumpets in the States. We're deprived, I guess.

A man in a kilt -- always worth a picture. Yes, those are two bottles of liquor in his hands. 

The flight from London to Toulouse was only an hour and 20 minutes, and when I wandered through security, there was my husband waiting with a bouquet of tulips.
Unfortunately, I couldn't tilt my head back to kiss him because his backpack against my neck prevented me looking up, so it was an awkward hello kiss.
We're back in the groove of spending time together and enjoying it.

Me and my guy

Since I returned (only three days ago) we've had adventures already. Can't wait to share them with you -- soon. 

FranceBookTours -- Are We French Yet?

Make sure you scroll down to the bottom to enter the giveaway!
You know that I'm going to devour a book that tells the story of two Americans moving to France. It's the same life I've been dreaming about for so long, and now am living myself. I love to see what experiences other expats have, so Keith Van Sickle did not disappoint.

I read this book on the plane as we jetted toward France. I love the adventures, the scrapes, the experiences that Keith and his wife Val shared as they tried to fit into their new life in France.

So much of it was familiar. Life is the same, but so many things are different.
They share their experiences of meeting French people and the overwhelming idea of how to integrate. It reminded me of a story that the blogger Corey Amaro told on Tongue in Cheek where she went to a French party and there were no chairs, so she sat on the floor. I imagine how mortified her French husband must have been. And Keith's stories are similar, showing how wrong assumptions can lead to mortification when in French company.
Trying to learn real French is another chapter that Keith wrote about, and I can relate. I thought I knew French, and then I moved here.
Moving to a new country is always a challenge, and I loved sharing the adventures of Keith Van Sickle and his wife Val. I imagine that every book  he writes, as each year passes, he will feel more and more like a true Frenchman.
Anyone who enjoys indulging in a new life is sure to eat up the adventures of Are We French Yet? by Keith Van Sickle.

Entry-Form

= Global giveaway open internationally. 5 participants will each win an ecopy of this book

The End of the Year in the States -- 2018

My first year abroad ended with me in the States.

Florida

We flew to Florida on October 30 in time for my dad's surgery. For six months, he had been dealing with a sore on his foot that would not heal and they found infection in the bone. We feared that he might lose his foot. I couldn't imagine how depressed he must be, sitting in the house and going to doctor visits rather than playing golf four times a week. Mom seemed a bit overwhelmed too, giving him IV antibiotic treatments three times a day.

Within 24 hours of arriving home, Mom had instructed me on how to give the antibiotics. That left her schedule a bit more free. Then Dad had surgery to open arteries in his lower leg to help improve the blood flow. We hoped the surgery would lead to the wound healing.
After a week in Florida, we drove up to Ohio to see the kids and some friends.

 We helped Spencer choose a used car to replace the one that was totaled in the accident. With a car, he could get a job with more consistent pay rather than working on lawns with his roommate. After about 10 days of juggling paperwork in Ohio, we returned to Florida.
Returning didn't seem like a big culture shock. It felt like I'd never left, except that my favorite drink at Starbucks was too sweet now.
The kids were thrilled to see us, but they quickly returned to their own lives.
So we came back to Florida to keep Dad company as he continued to heal. We puttered around like real retirees for about a month, getting ready for Christmas, and the week before Christmas, Dad played about 15 holes of golf with Earl. He was nearly healed.
We lucked into a housesit in Columbus from December 20 to January 7, so we had our own place while we visited Columbus. Spencer and Tucker came to spend the night on Christmas Eve, and we gathered for  a New Year's meal and to watch the Ohio State bowl game. I loved being together again.
But I realized that the kids might wish I was there so they could drop by whenever they wanted, but they weren't going to change their lives and their schedules to fit me in. They all had their own interests and busy schedules.
So on January 6, we had a family meal together, celebrating Grace's birthday 3 weeks early, and I kissed them all goodbye.

One family photo

Celebrating Grace's birthday with Tucker, Spencer and her boyfriend Jack. 

Ouch. That hurts every time.
I knew I would see Tucker again because he flew down to Florida for a long weekend with my parents. And he was here on Monday, less than a week ago, when the doctor declared my dad cleared from treatment. His foot was healed.
We toasted with champagne.
And Tucker played two rounds of golf with Dad that weekend.

Dad back on the golf course

Tucker on the golf course

Monday evening, we drove Tucker to the airport. It felt like my entire body was slouching, every organ joining in with a downward motion as I realized that I was leaving my youngest, and all of them, behind again.
I worried that I might have already broken our relationship by selling their childhood home and moving to France.
Our goodbye at the airport was punctuated by kisses and hugs, and one more hug and a last, desperate look into his eyes so that I could convey how much he means, whether I'm there or not, and we drove back to Mom and Dad's as I felt my organs twisted tighter and tighter like a wet towel being rung out.

One last photo before he returned to Ohio. Me, crying on the inside

Being in France, being away, I'm caught up in the adventure of it all. The leaving part though, that's hard -- every time.
And tomorrow, we say goodbye to Mom and Dad as we drive to the Orlando airport to fly to Paris. But we are so happy that we were here, for the longest stay that I've had since I moved away from home after college.
And Dad is well. They are both healthy.
Sure, we'll be far away, but they know that we can get on a plane and be here in just a little over the amount of time it used to take to drive from Ohio to Florida.
And somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, I'll shrug off the sadness of leaving people behind and start looking toward the sunrise as we arrive in France.

Tehcnically, a sunset, but you get the idea. 

Guilty Pleasures

It's funny that I have traveled throughout Europe, snapping photos of delicious meals, breathtaking landscapes, and castles built stone by stone by medieval peoples, yet I never felt guilty about flaunting it on my blog.

Florence as the sun sets

Maybe I pictured you enjoying the journey with me.

But since I've been in Florida, the guilt has set in. How can I share pictures of my newly polished toes hanging over the edge of the very blue pool as the frogs and alligators croak in the nearby pond.

Dare I post a picture of the sun setting over the Gulf of Mexico as the breeze whips up the waves, and we retreat to a balcony overlooking the water while we dine on grouper sandwiches and key lime pie?

Sunset from Passe-a-grille beach over the Gulf of Mexico

One bite gone

As the weather has turned cold for most of my friends in the north, I'm beset by guilt that I'm living in a place where the weather is practically perfect. Sure, I've complained to my running friends about the humidity and I've carried a sweat towel with me to wipe the salty drops before they reach my eyes, but November and December are pretty perfect weather-wise in Florida. The temperature has settled in the 70s, sometimes 80s. The sun has shone as we lazed by the pool. Earl has taken a dip nearly every day, and I joined him quite often, especially when I returned sweating from a run.

Not since the days right after college have I spent so much time living with my parents, and unlike those rebellious days of my early 20s, it's pretty sweet to have four adults living in a house. We take turns cooking and doing the dishes. We choose a cleaning day and run vacuums over the floors of the two-story house. We gather in the game room each night as the sun sets to play euchre.

We celebrated Thanksgiving, just the four of us. I got to be here for Mom's 81st birthday the following week, gathering at Red Lobster for daiquiris bigger than my head. Then two weeks later, we feted Dad as he turned 82. I can't remember the last time I got to be with my parents for their actual birthdays.

And after Dad's surgeries and his sessions in the hyperbaric chamber (oxygen) and seven months without playing golf, his foot is finally healing. We've been working on his stamina, increasing his steps daily, coercing him into playing bean bag in the backyard. He and Earl started putting and chipping at the golf course across the street and even ventured out to play 15 holes. He's not taking it too fast, continuing to heal, so he can play golf when my brother arrives after Christmas.

This sojourn in Florida, daily time spent with my parents, basking in the sun, makes me feel guilty. Tomorrow, I'll head to Ohio where the cold weather awaits me, and I won't be lording it over anyone as I settle under gray skies, but I'll be surrounded by friends and family, so that might make up for the weather.

Back in the US

First, let me say that all went well with my father's surgery and he is recovering.
We went to Florida first, to be with my dad, and three days after his surgery, we drove up to Ohio to spend time with our kids and untangle paperwork that winds itself around 20-something year-olds throughout the year.
The night before we left for Ohio, I kissed my dad goodnight, knowing we would leave in the dark of the morning while everyone else was still asleep, and he said, "It means the world to me that you were here for my procedure."
So I guess that's that. Sometimes just being here is enough.
And the good news came yesterday that he can be finished with his IV antibiotic treatment because the infection in his foot is gone. It won't be long now before Dad is floating in the pool -- allowed to get his foot wet -- or on the golf course across the street putting yellow balls into that little cup.

After we got home from France, the first thing I wanted to do is a juice cleanse. I'd really been indulging in delicious and decadent French foods for nearly 10 months, and the light in my parents' guest bathroom made me look a bit yellow, like maybe my liver was going, but Earl assures me it is just the light.
But before I juiced, I wanted to revisit, two things that I missed in the States -- my Starbucks mocha and an everything bagel with cream cheese. Luckily, we combined these two by sitting outside at Starbucks with a Panera nearby.
The white mocha was so sickeningly sweet that I nearly couldn't drink it. The everything bagel was just okay. And I think that's the way things happen. You imagine them, even crave them, and once you take that first bite, that first sip, well the dream of it was so much better than the actuality.

And I think the same may be true for how much our kids longed to have us home.

Not our kids -- but Earl's nieces kids playing in the leave. Always happy to visit with them

How long does it take for adult children to have enough of their parents after they've been out of the country for a year? About five days seems to have done it.
Unfortunately, for them, we're still here eight days later, trying to get a few more pieces of paperwork untangled.

A family dinner to celebrate our return and Spencer's 25th birthday.
That's Grace's boyfriend Jack on the right, the rest are ours

The first few days after we arrived in Ohio, we were the hottest ticket in town. We passed out French chocolate. We took them to dinner. We shared stories. We met them for lunch as they raced over from work.
By Friday night, we had a family game night and pizza. How did we have a game night when we have no home, you may ask? Through the kindness of our very generous friends Deb and Greg who have taken us in to their home, letting us treat it as our own as the kids come and go.
That night, I had to teach at 8 p.m., but I imagined the games and the conversation would continue when I went upstairs to teach. We made it to about 7:45 before everyone wandered off to their own plans.
Tucker headed to New York for the weekend to watch the Columbus Crew SC in a playoff soccer game. 

Tucker and friends at an earlier soccer game -- picture thanks to my friend Leah who snaps pictures of the kids whenever she sees them around town and then sends them to me

Grace was managing a play that pitted various Shakespearean characters in fights and had she began working on it at 9 a.m. Saturday and it lasted until the play ended that night. Spencer hung out with us until after the OSU football game, about 4 p.m.

I cleared my schedule on Sunday, after a morning walk with friends, so I could spend the day with Grace. She had an audition, and the day turned into 6:30 p.m. when she and Jack joined us for soup and some rounds of euchre. Our place in the pecking order had fallen into natural order.

A cold, beautiful morning for a walk around Antrim Lake

On Monday, we didn't even try to get together with them, and everyone seemed ready to move on with their regular lives. I walked with Sheila, one of the things I've really missed doing since we went away. We seem to accomplish so much therapy when we walk and sip coffee.
Tucker kept in touch as he drove home from New York, and Grace talked about Christmas plans by text, but really, they're over us.
And it's nice to know that as much as they wish we were here, they really only need us as a safety net, when they want to see us. Some of my guilt about leaving them is relieved.
We'll drive back to Florida in the next couple of days and spend more time with my parents. We'll see the kids again for Christmas, and I'll leave my mixed feelings behind when we fly back to France in January.
They're grown ups. It's nice to have parents around, but they don't need us -- most of the time.

As Promised, More Pictures

On Sunday I posted some pictures of this castle that sits above Sax, Spain. The view at night is impressive.

View with some electric wires

As Earl and I prepared to go into town for dinner at 9 pm, we stopped to take this shot of the Moorish fortress in town. This is the view from the house where we’re staying. 

It’s hard to get a good shot of lights on an iPhone at night.

A closer view

Here’s a closer look that turned out well as we were driving home from dinner at 11 pm. 

See this could work as a diet plan. By 9 pm (they don’t start serving dinner until 9:30 usually) I’m tired enough that I might just curl up with a book and skip dinner. 

But the castle is beautiful at night. 

Last night, we just made omelettes around 7, but I taught 9 classes and was wiped out. 

Still, the full moon peeked through the window at me. 

Full moon through iron bars

Lights and Artwork

I was in Paris for a few days meeting my husband who flew to the States for a brief hiatus. I couldn't wait to see him again but his flight didn't arrive until the evening so I was in Paris alone for the day.
What to do?
There are some things we haven't done that I wanted to visit, but I wanted to wait for Earl so we could see them together. So I decided to visit Les Ateliers des Lumieres in Paris.
You may recall that we visited a similar exhibit in Provence back in April and I wrote about it here. I loved the exhibit in Provence of the Spanish masters and 60s pop art.
In Paris, the main exhibit is Gustave Klimt.
I walked in during the middle of the show, assaulted by walls full of flowers, bathed in the colorful light.

 Unlike the cavern in Provence, this show is presented in a warehouse, so there are doors and scaffolding. An article I read says this is a former factory.

Apparently, during the summer, the lines were out the door and around the block. Now, at the beginning of September, I waited less than five minutes before being directed to one of the ticket windows for a 14.50 euro ticket.

 I love the colors here.

You may be saying, Gustave Klimt, now which one was he? This is the painting he's most famous for. Here it's projected on a wall, and the wall next to it, and next to it...

The whole room could be transformed into a cathedral. And the floor was amazing too. 

Sometimes children would skip from flower to flower on the floor, or people would stand in the center of a spinning circle. It was definitely interactive art.

A mirrored room, with floor and walls of mirrors reflected the paintings over and over. I laid down on the floor to watch it for awhile. 

I stood against one wall and took a picture of the artwork projected on me too.

Truthfully, the still pictures are amazing, but nothing can compare to the movement. The exhibition finds the action in the paintings and adds it before moving on to more details. I can't think that the artist would be upset at the changes made to his/her artwork, instead, I have to think artists would be thrilled to have so many people immersed in it. 

So I had to include a few minutes of video from my Youtube page. 

This first video shows the opening of the Klimt exhibit.

This is a clip from the middle of the exhibit. 

The photos alone don't do it justice. There's nothing like standing in the middle of the colors and the movement.
You'll find L'Atelier des Lumieres at 38 rue Saint Maur 75 011 Paris

The French Escape

Fellow author and France lover, Suzie Tullett, is preparing for her latest book, French Escape, to be released.
So she allowed me to do a guest blog explaining how I had escaped to France. You'll find my guest blog here with a picture of me twirling around in the darkened streets of our village.

Take a look at Suzie's blog and consider leaving a comment and ordering some of her novels.
You'll find her at Suzie Tullett
Her novel The French Escape will be released September 20

An Author's Life

I once had a writing colleague tell me that there's no such thing as "writer's block;" it's just a lazy person's way to avoid writing.
Maybe.
I'd like to say that my life in France has been too happy to write much, but I've had plenty of sad times or doldrums, and that still hasn't sent me to the keyboard.

Perhaps I could claim that I've been too busy living my life to write, but I've read nearly 300 pages of a novel and watched two movies this weekend, time that I could have spent writing.
So apparently, not writing is a choice for me now.
I have another novel finished, waiting for editing, and a novel that I'm so excited about, but it's only half written. Guess I'm not that excited about it.
If I followed a schedule, sitting down to write every morning, I know I'd be caught up in the characters again and finish it in no time.
Discipline. I knew I was missing something.

Attention Seeking

I have to admit that I've been slacking big time at advertising my novels for the last year or so.
In an effort to get them out there, I had some photos made that incorporate the book cover into pictures, along with a blurb of a review.

I love the way he found a picture that use the same colors and foliage.

The Summer of France is about (surprise) a woman who runs away from her life in Ohio to run her Uncle's B&B in Aix en Provence. Could a crackly phone call from France save Fia Randolph’s jobless and family troubles? That’s what she hopes when her Uncle Martin asks Fia, her husband, and teenage twins to move to Provence and take over his bed and breakfast. She pictures long picturesque walks carrying crusty baguettes and bonding with the kids. But Fia didn’t bargain on being pulled into Uncle Martin’s World War II secret that wrenches her family further apart.  

The Summer of France is available on Amazon or Amazon.uk

This picture definitely feels like a dive down a forest trail, this one is my only novel set in the United States, so far. 

How does a woman know what she wants after spending 20 years thinking about her husband and children? Sometimes it takes an escape from everyday life, time to examine the forest before the trees become clear. Friends Jess and Andi figure life hiking the Appalachian trail can't possibly be worse than dealing with disgruntled husbands, sullen teens home from college, and a general malaise that has crept up in their daily lives.

Trail Mix is available on Amazon and Amazon UK

This photo might be my favorite, the way the book cover is slotted along the top of the building, like a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower between different sides of the building. 

I See London I See France is about another woman running away. When her husband of a dozen years walks out in a huff, Caroline Randolph walks out too – to Europe, with her kids after impulsively selling her minivan for travel money. Tired of being the perfect wife, she escapes to rediscover herself, and possibly rekindle the unrequited love of a Frenchman from her college days.  While shepherding her kids from London to Scotland then Paris to Provence, she finds herself at a crossroads. Does she choose love, or lust, in the arms of a European man, or should she try again with the father of her children and the man she truly loved, once?

It's available on Amazon and Amazon UK 

And, of course, my latest novel set in Paris needs a picture from Paris. I love the Metro sign in the foreground. 

When divorced mom Sadie Ford realizes her 17-year-old daughter Scarlett has run away to Paris, all she can imagine are terrorist bombings and sex slaves. After learning her daughter chased a French exchange student home, Sadie hops on the next plane in pursuit. She joins forces with the boy’s father, Auguste, and the two attempt to find the missing teens. The chase takes Sadie and Auguste to the seedier side of Marseille, where their own connection is ignited. Since the divorce, Sadie has devoted herself to raising kids and putting her dreams on hold, but when her daughter needs her most, Sadie finds that concrete barrier to life beginning to crack. In her journey, she learns the difference between watching the hours pass and living.

Paris Runaway is available on Amazon and Amazon UK 

If you haven't read my novels, I'd appreciate the support. Just click and download to your Kindle.
And if you don't have a Kindle, they're free to download on your computer or your phone. I love reading on my phone because if I wake up in the middle of the night and can't sleep, I don't have to turn a light on, I just pick up my phone and get lost in a story (with the screen on black and the print white to reduce ambient light).