Move That: Wherein change is uncertain

Moving is like pushing the curtain back, like wiping dust off a glass table and there it ALL is.  All that stuff you've been stuffing into boxes, corners, under chairs:  Objects, feelings, emotions, memories.  It's turning your life on it's head a bit and life is expecting you to just take it.

For over 20 years, I've lived someplace above street level; someplace where there exists a life lived on all sides, someone on the right, someone on the left, someone above me and someone below me.  I've never questioned it, never thought it might be different.  The sound of footsteps above me or the sound of music below me, someone's TV beside me, has always felt, if not particularly enjoyable, at the very least normal.  Watching the street below me and the people living their lives on the sidewalk opposite me has been a true staple of city living.

Packing up boxes, not quite sure when they'll be opened back up is....um....stressful.  I envision it like working with a true hoarder and asking them keep? sell? donate? or... the box you'll never open again: trash?  As someone who collects and purges pretty much all year, the acts of both seem quite small until faced with everything all at the same time.  And while the voices of reason (currently:  my husband, my sister, my friend Karen, my brother-in-law) all say, just throw it in a box, don't worry about it, anything that's deep storage goes in a box first, put a few important things aside.... well, as a collector and a working artist, they ALL feel incredibly, irrationally important.  And the thought of 'deep storage' of anything makes me wish I'd never heard the word.  I don't feel like anything I own should be in any kind of storage that isn't totally accessible for when the creative ah-ha moment hits!

Moving:  It brings out the best in us, it brings out the worst in us.  It raises a lot of shit to the top.
Someone finally said the same words I'd been thinking:  Moving in your younger years seemed so cool and 'lets have a pizza' kind of times...where did those go?!  I love the idea of being in a new town, meeting new people, living so very differently than I was, or than I even thought might be.  I love knowing I have no idea what might happen in this next city. 
I do know there's no one above us
and no one below us,
and there is one person on one side of us. 
The other side of that is a yard.  A first in over 20 years.

Even with all the roiling, I'm excited for what's next.

Just Keep Singing

I find myself searching for physical proof of a relationship that has existed since we were 14 years old:  Emails, letters, texts, photographs, anything that solidly screams yes, you were here just a moment ago; we loved one another.

Like my good friend the year before, my dear friend, Shauna, died suddenly and unexpectedly on January 30th.  Complications of pneumonia.  Something unforeseen befell Shauna and we lost her in an instant.  While I don't expect this space to become a running obituary of friends and family, I do recognize this feeling of paralysis must be dealt with openly so I can move forward.  As it turns out,  I've always had this notion that moving forward is the wrong thing to do, that it's outright disrespectful.  Moving on with my life feels like a slap in the face of theirs.  So, for a year, since Suzanne's death, I've barely moved...or so it seems to me.  In fact, it's been pointed out to me,  I've done more in the last year than I've done in ages, including actually moving, but I've done it with my eyes closed, or my ears plugged up, and most definitely with a wool blanket over my head.  And I'm finally realizing, I can't expect to pay any respect to anyone, living or dead, that way.

I know a lot of people say this about people they've lost but, in this case, never a truer word was said about someone:  Shauna was THE most positive, loving, giving, religious-faith driven person I've ever met.  She never had a unkind word to say, never.  She smiled in the face of a broken heart, a lost artifact, or a dirty diaper.  She strove to lift people up.  Her entire life was giving, giving, giving.  In the 30 years I've know her, she's crossed state lines to support everything I ever did, or tried to do.  Sean never missed a party; there wasn't a type of food made that she wouldn't eat; she loved red wine and salsa dancing and spoke multiple languages.  At the top of Shauna's list of things she absolutely loved and wouldn't miss a chance to do was singing.  Sean would sing at a dinner table if given the opportunity.  We sang at our high school graduation and she sang every Sunday at her church.  She actually spent a year of her life, traveling the world, singing for people.  Sometimes I wondered if she didn't make a pact with herself when she was young:  Try anything once.  I often asked her, over the years, how she stayed so intensely faithful to a god she'd never seen and she just smiled at me, with nary a judgement in her eyes or her voice, 'Oh, Mol', she'd say, 'It's in there...', as if I might get there too someday.  Shauna impacted the world one person at a time.  And then, just a little over five years ago, she changed the life of the man she met and married and together they brought life to two adorable girls.

It's the people that are left behind that suffer the brunt of it.  It's Shauna's family and friends and her two daughters who lose out, we all rationally understand this.  But, what I'm also finally coming to understand is that we're also the only ones who can keep her spirit alive, the only ones who can share her love for life, her positive attitude, that never-ending giving back to others.
And we're the ones that have to keep on singing.

Well, if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
'cause there's a million things to be
You know that there are

And if you want to live high, live high
And if you want to live low, live low
'cause there's a million ways to go
You know that there are

You can do what you want
The opportunity's on
And if you can find a new way
You can do it today
You can make it all true
And you can make it undo
You see 
Its easy
You only need to know

Well if you want to say yes, say yes
And if you want to say no, say no
'cause there's a million ways to go
You know that there are

--cat stevens

(one of shauna's very favorite songs)

Piano: a most sentimental happening

I thought this so sweet and so sad at the same time. A good friend who lived across the hall from me in NYC sent it to me. He was actually the third owner of our old piano and the one who nearly broke his back bringing it down three flights of stairs to the landing in our old building. When he sent me the link, he reminded me that even our antiquarian neighbor, Gita, used to stop and play the keys before she made the long trek upstairs to the top floor.  Piano's are a funny thing, unlike guitars, which can seem a dime a dozen, piano's seem to hold a history in it's keys.  Or maybe in that firm, upright back of theirs.

so it just is

A year ago, on this very date, I learned that one of my very best friends in the world was gone forever.  Suzanne was killed in an instant by a situation that was avoidable;  a few workmen who chose to cut corners and disregard safety measures that morning made it impossible.  For the last year I have alternatively struggled and completely avoided coming to terms with the total, unbearable emptiness left behind. 

In life, Suzanne and I had known each other since the 6th grade.  Everyone in my family knew her and hold their own memories of her growing up.  Memories that continued to be made well into our adulthood, as Suzanne and I led a fabulous and fun life in NYC.  All my friends in NY met her at one point or another, some for just a moment, and some as part of the continued circus that swirled around our days and nights.  After I made the move to SF, Suzanne came to visit throughout the years, was a huge part of my wedding, and even made sure to come out for that ever-silly bachelorette party beforehand thrown by a group of new friends, all of whom loved her.  She moved into my old apartment, lived with my old furniture, kept me up to date on all things New York:  We called, we texted, we emailed, we sent goodies in the mail... With big issues at hand, I called on Suzanne.

In the wake of her death, there has been a great disconnect that is more than difficult for me to comprehend.  Suzanne kept her own life fairly separate, in different sections.  I am lucky to be close with her brother and his girlfriend now, who I knew in NY, and who keep me sane when I think I'm loosing it over this.  But I have to keep reminding myself, I knew Suzanne in life, with life.  I don't want to continue remembering December 14th as the day we lost her;  I want to remember all the other times.

The conversations we have now aren't one-sided, but they are quieter.  The times I see her are less frequent and without others' memories of it.  It's like one of us is in exile, waiting for it to be over.
Often, that one just feels like me.


And if I go, 
while you're still here...
know that I live on,
vibrating to a different measure
-behind a veil you cannot see through.
You will not see me,
so you must have faith.
I wait for the time when we can soar together again
-both aware of each other.
Until then, live your life to its fullest and when you need me,
just whisper my name in your heart
...I will be there.
      .TC.

A day in the life

RK and I spend most of all day, every day, together, with Stella.  We work at home and we work together.  And even with this, we still chose to spend Saturdays and Sundays together.  In fact, even though when you work for yourself and work from home, the days can tend to blend, the weekend still feels like a deserved weekend.

So, on this past Sunday, RK and Stella and I got up and headed for the beach, one of our favorite Sunday dog trips.  These morning trips to the beach where RK & I walk forever, listening to the ocean, clearing our heads or coming up with the next best thing,  I still get the most pleasure from thinking of a trip to the beach as 'dog trips', a place where Stella is totally free, lets the wind run thru her hair and the ocean up her nose and doesn't stop smiling.  It makes the trip all that more fun, we're doing something super awesome for Stella and we get to enjoy her loving it.  She's the best dog ever, so we try to give back.  Yup, Stella, our dog.

Which isn't the point...

The point is that this morning, as we were headed out on this warm fuzzy beach trip, we passed an ambulance and saw our neighbor lady in the back, with her husband standing at the door, listening to the EMT.  We got about half way up the block and it occurred to us that we should turn around and see if we could help this neighbor man of ours.

This neighbor man of ours, whose name we don't yet know.

We've seen this man and his wife, who are in their 70's, about once a week over the last two years, usually while we're sitting out on the front porch of our apartment building.  Most times, we're sitting with any number of our other neighbors now good friends, who live in our building.  One frienbor (the friend-neighbor combo I just made up) has a tiny dog named Dallas.  Her dog and our Stella are these really neat dog 'friends'.  We all sit on the stoop, when the weather's nice, and drink our coffee and watch our dogs.  This neighbor man and his wife, would often pass in front of our building always on their way to either church or a meal and for a very brief moment notice the dogs and smile, maybe make a comment.  It went on that way for about six months.  One nice, sunny morning, the moment stayed a little longer and an old radio show called "Stella Dallas" was brought up.  I'd never heard of it, none of us had, but it couldn't be cuter that our dogs inspired our neighbor to finally start a conversation.  Months after that, his wife, our neighbor lady, who was also a bowler on the weekends, started pulling out dog treats every time we saw them.  This couple does not own a dog themselves, but she took it upon herself to pick up very special dog treats from the local pet store, keep them in a baggie, inside a tin, for sheer freshness.  Stella & Dallas couldn't contain themselves when this couple came around the corner heading to one of their two destinations:  Oh, how the doggie treats flowed!

Funny thing is, we never once exchanged names.  This is very unlike me:  I ask the name of the guy who bags the groceries, or the cab driver, or the guy at the coffee cart.  And yet, not once did it come up.

A few months ago, our neighbors were passing the porch just as we were coming out the door.  We called our hello's, Stella ran up to them with mad joy, and I mumbled something to the effect, 'you know stella!'  But, the strange thing was, our neighbor lady didn't seem to know Stella.  She stepped back, sort of wobbly, and was amused by the fact that Stella was so excited to see them.  Almost like she was surprised to see a dog at all.  I looked up at our neighbor man and he said very, very softly, 'She's had a stroke' and in an instant it was clear.  She wasn't herself at all, so how was she to know who we were?  We stood just for a moment more and smiled at one another.  Things had clearly changed.  They walked on in the direction headed to one of their two habitual purposes.

Most recently, they were walking past our porch, we stopped and talked and our neighbor lady really seemed like her old self again.  She seemed to recognize me, and she definitely recognized Stella this time.  I came home and told RK I thought it was all looking up for our Stella Dallas neighbors.  But, as you know, if you started this at the beginning, that isn't exactly how it seems to be going.

This morning, when we passed our neighbor man, standing at the door to the back of the ambulance with the medic, and we briefly glanced our neighbor lady on a gurney and it occurred to us to turn around to help, I couldn't stop thinking about how much time they've spent together; the things they've gone through together; the places they've been to together.

We missed our chance at helping, by the time we rounded the corner, the ambulance was closing it's doors and our neighbor man was nowhere to be seen.  We headed out on our morning, thinking and talking and absorbing the weight of life.  We spent a gorgeous morning at the beach, ran Stella until she was happily exhausted and then headed home so Ryan could go bike riding before the wind picked up.

That same afternoon, when RK called me, laying on a gurney, from the back of an ambulance and told me to meet him at General Hospital, I thought of our neighbors again.  Then, I thought of how much time RK and I spend together, how much we've been through together and how many places we've yet to go to, together.

And how it can all change in an instant.

Tuesday is for voting...

Thanks for doing so...

The Art of Craft

 I'm super excited to have been asked, again, to be a part of this fantastic weekend with a really great group of creative women, both teachers and attendees:  The Art of Craft.  You can find all the details and sign up on The Art of Craft website right now, or on French General's website starting on November 1st.

The amount of participation and creativity that goes on each year during this fantastically hosted weekend never ceases to amaze me.  My fabulous family comes out in droves:  bar-tending, making delish food, hosting, meeting and greeting and general, all-around party-throwers to the nth degree!
And I'm always really thrilled by all the other artists and teachers that join in the big weekend, as well:  This year, French General has invited Pam Garrison, Charlotte Lyons, Arlene Baker, Jenny Hart and Rebecca Sower.

I'm teaching a really fun project, that fits right into my obsession with small works of wonder:  "Under the Bell Jar".  We'll actually build out parts of the bell jar and then create each individual pin that will eventually live in your own personal mise-en-scene.

And by Sunday night, with all the classes crafted through and the projects brought to light, we pour ourselves a glass of Lillet and toast this creative world with a talk by Nancy Soriano.

I can't wait!  And I can only hope you'll join us for this super fun, super creative weekend filled with old and new-found friends.  It doesn't take place until January 12-14th, but sign-ups begin now (because, really, whether you've accepted it or not, January is RIGHT around the corner!! where does the time go?!?!).

SIGN-UPS LINKED HERE

Type Rider

I love this story.  A typewriter.  A bike.  A storyteller.  And a public coming together that warms my heart. 

I find this story extra inspiring as I am, once again, beginning to write my own future story, a 'what may come' story. 

I lived my childhood on the coast of Southern California. 
My 20's in New York City. 
My 30's in San Francisco. 
And now, in my 40's, I'm setting out to see what there is in Los Angeles.
Creating the ideal, living the dream, and setting out for more keeps me going.

WORKSHOP : San Francisco

I feel like this may be the beginning of a major new chapter...
After teaching in Los Angeles, New York and France, I'm finally leading my first San Francisco-based workshop,

WORKSHOP:  CONCERTINA BOOK
SUNDAY, OCTOBER 14th
11:30am-2pm
Women's Building, 18th Street

Besides learning how to construct this very cool, old-fashioned  style book, you will receive all the  materials to work with.  I've gone deep into the vast resources of my studio collections, some items dating back to the 1800's, and put together an entire ephemera kit (that I can't seem to stop adding to!) for you to collage with.
Good, juicy stuff you don't want to miss!
I'll be posting images all week on the 8mm ideas Facebook Page, in  case you need more enticement...

Workshops are a fabulous way to get your creative on with a group of  like-minded peeps!  It gets us off line and into each others creative space, up close and personal.  I never thought I was one for group crafting, but I've learned the fun way, thanks to my good friend Holly, who took me to my very first workshop.  And, to my sister Kaari, who was the first one to start asking me to teach to adults.  I taught for years to kids, it seemed sorta similar and dubiously daunting (exactly).  And I've got my friend, T, to thank for getting me into classes that impressed me enough to want to also lead.
I've loved every workshop I've led:  It has been a thrill.

And that's why I'm so excited to do it here, on my own, creating the space...I'm renting a room at the Women's Building and it is gorgeous.  HUGE half domed windows, overlooking 18th Street, beautiful light, wide open room, in a building with so much history.  For just 3 short hours, one Sunday in October, I plan to turn it into a creative workshop space you won't want to leave.

If you don't happen to live in SF, but know someone who does, feel free to share the word.

Class size is limited.
So get it while the getting is good!

Sofia means Wisdom

Sometimes, I get a nervous feeling about moving to LA.  I compare things to SF, the same way I compared SF to NYC.  For SO many years.  Now, I realize, there are so many things I grew to love, I know I'll miss. 
So,  I want to make great strides, grand gestures, and cast my net wide to explore and grow to love LA.  I believe you're never too old to start again, there's always a new path to discover and hell, if you don't go in, you'll never find out.

Then, my sister texts me this photo

and it hit me deep in the gut, I remembered instantly why I want to move to LA.
Experiencing my niece and her incredible zest for new and love for friends, her joy at creating a Halloween costume, her unbridled passion for learning about things/people/ and places,  her unbelievable understanding of others at age 15,  and her total and complete get-up-and-go at all get-up-and-go opportunities, experiencing these things in person are incredibly powerful and life-affirming.  That may sound overly-dramatic, I guess, but I don't care one whit.  When I'm around Sofia, life feels really charged with goodness.

Of course you must have realized by now, the girl in the photo I'm referring to, my niece Sofia is not one of the girls in the audience with her arms crossed, she is the girl who is bouncing into the photo, with Panda Pride, as the school mascot.
High School Pep Rally:  Only Sofia can make it look so good.

Introducing, Once Again, OPEN STUDIOS

current work hanging on the walls at open studios

It's that time, once again:  OPEN STUDIOS!  It's always a great time to come out and meet all new artists, see all new artwork, and to mix and mingle with your fellow art lover patrons.  A super fun weekend for us artists, to actually open the doors to our little worlds of wonder.  I have a fairly small studio, which works just fine for me, considering I only create in about a 2x2 space when I actually get down to it.  Otherwise, my whole studio is a study in collection and creativity that I revel in on a weekly basis.  As I've mentioned before, I surround myself with old worlds, old lives, old books, photos and the strange finds from all over, and then I get down to business!

OPEN STUDIOS is that awesome time that I get to come out of my head and meet other minds that see eye to eye on things in this strange and wonderful world.

I'd love to see you...
The Art Explosion
744 Alabama Street
San Francisco
STUDIO 227

Ode To A Friend

Letter To N.Y. 

For Louise Crane

In your next letter I wish you'd say
where you are going and what you are doing;
how are the plays and after the plays
what other pleasures you're pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night,
driving as if to save your soul
where the road goes round and round the park
and the meter glares like a moral owl,

and the trees look so queer and green
standing alone in big black caves
and suddenly you're in a different place
where everything seems to happen in waves,

and most of the jokes you just can't catch,
like dirty words rubbed off a slate,
and the songs are loud but somehow dim
and it gets so terribly late,

and coming out of the brownstone house
to the gray sidewalk, the watered street,
one side of the buildings rises with the sun
like a glistening field of wheat.

--Wheat, not oats, dear. I'm afraid
if it's wheat it's none of your sowing,
nevertheless I'd like to know
what you are doing and where you are going.

by, Elizabeth Bishop

When I heard Ira Glass replay a piece with David Rakoff talking with Terry Gross on This American Life, Rakoff recited this poem.  And I cried, almost from the title, and thought of Suzanne.  For so many reasons.
I love that the combination of these things make me think of her.
Today is Suzanne's birthday and this is my ode to my friend.

Only Surround Yourself With Things You Know To Be Beautiful

{we had} learned for many years, like many artists, you don't sort of say well should I go in my studio today or I really don't have any good ideas maybe tomorrow I'd have a better idea. You go in your studio, if you don't have any ideas, you sharpen pencils. If you sharpen pencils long enough, you get an idea. -George Woodman

Some of my happiest, most reflective, float away on a thought, moments happen in my studio.  And it's because of all the things I'm surrounded by,

But it wasn't always a 'studio' in the proper sense of the word.  I haven't always had a 'studio' to retreat to.  So, it's really just being surrounded by my stuff.  (i cried when i watched the previously posted video, that's a guy who gets it!)  That's what makes me happy.  Makes me feel dreamy.
I realized, walking around our apartment tonight, I have a lot of stuff.  I cannot stress that enough.  But because I like a glass half full, I tend to think of it not as too much stuff, as some might think.  It's a lot of little stuff.  Really, I mostly collect smalls.  Mostly.

It's really just that I grow into a place.  And, it seems, we've completely grown out of the apartment we're currently in (see: video).  Looking back, I remember so well feeling like I had so much room to work.  Now, I feel like I could fill up five rooms of the same size, surrounding myself with found things and weird treasures and small talismans.

It seems as if there's no end to this ongoing collection.


Well,
I suppose,
I could stop bring things into my space...



Nah, that's never gonna happen.

This Is My Home

A man after my own heart.

(mom, turn up the volume and hit the little button in the corner that has the four little arrows!)

photo

...When it's over, I want to say 
all my life 
I was a bride married to amazement. 
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. 

When it's over, I don't want to wonder 
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.  

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, 
or full of argument. 

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

-

mary oliver 
when death comes

thanks bonbon via what possessed me

Opportunity Lands!

Have you SEEN this?!

If you haven't, I totally understand... you were out of the loop for a few days, no one told you we were going to space, you were super busy with all the things you have to do here, on earth.  I get it.  I, too, can get overwhelmed by all that's happening in my immediate surroundings, let alone the world, let alone what's going on in space!

But, now that you know.. aren't you excited?!

For me, all it took was one look at this photo.  To be in that room.  To feel that excitement! 

But now, really take in. Read slowly.
And realize: What it took to make {this} little Opportunity get to it's destination. What it took to make {the} Opportunity land. What it means for {the} Opportunity to have a "rock-vaporizing laser" oh yeah, and "other instruments", too, of course. It lays out a reasonable calender of time for {the} Opportunity to do what it needs to do. First {the} Opportunity makes a move in Mid-September ("at the earliest"), and the next dramatic move would go down in October or November. {The} Opportunity knows.

Okay, so I'm not going to become a person of space (is that what someone who works at NASA is called?), it's true.  But, I am going to very carefully understand what is happening here.  I'm going to apply it to my own current fluctuating, roiling, "careful and methodical" choices, fate, time and space and friggin go for it.

What's your opportunity?

Mail Art

I just know I have some mail art readers that peek into this little house in the clouds every once in awhile.  You, well, this is for you.  I love a good art benefit and I happen to love the purpose, the mission, behind The Prison Library Project so much so that it's inspired me to go looking for our own Prisoners Literature Project program here in Northern California.  Excited to get my volunteering on!

Considering the love and support of snail mail is part of 8mm ideas own mission statement ,  I couldn't pass this by.  I'll be working on and sending out at least two pieces (will post here or here when finished), partly to keep the USPS in business, as well!

Have fun, get your art on, and support a great cause to create a better world!

The Rules: The ones I actually try to follow

(this sign hung in the art room, stenciled by sister corita)

Immaculate Heart College Art Department Rules

Rule I Find a place you trust and then

try trusting it for awhile.

Rule 2 General duties of a student: Pull everything out of your teacher.

Pull everything out of your fellow students.

Rule 3 General duties of a teacher:

Pull everything out of your students.

Rule 4 Consider everything an experiment.

Rule 5 Be self disciplined.  This means 

finding someone wise or smart and 

choosing to follow them. 

To be disciplined is to follow in a good way.

To be self disciplined is to follow in a better way.

Rule 6 Nothing is a mistake.  There's no win and

no fail.  There's only make.

Rule 7 THE ONLY RULE IS WORK.

If you work it will lead to something.

It's the people who do all of the work all the time

who eventually catch on to things.

Rule 8 Don't try to create and analyse at the 

same time.  They're different processes.

Rule 9 Be happy whenever you can mage it.  

Enjoy yourself.  It's lighter than you

think.

Rule I0  "We're breaking all of the rules, even

our own rules.  And how do we do that?

By leaving plenty of room for X quantities." John Cage

Helpful Hints:  Always be around.  Come or go to everything.  Always go to classes.  Read anything you can get your hands o.  Look at movies carefully, often.

Save everything - it might come in handy later.

There should be new rules next week.

It's Friday. oh, how we dance

Brocantes, the life of France

A good brocante is a funny place.

Depending on what you're looking for, it can be a quick run through or an incredible dig.

Two years ago, we happened across an incredible find, a brocante off the beaten path, filled to the brim with crazy goodness.  We emptied our pockets into Guillmile's hands, threw fresh lemonade down our throats, and promised we'd return the following year.

So, when we showed up on a blazing hot day this year, to the same exact warehouse and found it locked up, no one around, we had a slight moment of panic.

We all clambered out of the car, walked all over the property, shaking big doors and trying to peek into windows to no avail.  Just as we started to drive away and wonder, if he'd actually closed up shop, would he have left all those fabulous old doors and window panes outside along the property?! we were barked at by a dog and noticed this huge stone house we'd be standing alongside that nearly disappeared into the overgrown ivy.  We knocked on the front door.  An older man opened the door, "Oui?!" and in our broken French, we tried to ask where Guillmile was?  Shouldn't he be open?  Did he happen to know anything about it?  Oui, oui, but of course he did!  This was Gui's landlord, he owned this massive, sprawling  property we were traipsing all over and yes, he had Gui's number if we could wait here at the door just a moment.
Now, we're the curious types and it's hard for us to sit just outside such an ancient looking house and not, at least, poke our heads into the foyer.  So, I began to crane my neck just inside the door, it was so dark, I could barely see a thing...but it was old in there.  Very, very old.  I heard a t.v. and my sister thought she saw a stove of some sort.  We both noticed the incredible wallpaper, peeling right off the walls and the narrow, wood staircase that swirled up to somewhere...when he suddenly appeared again at the door with Gui's phone number and a very nice "Au Revoir!"

We stayed on the property, we rang Gui, he told us he'd be there in 10 minutes (though after a half an hour, we started to wonder if we'd actually understood... did he say "dix minutes" or did he say "dix mois"?!).  Eventually, he opened the enormous warehouse doors and let us in.  He had redecorated, redesigned and had so much new (read: old) great stuff!!  The educational posters were one of the first things I noticed, so we took them all, every last one of 'em!  Gui was thrilled, we were thrilled...this time we gulped down cold, fresh apple juice and we all left happy!

Brocantes are a funny place, and whether its the shops, the owners or the stories that come out of the adventure, they make for some of the best times we have in this fabulous France!

STELLLAAA!

 

while i'm away, yeah, i miss her a little bit...