Wildfires in Corsica

The news for weeks has talked about wildfires in Colorado. People flee their homes with few belongings and wait anxiously to see if the firefighters can stop the walls of flames advancing through the dry mountain brush. Houses are burned. Some people have died.
The news reminds me of a month I spent in Corsica more than 25 years ago. I was there babysitting two American girls with French grandparents and it seems like the time is right to tell the story since I'm participating in Paris in July sponsored byThyme for Tea and Bookbath . I've posted about my trip here when I talked about fashion, and here about lessons I learned from France, and here about a secret crush and an injury in Corsica.
While we were staying in Corsica, wildfires burned.
At first, I didn't know what was happening. I stretched out on my bed in the stone house to take a siesta while the little girls, Claire, 3, and Brigid, 4, napped. As I lay there, I heard the drone of an airplane. At home, I would have thought nothing of it. On the northwest coast of Corsica, the sound was as foreign as the language remained.
A knock drew my attention and Yves stuck his head in the door. "Come look at zhe planes," he beckoned.
I followed him to the stone balcony that faced the bowl of a bay in the Mediterannean. The bright yellow planes, the color of the winner's jersey on the Tour de France, took turns swooping into the Mediterranean Sea below us. Like pelicans going in for a catch, the planes skimmed the water, filling their red, hollow bellies with water. The planes then buzzed away to drop their loads of water on the fires in the mountains beyond.
We walked up the road to the top of the mountain, searching for smoke or a glimpse of the fire. We couldn't spot either, so we returned to our normal life, eating extravagant meals, lying on the beach,  playing tennis.
Corsica is a very dry island, with part of the land being a desert. In the sparsely-populated island, fires started and spread quickly without the benefits of fire hydrants or firefighters close by. Even if the island was lush with firefighters, it might take hours for fire trucks, on barely passable roads that twist through the mountains with sharp drop offs on one side and walls of rock on the other, to reach the spot where the fire burned .
A week later, on a Saturday night, we were driving to a nearby village. We looked up to see bright orange lights in some far away mountains. The next morning, the bells of the church rang loudly in the background while we stood watching smoke billow from a mountain across the water. Most of the day the mountain seemed to burn. We pulled out the binoculars to search for flames, but the dense smoke blocked the view of the flames.
On Monday morning, the faint acrid smell of smoke hung in the air. By afternoon, small pieces of ash fell into the gardens and on the house, as if we lived near a recently erupted volcano.
We ventured down to the beach, but the expanse along the water began to feel closed in as the smoke rose in huge clouds blocking out the sun. We heard the now familiar whir of the planes buzzing above the Mediterranean, like so many dragonflies searching for a clear place to swoop down to the water.
Children and adults rushed down to the edge of the water to watch the planes at work. The planes, tipped at a careful angle to gather water then take off again, slowly pulled away from the sea, full of their lifesaving load.
That afternoon, the windows in the house grew dark as the smoke billowed across the sky blocking out the light. I took the girls to the lower level and began to read them stories to distract them from the fire.
"Are we safe here?" I wanted to ask. The house was made of stone but had lots of wood, plus the roof could catch fire.
"Should we evacuate?" I wondered.
But I was still young enough to believe that wildfires weren't really dangerous and I trusted the judgment of the real adults in the house as I huddled in the lower level. I heard the swoosh of water from a hose as Monsieur Berger watered down the roof of the house to thwart any sparks. His children called to him to come inside, this elderly Frenchman who fought in World War II and was captured by the Germans. He refused to turn off the hose, to retreat into his Corsican vacation home and huddle with his family away from the flames.
The house didn't burn.

This was the door to our lower level.
One day, we found a snake coiled in the stones there.

The next morning we took a trip across the island. We saw the blackened mountains and the skeletons of small shrubs brown and brittle. In places, stood geometric shapes of green, miraculously hopped over by the fire.  On our drive back home, the smell of smoke alerted us to another fire. A thick cloud of smoke surrounded the car and the orange flames came into view, having already engulfed some small trees, leaving branches blackened. The popping and crackling of the burning plants reached our ears as we drove the car away from the flickering flames.
A lone fire truck wound slowly around the mountain, its blue light flashing solemnly, as we rounded a cliff and came face to face with a quarter moon whose white face reflected the flames turning it orange in the sky.

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Packages From France

Just in time to help me celebrate Paris in July sponsored byThyme for Tea and Bookbath, Corey from Tongue in Cheek  sent me a package because I won a contest on her blog.
This morning, the mailbox was propped open and I opened the lid to see what was blocking it. There I found a brown paper package with a return address from France. I knew immediately what it was and squealed in anticipation.
Packages are a delight. Packages from France, what joy!

This is the vintage white night dress that Corey gave away on her blog. It was this post: What to Wear on a Summer's Day

When I opened the envelope, I felt the thick, soft white fabric in my hands and breathed in the clean smell. I pulled it from the envelope and watched the long swathe of white cotton undulating.

Here was the nightdress I dreamed about 20 years ago when I prepared to give birth to my first baby, Grace. I pictured myself propped in the hospital bed, unbuttoning tiny mother-of-pearl buttons to lift her to my breast, her face pressed against the thick cotton. But my friends who had given birth before me, pooh-poohed the idea. Births were full of blood and gore, not white cotton nightdresses they said. And so now, 20 years later, comes a vintage, white nightdress. My babies are long grown, but my dreams remain.

Thank you, Corey, for the beautiful nightdress and for sharing your stories on your blog.

Corey is an American from northern California who married a handsome Frenchman and raised two beautiful children who are now exploring the world as well. She weaves intriguing tales about living in Provence and also takes marvelous photos -- not to mention the fact that she sometimes has fabulous giveaways. Corey's passions are her family, travel, and the brocante, which is what the French call a flea market only it's full of really old, cool things, like early 1900s nightdresses, dishes and glassware and monogrammed linens.

Happy Fourth of July

Today is our Independence Day, but, of course, I'm celebrating Paris in July sponsored byThyme for Tea and Bookbath, so I'll need to compromise.
I've only been in France one time over the 4th of July and since it was my long trip to France, I was disoriented and babysitting two little girls, so I probably did not even notice that I missed 4th of July.
 I can only think of two national holidays that are celebrated here and not in France. The first would be 4th of July and the second would be Thanksgiving. I haven't been in France on Thanksgiving, but someday maybe.
In order to pay tribute to our holiday, I ran 4 miles before it got too hot, and I'm going to a cookout at my brother in law's house.
I can include a photo of myself, looking relatively patriotic in a blue and white shirt though. The picture was taken on the train from the Charles de Gaulle airport to Paris on our most recent trip there in 2010.
So I can claim a tentative link to Paris in July and 4th of July.
Here it is.

And since I've included the blue and white for 4th of July, I'd better include some red too.
So, here you go, once again, from Paris.

Now I've given  you red, white and blue for Independence Day and I've tied it all into Paris.
Hope you have a happy day, whether you celebrate or not.

First Paragraph, Tuesday Teaser -- From Here, You Can't See Paris

Every Tuesday, Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea posts the first paragraph of her current read. Anyone can join in. Go to Diane's website for the image and share the first paragraph of the current book you are reading.
This is like a meme within a meme, because I'm taking part in Diane's First Chapter First Paragraph, but my emphasis this month is on France with the Paris in July meme sponsored byThyme for Tea and Bookbath. I'm hoping I find lots of new books set in France that I wasn't aware of before so I can put them on my list.
Here's what I found: From Here, You Can't See Paris by Michael S. Sanders. The book blurb describes it as the remembrance of an author who started out exploring life inside a French restaurant and then got drawn into the wider world of a village in Southwest France. Here's the first paragraph:

By eight o'clock on a late summer day what passes for the morning bustle in Les Arques is well under way. Elise Segol, the widow who owns the little house across the street from the restaurant, has thrown open her windows and doors for the fresh air. Wearing a voluminous flowered apron over her dress, she leans on her broom, chatting with Max, the gruff village gardener and jack-of-all-trades, who is watering the flower beds around the statue of the Virgin and the war memorial that mark the entrance to the village.

What do you think?

Also this week is Teaser Tuesdays.

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

Grab your current read
Open to a random page
Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers.
Here's the teaser from page 106:
L

ike so many of our conversations, this one was spontaneous, for I had just wandered up to the village to see if anything was going on and happened upon them in a relaxed moment. As always, Jacques had asked me if I was hungry, insisting it would be no trouble to scare something up. I refused the offer of food, knowing it would delay the staff's departure and accepted instead a glass of the sparkling Vouvray they were drinking.

Tour de Columbus

In honor of the Tour de France (remember emphasis on France for July), I took a bike ride this morning.
I was sick yesterday, sore throat and aches, so when I tried to run this morning, I didn't get far. Instead, I walked to get coffee. I tried some P90x exercise. I made some French toast for Tucker before he went to work, still my mood was zooming south. I decided to try to pull up from my plunging mood with a bike ride.
I have to go about a mile on the road until I get to the bike path. Once on the path, I tried to live in the moment. I felt the cool wind on my arms and cheeks. I heard the sound of traffic in the bridges that passed over the path.
The sky was a beautiful blue, fighting the haze that will come as the temperatures rise today.

This is a shot across the Scioto River of an old high school that now houses our Science museum called COSI.

As I cycled down the trail, I smelled the earth and the trees damp still from last night's rain.
The sun was slowly rising from the east making shadows of trees on the black bike path.

I saw traffic standing still as the city closed streets in preparation for the July 4th celebration. I saw families camping out in their tents to save their spot for firework viewing. The temptature is supposed to be in the 90s the next week. I can't imagine the celebration is that appealing, to camp out for two days before the fireworks.
The families who were not camping had cordonned off spots in the grass with yellow and orange caution tape.

I swerved through a family of geese and they hissed at me.
I saw city worker after city worker preparing for the celebration.
Then I biked south of the city past the fountains

 to the Audubon center where the sounds of birds mingled with the far off drone of traffic.

Hoping to leave my bad mood behind, I biked home again.
No sprints. No mountains. No winners or losers.
 Just me and my bike on a lovely, breezy day.

French and Strong Constitutions

Somewhere, in the many blogs I stop by, someone was planning to focus on France and all things French for July. I can't find it right now, but I'll link to it once I find it again. Okay, I found it and it's called Paris in July, as Esme from Chocolates & Croissants pointed out.  And Paris in July is sponsored the Thyme for Tea and Bookbath. Do you think that since it's Paris rather than France I'll have to narrow my focus? Nah, I'll just stick to France.
You know I'm in for focusing on France in July, or any other month, although I may get distracted by things like my kids or sports or teaching.
I thought I'd start with a photo I love from our friends' apartment in Nantes.

Our friends live on the top floor, which allows for gorgeous views of the cathedral on one side and the castle on the other. And guess what? Their building does not have an elevator. They walk this circular flight to the top floor (5 floors, I think) everyday, several times a day. They don't complain. It is probably what keeps them so healthy.

When Earl and I watch House Hunters International, we always scoff at the American couples who refuse to buy a place without an elevator.

I don't want you to feel like you walked up this winding staircase for no reason, so here's a shot of the sunset out one of the windows.

 Happy France month.

P.S. I have electricity back, but still no Internet service.

Saturday Snapshot -- Candlelight

 To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.
A surprise storm went through yesterday afternoon. It blew down power lines and we of course were affected. We have been without power about 16 hours now. We are always unprepared. The flashlights didn't have batteries. We have only a motley collection of pillar candles which don't give off much light. earl lit a lantern for the front porch. If the power stays out, we may have to dig up the kerosene lamps. Here's what it looked like at my house last night.

Here's the flickering light in the bathroom.

Here's a shot from the dining room through the living room and onto the front porch.

The Reluctant Tuscan -- Review

I love featuring a book on my blog and hearing from the author. That's what happened a few weeks ago when I included The Reluctant Tuscan on my First Paragraph, Teaser Tuesday blog. The author, Phil Doran, sent me an email. I had commented that I liked the cover of The Reluctant Tuscan because it reminded me of A Year in Provence and he confirmed that the same artist had created both covers. He also said that John Travolta and Kelly Preston optioned the movie rights to his book, so a movie of The Reluctant Tuscan may be on its way. It's always fun to get the inside scoop from an author.
I finished reading The Reluctant Tuscan and truly enjoyed it. My husband is reading it now. Of course, we have a not-so-secret dream of moving to France once the kids are all out of the house, so we consider the book more of a how-to guide than simply a memoir from someone who made the leap.
The book is written with a lot of humor and insight into the upheaval that comes with embracing a new culture. Doran is a Hollywood writer hesitant to admit that younger writers are getting more bites than he is. Doran's wife sees Hollywood tearing him apart and buys a decrepit house in Tuscany, hoping to convince him to move there and begin enjoying life.
Sometimes I get frustrated at the scenarios that allow people to live their lives in other continents, not worried about jobs and health insurance and raising children, but Doran has no qualms about admitting the financial limitations and his attempts to sell his writing while in Italy. Even while learning that life in Italy is more about living than making a living, Doran nurses some hopes that he can make it big as a writer in Hollywood. He gives some interesting insights into that world as well.
The book made me laugh a lot. The couple rented a house where the heat didn't work so they wore layers of clothing. Then when the heat was turned on, you guessed it, a heat wave came in and they walked around sweating. Things like that are harder to get fixed when dealing with a foreign language and foreign culture.
As a straightforward American, I find it hard to believe that so much finagling goes on while trying to get roads built and houses remodeled. At one point, while trying to hide the fact that their old ruin of a house might be covering a more historic shell built by the Etruscans, they invoke the Sopranos as New York relatives to intimidate the builder. I can't imagine being that ballsy.
Mostly though, I enjoyed getting to feel the culture that surrounded Doran as he slowly unwound from the importance of being a success to the importance of enjoying life.

Fake Injuries in European Soccer

For the past few weeks, I've spent some of my afternoon watching the European Football tournament. That's soccer to us Americans. Teams from various countries play for the championship. This week the competition was down to Spain versus Portugal and Italy versus Germany.
My friends know that I love sports and I'm pretty competitive, so I revel in a good sports tournament, especially when country honor is at stake.
Watching European soccer has been an eye opener. I generally root for the underdog.

Here's a photo from Zimbio

As I watch, I am astonished by the number of players who fake injuries and lie on the field, rolled into a ball, even as play continues around them. Now, I've seen my fair share of NBA (basketball) stars take flops when guarding the basket, but to stay on the ground when they aren't actually hurt is unthinkable. Don't they know their team needs them?
The replays generally show that the player either was not touched or received only a glancing blow. The players are hoping that the referee will take pity and give the other play a yellow card, which is a warning. This is a sport that could really use an instant replay clause. That would get those guys to stop faking injuries.
While watching players from Greece, the Czech Republic, Ireland, England, France, Denmark, The Netherlands, along with the countries still in the tournament, I have come up with a theory. The farther south the country, the closer to the Mediterranean, the more likely the players were to flop on the field and feign an injury. I hate to speak ill of the players from these countries I love, but I think they have a knack for melodrama.
Some of them will lie on the field so long that the team brings out a stretcher and four strong guys to carry the hurt player off the field. This reminds me of the scene from Florence in  A Room With A View where the Italians get in a fight and one of the guys is killed by a knife. The other men in the piazza pick up the dead guy and carry him to the nearest fountain to wash him off. They carry him just like the guys from the soccer field.

 

Here's a picture of Ronaldo, not on the soccer field,
 but in an ad for Armani, I think.
This photo is from this website.

 In soccer though, inevitably, the hurt guy hops off the stretcher on the sidelines and goes back in the game within minutes. Why? Because he wasn't really hurt.
The biggest offender I saw in the faking injury field was Ronaldo who plays for Portugal when he isn't being paid a lot of money to play for Real Madrid or one of those teams. Ronaldo fell to the soccer field whenever another player breezed by him. And because Ronaldo is famous, the player on the other team often got a yellow card and a warning not to be so rough. Time and again, I saw Ronaldo sink to the green grass writhing in pain. In the end, Portugal lost to Spain, in spite of Ronaldo's excellent acting skills. I don't want to discount Ronaldo's other talents though, as you can see from the photo of him.
As I watched the soccer players lying on the ground, I imagined what it would be like to put them on the field with NFL players. Football players get up even when they are gravely injured. They hobble off the field with torn ligaments and concussions and broken bones. I'm not condoning the brutality that happens in the NFL, but I think the soccer players could stop faking injuries and start acting a little tougher.
The least they could do is save the dramatics for an actual injury.

First Paragraph, Tuesday Teaser -- Dolci di Love

Every Tuesday, Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea posts the first paragraph of her current read. Anyone can join in. Go to Diane's website for the image and share the first paragraph of the current book you are reading.
This is kind of cheating because I finished the book already, but I enjoyed it and wanted to share it with you.
Dolci di Love by Sarah-Kate Lynch (was there ever a less Italian-sounding name?) is about a woman who lives in Manahattan and discovers that her husband has another family hidden in Tuscany. So she travels there and her life changes in some surprising ways. Here's the intro.

Daniel's other woman and two bright-eyed beautiful children were sitting under the insole of his left golf shoe when Lily first found them. They were laminated.

 Also this week is Teaser Tuesdays.

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

Grab your current read
Open to a random page
Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers.
Here's a teaser from Dolci di Love on page 49:

It was the babies' fault. Those smiling, pink-cheeked, plump, sweet-smelling babies with whom she had never been blessed. Their absence had just sapped the pant-peeing happiness right out of her. That's where the laughter had gone.

I enjoyed this book a lot as a summer read, even though it deals with relationships, aging, parenting, disappointment, lots of important issue. I mean, it was set in Tuscany, so what was not to like.

Independent Drivers

Today, my youngest got his driver's license. So that's it. Five licensed drivers in the house, counting me and my husband, and only 2 cars.
But two of them (kids, not cars) will be off to college in the fall so we'll be back to 3 drivers at home.
The good news is, I have one more person to send out to buy milk when I'm too lazy to go

Saturday Snapshot -- 22nd Anniversary

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.

It's not that I forgot it was my anniversary when I posted my earlier previous Saturday Snapshot below, I just didn't think about posting photos from my wedding 22 years ago.  The photos aren't the best, because I simply took a picture with my iPhone to post it here. But I think you'll get the drift.

Earl and I were married at my parents' blueberry farm in the Daniel Boone Forest in Kentucky. They lived in a log cabin and we were married in front of a creek that ran past there. The Tiger lilies were in bloom and the day was perfect.

This is me with my mom on the left and my mother-in-law on the right getting dressed in one of the loft bedrooms.

My dad walks me down the porch steps to Earl

The First Kiss

And here's the wedding party, Tracey, my best friend from high school, the priest, Erin, Earl's niece, me, Earl and Earl's brother Art. Small, but just right.

Saturday Snapshot -- Breakfast on the Go

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.

After my run this morning, I visited Trader Joe's to stock up on milk, fruits, vegetables and cheeses. I like visiting Trader Joe's early on Saturday mornings because it isn't as busy. I also like that it gives me a sampler breakfast.

This morning, slices of baguette with butter and boysenberry jam. Yum.

Then I moved a foot to the left and poured myself a shot of coffee with a little cream. This tiny cup of coffee was perfect to get me through my shopping trip until I could get home and find a regular-sized cup of coffee.

The photos aren't too creative, but they were tasty.

Competing With Myself

This morning, I discovered something new on my phone, and it can only mean trouble.
I signed onto iMapMyRun, an app that keeps track of my route when I run.
But, wait, that's not all. It also keeps track of my speed.
I really wish I hadn't seen that. Now I'm going to be compulsive about running faster times and trying to beat my previous times.
I learned a valuable lesson when I pushed the start button on my route as I walked out the door. That's right, I walked out the door instead of running, which slowed down my overall time. I usually walk the first two-tenths of a mile to the corner before I start running. When I saw my overall time, I was again cursing myself. That was throwing off my cumulative time.
For my next run, I'd give up the mileage and not start the route until I was ready to run.
It started to rain about a mile into my run, so I turned around (I have to protect my iPhone from the rain). I pushed the button to end my "route" as soon as I started walking so it wouldn't reduce my overall speed. Then when I pushed to finish, the app asked me if I wanted to post my run, make it public.
No, I can't imagine who I would want to share this with.
That's when the app flashed at me to start adding friends. What friends would I have who wanted to keep track of my runs and my speed? Unless they were simply planning to compete with me? Is that where we're going?
I get enough pressure competing with myself.

Summer Evening

For my friend who sat through her 8-year-old's soccer tryouts, these days will come.
Sitting on the hammock with a book set in Italy. A warm breeze blows my hair across my face. The tweets of birds are my social media. The lowering sun is my backlight for reading.
Ahhh. La dolce vita

Startling Discovery

Today Grace and I made a quick 6-hour trip to Kentucky to visit my 95-year-old grandmother. She has been living with my aunt for nearly a year now since she had a stroke and got out of rehab. She'd like to live on her own again and I've promised that I'll start looking for someone to take care of her and stay with her at her home an hour farther south than my aunt.  It was nice to see my grandmother and my aunt, plus my parents were visiting from Florida, so lots of good family time. But that wasn't what startled me.

It was the gas prices. As we turned into my aunt's neighborhood, I saw a Speedway sign advertising gas for $3.22.

Before we started our trip, I had just filled up in Columbus for $3.59 and thought that was pretty cheap.

As we were leaving my aunt's, I pulled into the Speedway and found gas was even 1 cent cheaper than advertised. I got half a tank of gas for $3.21 a gallon.

Startling in this day and age.

First Paragraph, Teaser Tuesday -- The Flight of Gemma Hardy

Every Tuesday, Diane at Bibliophile by the Sea posts the first paragraph of her current read. Anyone can join in. Go to Diane's website for the image and share the first paragraph of the current book you are reading.
This morning I'm starting The Flight of Gemma Hardy by Margot Livesey. I'm not sure where I heard about this book. Maybe I saw it on one of the blogs I read. A blurb about the book calls it a modern Jane Eyre. Here's the first paragraph:

We did not go for a walk on the first day of the year. The Christmas snow had melted, and rain had been falling since dawn, darkening the shrubbery and muddying the grass, but that would not have stopped my aunt from dispatching us. She believed in the benefits of fresh air for children in all weather. Later, I understood, she also enjoyed the peace and quiet of our absence. No, the cause of our not walking was my cousin Will, who claimed his cold was too severe to leave the sitting-room sofa, but not so bad that he couldn't play cards. His sister Louise, he insisted, must stay behind for a game of racing demon.

 Also this week is Teaser Tuesdays.

Teaser Tuesdays is a weekly bookish meme, hosted by MizB of Should Be Reading. Anyone can play along! Just do the following:

Grab your current read
Open to a random page
Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers.
Here's my teaser from page 120:

"Children are so bloody uncompromising," he said quietly. "You think everything's black and white, that I'm on one side and you're on the other, but, Hardy, you're more like me than you know. One day you'll see something you want -- money, or someone else's husband, or a beautiful vase -- and you'll think you'll die if you can't have it. You'll be ready to risk your whole future for a few hours, a few days with whatever it is. When that happens think of me: working out my sentence."

What do you think? Would you keep reading? Would you put it on your TBR list?

Losing Wisdom -- Teeth, that is

Spencer had his wisdom teeth out on Friday.
Our dentist has it down to a science, mixing a concoction of steroids and ibuprofen for the swelling, antibiotics to ward off infection, Vicodin for the pain and a handful of feel-happy pills to relax his patients before they arrive.
Spencer wasn't very loopy when we went. He sat watching the Disney movie Cars while the dentist surgically removed his bottom wisdom teeth. Then Spencer stumbled out and we drove home. He was fairly talkative around the pieces of gauze stuffed in his mouth. The movie melded with reality and he felt like he was in the movie, he explained. He also thought he must be seeing double cause he thought there were four people working on him.
"Could have been," I said.
"What about there?" he asked. "Is that one motorcycle in front of us or two?"
"Just one," I told him.
"Is that girl walking two dogs or one?" he asked.
"One dog," I replied.
Then I looked over and saw him repeatedly punching himself in the jaw.
"What are you doing?" I asked pulling his fist away.
"I can't feel anything," he said.
"Well, you'll feel it later," I warned.
Having wisdom teeth out around the age of 18 seems like a normal teenage ritual. It reminded me of my teen years when David, the boy up the street, had his wisdom teeth out. He was about five years older than me and his little brother was one of my best friends. Like a lot of younger girls though, I had a major crush on the older brother.
David lay on the couch in the family room, his cheeks swollen with gauze, wiping drool and blood from the sides of his mouth, and he had a captive audience in me.
He had seen the movie Alien the night before and he described the movie in great detail. I'm pretty sure his description of the movie was longer than the actual movie.
I hung on his every word and counted it one of the highlights of my summer, earning the one-on-one attention of that older high school boy
And that was my first encounter with someone under the influence of whatever drugs they used back then to take out wisdom teeth. After that, whenever someone was having their wisdom teeth out, we'd plan to gather wherever they were recovering so we could hear them talk, and make fun of them later.

Saturday Snapshot -- Sleeping Beauties

To participate in the Saturday Snapshot meme post a photo that you (or a friend or family member) have taken then leave a direct link to your post on Alyce's blog At Home With Books. Photos can be old or new, and be of any subject as long as they are clean and appropriate for all eyes to see. How much detail you give in the caption is entirely up to you. Please don’t post random photos that you find online.

Grace is working two jobs this summer, so she's frequently exhausted. The cat, well, he doesn't need a reason to sleep.

Hope your summer is going well.

Expensive Soap

When Grace came back from France in December, she brought an array of delicately scented soaps that she bought for 1 Euro each in the market in Aix en Provence.
We cherished each one. The olive oil soap bathing our dry winter skin. The lemon verbena with its sharp scent waking us in the mornings. The lavender soap soothing us with its calming fragrance. Those soaps are long gone now, so while walking through Trader Joe's, I stopped at the soap section and debated. The oatmeal soap was inexpensive. So was the honey soap, but I was lured in by the blue soap with bits of lavender added. $3.99 seemed a little pricey for 1 bar of soap, but I figured it was cheaper than a flight to France and visit to the market in Provence. So I bought it.

I did not anticipate the complaints from the men in my house. Little pieces of lavender left in the bathtub or that they needed to rinse off their bodies afterward apparently annoyed them. One of them even called the soap, "Hairy." So I stopped buying the lavender soap and switched to the honey or oatmeal.

Then Grace and I were at Trader Joe's yesterday, looking at soaps again. I looked longingly at the lavender soap, even picking it up to read the label "Bisous de Provence" which means kisses from Provence. Then I reluctantly replaced it on the shelf.

"I love that soap," I said.

"Me too," Grace said.

"Wait, I thought you hated it."

"No, that's just Dad and the boys. I say we get it and let them deal with it."

And we did. Now my morning shower involves the sweet scent of lavender, and an extra rinse at the end to remove the hairiness.

It's one way to bring a little of southern France to my life everyday -- without the expensive flight.