Update

The problem with not blogging for so long, is that there is way too much to blog about so then it's discouraging and I'll never be able to catch up! 

But, after Sillygirl asked in the comments a few times, I realized that there are some loyal readers who might worry what has happened to me, so I thought I could at least share some pictures with you.

First, we are safely back in France having dodged Covid around the world, well at least in the U.S., Ireland and France, so far. 

We returned a week ago and our friends have been so welcoming and supportive, like they missed us. I know we missed them. 

My first hike back in France, this horse posed with the sunrise between the mountains. 

Our trip to the States, three months long, was too much, but we enjoyed every minute we got to spend with our sons and my parents, plus time with our siblings and nieces and nephews. Then Covid got crazy and we just hunkered down over the holidays, only seeing Tucker, who had Covid the week before we got there, and Spencer and his girlfriend. Earl's sister and her kids and grandkids all had Covid over the holidays, canceling our plans to gather. We ended up skipping out on our flight from Columbus to Florida and renting a car instead to avoid Omicron, which seemed to infect everyone, even those of us triple vaxxed. We couldn't risk taking Covid back to my parents as Dad was preparing to have his pacemaker replaced (all went well). Also, we knew if we tested positive, we wouldn't be able to board the plane back home. After three months  of staying with other people, we were ready to get home. 
But, as always, there's the terrible pull in the pit of my stomach as I say goodbye to my sons or to my parents. Leaving our sons and my parents behind is the hardest part of living in France. When I say that, I hear the scene from Love Actually when Colin Forth tells his Portuguese housekeeper and love interest that dropping her off is the worst part of his day. I find myself reminiscing about the boys' childhoods, the quick patter of their feet on the wooden floors before diving onto our bed in the morning. I see their beautiful chubby cheeks and innocent eyes. 

They're both planning trips to visit us this year with significant others, so fingers crossed that it actually happens. 

Mom and Dad both had birthdays while we visited. They're doing great and staying healthy while avoiding Covid. It's tricky these days. Luckily, their favorite thing, golf, is outdoors. 

We left Florida on a Sunday. Our flights were scheduled Tampa, New York then Dublin. We were spending a few days with Grace and Jack since they hadn't gotten home for Christmas. Jack is still waiting on his visa from the Irish government and doesn't want to leave the country in case there's difficulty returning. Grace is working on her PhD in Archeology, focusing on cultural heritage, especially our area of France. How convenient!

Our Tampa to New York flight got delayed, which meant we wouldn't make our New York to Dublin flight. My knee-jerk reaction was to get to the airport as quickly as possible so we could take an alternative flight. I stayed online with Delta the entire hour and a half drive to the airport and we only got our new flights resolved as we were leaving our rental car. At the airport by 1:30, our flight wouldn't leave til 8:30. Now we were flying Tampa, Atlanta, Paris, Dublin. I know! I couldn't believe I couldn't leave any of our five suitcases in France while we were there. 

But we made it to Dublin the next day and quickly embraced Grace. We enjoyed four nights with her and Jack, making up for our missed Christmas together. 

Daughter/dad hugs. Of course we went for a walk on the beach in Dublin.
We're so lucky to get sun when we're there. 

The countryside is stunning in Ireland, even in January. 

This climb in Bray was a good workout and had beautiful views. 

On Friday we flew back to France and our friend Derrick met us at the airport in Toulouse. It's two hours from home, but flights to the closer airport had been cancelled. 

We arrived home just in time to make it to our visa appointment. 

Since we moved to France in 2018, we have had to renew our visa every year. This is our 5th year, which means next year, we can apply for a 10-year visa or carte de séjour as they're called in France. 

After receiving our visa, we celebrated by walking about La Cité in Carcassonne. As stunning as ever.

The sky and the outer walls of the chateau

And so we're back. We've been enjoying time with friends, drinking inexpensive wine and stocking up on scrumptious pastries, along with walks and runs in the countryside. It's not a bad life.

Novels Set in France

 Since many of you read my blog to keep up-to-date on my novels or my travels in France, I wanted to let you know about a new Facebook group that might interest you.

I have spent time writing and looking out this window in Aix en Provence

The group is called Novels Set in France and it highlights books that -- you guessed it -- take place in France. You might find some new favorite books there.

I have no doubt that you'll be able to add some interesting ideas and discussions to the group. 

Let me know if some of your favorite books haven't been included yet.

And, just in case you've fallen behind on reading my novels, here are some pictures and links: 

The Summer of France: When Fia Jennings loses her job at the local newspaper, she thinks she'll have the chance to bond with her teenage twins. As she realizes she may be too late to create the perfect family, she's saved by a phone call from her great Uncle Martin who runs a bed and breakfast in Provence. Uncle Martin wants Fia to venture to France to run the B&B so he and his wife Lucie can travel. He doesn't tell Fia about the secret he hid in the house when he married Lucie after fighting in World War Ii, and he doesn't mention the people who are tapping his phone and following him, hoping to find the secret.

Falling for Provence: Running a French B&B isn’t all wine and smelly cheese, Fia Jennings discovers as she tries to create a new life for herself and a smooth path for her teenage twins, while not—absolutely not – falling into a new romance. But she didn’t anticipate a handsome stranger showing up on her doorstep and sucking her into an art caper with dangerous overtones. Can she make a new life in France or will she retreat to the States and her broken marriage?

Paris Runaway: 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.

I See London I See France: When her husband of a dozen years walks out in a huff, Caroline Sommers 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?

Trail Mix: In the tradition of Wild by Cheryl Strayed, comes a novel of two suburban women who decide to hike the Appalachian Trail, escaping their lives as moms and wives in search of nature, adventure, and the ultimate diet plan.

How does a woman know what she wants after spending 20 years thinking about her husband and children? Sometimes it takes a distraction from everyday life, time to examine the forest before the trees become clear. With no previous camping experience, Andi and Jess begin the 2100-mile odyssey from Georgia to Maine. The friends figure life on the 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. At the very least, the women are bound to return home thin.

French Masquerade: A short story: As Joanna’s only son graduates and her marriage stumbles to an unexpected close, an old friend drags her to Paris to drown her sorrows in wine, museums and men with accents. Can the City of Light ignite a spark in Joanna or only torch songs from her younger days?

A Miracle Day

Fourteen months. That’s how long it has been since I’ve seen my parents. 

And it has been a harrowing year to live across the ocean, knowing that a pandemic was attacking and killing thousands of people in my parents’ age group.

That’s why it seems like a miracle that today, I got to hug them again. 

Reunited

I know, I know. It isn’t safe to travel now. The odds of getting out of locked-down France, into Spain and onto a flight to Florida seemed low. But my parents have both had their vaccinations and Earl and I have had our first shot, which the doctor said should give us about 85% coverage. It was a risk we needed to take. 

France locked down nearly a week ago. We got our negative Covid test results Thursday morning and our friends Jack and Jules drove us an hour to the train station in Perpignan. 

There we caught a train to Barcelona, which takes about an hour and a half. There were about 5 people in our train car. Spain is more open than France, but people are all wearing masks and staying distant. 

We took a walk from our hotel Thursday evening, finding a Starbucks (the one decadence I miss from the States) and sitting near La Sagrada Familia, the Gaudi designed cathedral that is still unfinished, to drink our coffee. 

No crowds taking pictures this time in Barcelona

We got take out from a Turkish restaurant and carried it back to our hotel room. In Spain, restaurants are allowed to serve people until 5 pm. Then they can offer take out dining from 5-10. Their curfew is at 10, which makes France’s 7 pm curfew seem pitiful. 

We had a breakfast buffet at the hotel. It felt weird to eat inside a restaurant. There was only one other person in the big room. The buffet had hand sanitizer and plastic gloves at both ends to limit the spread of virus. 

Only one other person was eating breakfast

A taxi picked us up at the hotel and we walked into a very empty-feeling airport. There was no one in line in front of us so we quickly checked in. I hadn’t been allowed to check-in online because the first question American Airlines asked was whether we had visited South Africa, Brazil, China, Europe, etc, recently. Since we were flying out of Spain, you can guess the answer to that question. Answering yes meant we couldn’t check in online. 

There were many helpful people at the airport. I always feel guilty saying “no hablo espagnol” and being satisfied with “hola” and “gracias.”

Our plane looks so small from here. 

When we got on the plane, we realized how fortunate we were to find a flight going abroad at all. This flight from Barcelona to Miami had only 29 passengers on a flight that could take more than 200. Thanks, American Airlines for not canceling. 

The flight attendants offered us our choice of seats (not in business or first class, obviously). 

Fellow passengers were few and far between

We had snacks and lunch and little cups of ice cream with a plastic spoon. 

In case you've forgotten what an airplane meal looks like.
Noodles and sauce, salad, cheese, bread and chocolate cake for dessert. 

If only it had a wooden spoon. 

I finished reading a book and watched a French movie about a woman hiking with a donkey, hilarity ensues. 

We landed in Miami because it seemed a better option than hanging out in airports and transferring to another plane. Instead, we reserved a car to drive the three hours to Mom and Dad’s. 

We return the car to a nearby town Saturday morning and then we’ll quarantine at Mom and Dad’s for 10 days. And if all goes well, we should get to see those well-loved sons of ours in Ohio, one of whom we haven’t seen in 14 months either. 

My heart is full at the miracle of it all. 

A Spanish Excursion

 For some reason, I started going to an English-speaking dentist in Spain. He was recommended by several people on a Facebook page for expats. I've gone to see him three or four times as he tried to fix a problem I have with a front tooth with bone loss that was getting infected. I'll skip the grisly details, but suffice it to say that in October, we made a plan to fix it. 

Then Catalonia, Spain, an area that includes everything from the French border to Barcelona, closed to visitors. France went into lockdown, too. The dentist and I emailed occasionally, but it always seemed that we would risk a fine if we drove to Spain.

Finally, as my local doctor gave me an antibiotic for an abscess of the tooth, I figured we needed to get it resolved. We would drive to Spain.

But France had recently passed a rule that anyone entering France needed a negative Covid test. This entire time, going on a year with Covid rules, I had never needed a Covid test. 

I made an appointment with the local lab. It's just around the corner from us. I dreaded it because my friend Derrick, who has been back and forth to England several times warned me that the lab specialist here was "a butcher." He said a man in front of him came away bleeding after his Covid test. 

So with trepidation, we went on Monday afternoon. Earl went first, pulling down his mask under his nose while the lab tech swabbed with a long handled cotton swab. I went next, telling him it was "my first time." The swab was smaller than I had pictured, and he might have twirled it around my right nostril longer than I thought necessary, but I walked away with only some stinging in my eyes. Not nearly as bad as I had dreaded. 

Ironically, Monday evening, I had a fever. The next morning, it was gone, and my test results came back negative by email. Earl didn't receive his so Wednesday morning, before we drove to Spain, we walked over to the lab to get a copy of Earl's negative results. 

The drive to Spain was sunny and beautiful. Two hours and 15 minutes to Girona with a view of snow-topped Canigou.

Canigou, part of the Pyrenees between France and Spain

We drove on the turnpike in France, and when we stopped to pay before we entered Spain, we expected to see Gendarmes asking why we were leaving France. But no one was there. Next, when we halted to take a ticket from the Spanish toll highway, we weren't asked for paperwork or test results either. 

We did see a few Spanish police officers standing along the side of the road near the toll booths, but they weren't stopping people.

The busy outlet mall that people from France frequently visit was closed, no cars in the parking lot. But groceries and small stores were open in Spain. 

Girona in the sunshine

When we pulled into Girona, we looked for a grocery store. Things are generally cheaper in Spain so we had decided to do some shopping before my appointment, thinking I might not feel like it afterward. We found a Lidl and definitely came away with some bargains. 6 Euros for a 12-pack of Spanish beer. 1,49 euros for a large jar of Hellman's mayonnaise (mayo in France has mustard added). Amaretto for 4,59 euros. Yeah, it was an off brand, but the DiSaronno amaretto costs 20 euros in France. 

The dental work was over quickly and the outcome was the best we could have hoped for. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink for three hours.

But the restaurants and bars were open in Girona. In France, all restaurants and bars have been closed since October 30th. I know it's a small sacrifice, but I just miss sitting outside with my friends having coffee or wine. 

So when Earl said we didn't have to get lunch (for him, obviously, not me) I insisted that we would sit down and have lunch even if I couldn't eat or drink anything. The temperature was in the mid-60s (17 celsius) and it felt so nice to enjoy the weather and the privileges we didn't have in France. 

Enjoying lunch outdoors

We found a restaurant with an 11 euro menu for two courses and a drink. Earl, knowing he had to drive home, chose a Coke to drink. His primo course was a spinach crepe. His segundo was pork and fried potatoes. He turned down dessert, but I wanted him to keep eating so we could continue to sit in the sun. 

Shops close in Spain from 2-4 for lunch hour, so we walked past the closed shops and found another square filled with tables and umbrellas to block the sun. 

We found a courtyard filled with outdoor restaurants

We made our way back to the parking garage, paid the 5,20 we owed for the few hours of parking, and made our way back to the highway. 

When we entered France, the gendarmes stopped us and asked to see our Covid tests. 

I told the man that we had been to the dentist. "I'm afraid of the dentist," the officer told me. "Moi, j'ai peur du dentiste." 

"Oui," I agreed with him, although not so much afraid as in pain by that point. I was still counting the hours until I could drink something so I could take some Advil. 

We arrived home before the 6 p.m. curfew that continues in France. 

Now, I don't mind planning another trip to the dentist, thinking we'll make sure to get there early enough to at least have coffee outside before my appointment. 

Mid-Winter Outings

The groundhog may have seen his shadow on February 2nd, but spring is fast erupting here in the South of France. 

Some things haven't changed much. Restaurants and bars remain closed. We have a 6 p.m. curfew every night, which means we can't gather with friends in the evenings. (Yes, this is what it is meant to do.)

The vaccine is being given out at a very slow rate in France, which is a bit disheartening. 

Still, we find ways to occupy our time. 

My time is complicated because I work most days from 11-2, taking only Wednesday off work. But when I have the day off, we try to have an adventure.

This Wednesday, thanks to friends who recommended it, Earl and I traveled with Jack and Jules to Roquefort les Cascades. That's roquefort like the cheese, but not a cheese in sight. Instead, the end of the name "cascade," which means waterfall, is what we went for. 

Our friends Jim and Theresa had been earlier that week and said the waterfalls we're at peek from the melting snow. 

Several cascading jets of water made their way from the top of the hills

Each rise we climbed showed us more waterfalls.
 If the temperature had been warmer, I might have suspected a tropical paradise. 

My perpetually crooked sunglasses on top of my head as we attempted to pose in front of a waterfall. 

There's a short video of a waterfall at the bottom of this post. I couldn't get it to move up 

A week ago Sunday before, I had seen a sign advertising a honey festival. I grew up with a honey festival and continue to dream about the deliciousness of honey ice cream. I wasn't expecting that, but still decided it was worth a trip. The day was gorgeous and our friends Sue and Steve agreed to join us. 

The honey festival was in Tautavel, famous for an ancient skull discovered there proving that human ancestors lived in the area 550,000-400,000 years ago. 

The sunshine convinced us to show Sue and Steve the gorge near Tautavel. 

 The honey festival couldn't hold a candle to Lebanon's honey festival that I remember as a child, but we enjoyed looking at some bee basics. Earl and I bought a jar of honey to support the local beekeepers, along with a loaf of fig bread. Everyone who bought honey got a free sprig of mimosa. 

The mimosa blossoms were gorgeous.
Too bad I learned they can be toxic to cats so had to throw it out. 

The Wednesday before that, we had to travel to the "big city" of Perpignan to pick out new tiles for the half bath on our first floor. Since we were in Perpignan, we decided to take a trip to the beach, the Mediterranean. 

Glorious sunshine. The sand was soft, no wind blowing. But the water was cold. 

Jim came prepared, as always, wearing shorts.
Earl just walked in with his pants rolled up and they quickly unrolled. 

We didn't stay on the beach long, but it was nice to remember that warm weather and more outings will come our way as winter turns to spring. 

Theresa and I didn't spend much time in the water. 

On another Sunday morning, we went to the market in Esperaza with Jack and Jules. 

The market is in full swing, including little cups of take away coffee. 

So we'll consider having outings with our friends and exploring this beautiful country we live in. 

Here's a video of the waterfalls at Roquefort les Cascades

Covid Christmas in Dublin

No one expected Christmas 2020 to be normal. Why should it when everything has been turned upside down this year? 

We could have flown to the States for Christmas, but with 200,000 new cases a day, that seemed a folly. 

Also, we wouldn’t risk seeing my parents and passing on the virus to them if we picked it up in our travels. 

Grace and Jack were in Dublin. Our sons were in the States. I knew that Ireland was allowing Americans to enter, so I proposed we all meet in Dublin.

 Spencer and Kaitlin decided it was too risky. They were very mature about it. Tucker, faced with a Christmas alone, decided to join us. 

We knew it wouldn’t be a touristy trip, just a family get together. 

We rented an Airbnb. We sprung for an extra bedroom because Tucker often complains that as the only single person he gets stuck on the pull-out couch. 

The apartment was less than a mile from Grace and Jack’s apartment. 

We all arrived on Sunday December 20. Earl and I flew from Barcelona, a couple of hours from our home in France. 

The Covid situation was changing quickly. Suddenly, France and a number of other countries were closing their borders to the UK. Of course, Ireland is in the EU, not in the UK, but it made me nervous when friends got stranded in England. 

And Spain declared that everyone visiting from Red areas needed a Covid test to enter. It was kind of a puzzle because Ireland, with a low number of cases, isn’t a red area, but France where we originated, is. 

The rule was that we needed a test 72 hours before the flight, which would have been Christmas Day. I couldn’t find any place giving Covid tests on the day after Christmas and the only tests at the airport I could find were drive-up tests. We didn’t have a car. 

We decided to risk it, calling ourselves in transit to France. We have our carte de séjour or résident card, an electric bill to prove our address, and our parking ticket to show that our car was awaiting us. We would promise to make a quick getaway from Spain. 

So all of this was going through my mind as we tried to enjoy a family Christmas. 

We managed to cook a few meals on the wonky apartment stove and Jack cooked a delicious beef Wellington for our Christmas dinner. I had to make Tucker’s favorite holiday dish corn casserole but there was no corn meal or flour and no creamed corn to be found in Ireland. I made my own creamed corn and found a recipe that used flour. 

Grace made a delicious apple pie. 

We played family games most nights and had takeout a few nights. We walked and shopped and watched in amazement as the sun set each afternoon at 4ish. 

It was great to be together, even though we missed Spencer and Kaitlin. 

Tucker flew out this morning to the news that the US wasn’t accepting travelers from the UK. I told him some people in the US might not know that Ireland isn’t in the UK. 

As I write this, he’s on his plane, nearly to New York. 

Earl and I are waiting for our flight. The airline checked to see if we had the necessary health form required by Spain. We do and they waved us on. 

Fingers crossed that by the time you read this, we have safely landed in Barcelona and roared off in our little Audi back to France. 

An Anniversary Celebration in Nice

The beach in Nice, France, is one of the most uncomfortable beaches I have ever been to.
Don't get me wrong, the city is beautiful and the vistas are breathtaking, but if you're in search of a beach to frolic along the Med, choose another place.

The rocky beaches don't keep families from the beach

I knew the beach in Nice was rocky when I made a mistake writing about a trip to Nice in my book The Summer of France. Luckily, a friend corrected me and I was able to go back and edit so that Fia's trip to the beach was filled with softly rounded stones.
My own trip to the beach might have been filled with worn stones, but I had no idea how painful they would be.
Before we went to the beach, I went to a beach shop and bought a 7 euro pair of flip-flops because I had forgotten to pack mine.
I foolishly thought that the flip-flops would protect my feet. They did on the walk down to the water, but the first wave that rolled forward washed a layer of stones between my feet and the shoe.  As I was trying to kick them out, I lost my flip-flop and it started to float away.
The water was chilly, so I sat down on the rocks and soaked my feet, each time another layer of rocks somehow covered my shoe, wiggling between my foot and the sole. Earl swam a bit, sans shoes; he must have tougher feet than I do because he stood on the floor of the sea. After awhile, we decided to head back to the towels. Here was the next tricky bit.
The descent to the sea is a bit steep. So I stood up, emptied the rocks from my shoes. I precariously balanced while I put them back on, only to have another avalanche of pebbles to fill my shoes before I could take my first step.
I realized that I could not walk up the incline with the flip-flops on, so I carried them,  yelping in pain while I climbed to the top of the embankment.
Another pause while I put my flip-flops on and then a brief walk to the towel where, you guessed it, I lay down on a pile of rocks.
It wasn't as bad as trying to walk.
I may have to go in and edit The Summer of France so Fia has as painful an experience as I did.
I have decided that old tennis shoes might be the answer to the rocky beach -- an old pair of converse would have kept the rocks out and saved the pain on my feet. I don't know how all those kids are running and swimming barefoot. I guess they get used to it.
But don't cry for me. This morning, Earl and I simply took the elevator up to the top floor and swam in the pool of our hotel.

This is the curve of the beach where we're staying to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. 

The pool on our rooftop

The view from the rooftop

We came to Nice to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary, which was Tuesday.
We traveled with Grace and Jack to the Pont du Gard, the ancient Roman aqueduct,

An amazing feat built in the first century AD

then we traveled to Carrières de Lumières, where art is projected on the walls of an old limestone mine and brought to life.

We've seen three exhibitions here. This one was Gaudi and Dali. 

Then we spent the night in Aix en Provence before leaving Grace and Jack behind. We used our credit card points to book a hotel in Nice, and now we have a lovely break along the shore.
But you won't catch me swimming. If only I'd packed some old tennis shoes.

Publication Day

Today you can get my latest novel Falling for Provence.

This is the continuation of the story of Fia, who traveled to Provence to help her uncle run a bed & breakfast. She found trouble and adventure, and guess what finds her again?
Fia struggles with the loneliness of raising her teenage twins by herself and somehow entwines herself in more art intrigue -- this time at the Louvre in Paris.
There's romance, adventure and family life, along with some folklore that could bring peace to the Middle East. Not too much for one Ohio girl to handle.
Here are the links for Falling for Provence on Amazon.com in the States.
Falling for Provence in the UK
Falling for Provence in France.
Also available on Barnes & Noble Nook at Falling for Provence.
And Kobo at Falling for Provence
Don't worry if you haven't read the first novel, The Summer of France. This one is a stand alone. But go back and read it if you want. It's free on Barnes & Noble Nook and Kobo.

That's a lot of links, but I'm asking you if you think you might someday buy my new book, please consider buying it today or this weekend to help new readers find my book.
As always, I truly appreciate your support and hope that you enjoy reading Falling for Provence.

Cover Reveal

In just two days, my new novel Falling for Provence will be released.

Don't you love this cover? Grandview Heights artist Janna Thompson-Chordas created it for me, along with redoing the cover for The Summer of France.
Falling for Provence is the second book in A New Life in Provence series, coming after The Summer of France. 
You can read this book without reading The Summer of France, but I have made The Summer of France free on Barnes & Noble's Nook platform and on Kobo

Thanks to everyone for your support. You can bet that I'll be reminding you on Friday in hopes you'll buy the ebook on Amazon.