Soar-Dream-France

Dieting "en France"!

Dali has never been a tiny dog.  Even as a puppy she was all paws, head and nose, but she grew into a beauty.  She has a deep chest and short legs, so people are always telling me she's fat.  That's like telling somebody their baby is ugly! I always say: "No, elle n'est pas grosse!" But I can never quite figure out how to say look at her chest in French at the same time!  (Come to think of it, maybe that's a good thing!)  She hovers around 60 pounds, but got up to 70 once when she was on steroids for scratching. The steroids brought a nasty attitude along with the weight so we stopped.  Our French vet has mentioned "régime" for Dali more than once.  She is almost 10 years old now, and that makes her a pretty old girl to be carrying around too much extra weight.  This last time I succumbed to the very expensive (74€) diet dog food.  We are measuring it out according to the plan and cutting back on treats. It's been more painful for me than for her.  I'm the one with the bad habits.  We began our "régime" when Rocky was here so I wasn't quite as religious, but it got us on the right track. I've been noticing that she has more energy.  She is running around.  She is wagging her tail more than usual and appears to be smiling! I thought it might have been because our 4-legged house guest went home, but then I remembered...elle est au régime!  Her waist is returning and her paws are prancing.  The bag says new and improved flavor...hmmm, I wonder!  All kidding aside, I'm going to have to thank the vet next time or maybe drop in for a special thank you visit.  If curtailing my bad feeding and treating habits and a few (okay a lot) more euros give me even five more years with Dali...it's an investment well made!

Can You Get a Baby Grand Piano Up Ten Stone Steps?

After my piece on finding the Winkelmann and my "Luc" finding me, I thought it might be fun to actually see the photos of the arrival of the Winkelmann at the Chatette at the end of October, 2006.  I had dreamed of a baby grand piano since I began playing, but my God...a baby grand piano that came all the way from Paris!  It doesn't get much more romantic than that! 

By the end of October, the Chatette and I had decided that the Winkelmann should have his own room.  The room has 2 doors that are parallel to each other. 

 

 

 

I would have chosen the front door, but my movers from C and D Roy chose the back. Watching it come up the steps and roll across the terrasse in pieces to be constructed in the new empty and waiting piano room, took my breath away! 

 

 

 

We got it settled and set-up, but we weren't finished yet.  Jean had purchased a Gaveau spinet from Msr. Jolly as well, and I had to take them up to her house.  There wasn't any room for me in the van, so I got on my bike to show them the way.  It was fun to scream at the neighbors from my bike as I passed: "Nos pianos sont arrivés!" It wasn't fun when I hit the hill and had to get off and walk.  

But we were set up and ready to enjoy making music in our lives again.

 

 

 

I made my last payment on the Winkelmann to Msr. Jolly when I was passing through Paris on my way back to the states to close down Columbus Street and spend the holidays with my family.  I wasn't looking forward to going back.  One morning when we were playing "Moon River", I was feeling particularly blue and from somewhere I heard:  "Come on, you have to go.  You have to go back and get our music!" I went.  On the metro from the Gare d'Austerlitz to Msr. Jolly's atelier, I had this overwhelming feeling and actually said outloud: 

 

"This piano is going to change my life."  

 

 

Dix Mots...on the Road in the USA

Last year I made a very special trip to the states.  It was special because three of my neighbors came with me for the three week journey.  I'll let my "Dix Mots" assignment give you the jest of the story.  Here are the 10 words with the story in English and in French:

Montrer-To Show; Montre-Watch (F); Partout-Everywhere; Oublier-To Forget; Louper-To Miss; Ouvrir-To Open; Ombre-Shadow (F); Parfois-Sometimes; Lendemain-Day After; and Lierre-Ivy (M)

In English-Last year, Christiane, Josie and Patrick went to the United states with me.  There was a big crowd at immigration, so we looked at our watches because we didn't have a lot of time until our flight to St. Louis.  There were lots of things that I wanted to show them everywhere...St. Louis, New Orleans, Florida, Baton Rouge and Lafayette.  Oh, and it's important not to forget Memphis.  We didn't miss "Elvis".  I drove everywhere.  Close the door Laury.  Open the door Laury.  AC Laury, AC. Shadow Laury, Shadow.  Sometimes I was very tired.  We stayed in Baton Rouge for two nights and one day.  Our first night we ate in a Cajun Restaurant.  The day after we went to a plantation with ivy everywhere.  It was a very good trip because I saw my friends who fell in love with my country, my friends and my family.

En Français-L'année dernière, Christiane, Josie et Patrick sont allées aux Etats-unis avec moi.  Il y avait une grande foule à l'immigration, donc nous avons regardé nos montres parce que nous n'avions pas beaucoup de temps jusqu'à notre vol pour St. Louis.  Il y avait beaucoup de choses que je voudrais leur montre partout...St. Louis, New Orleans, Florida, Bâton Rouge, and Lafayette.  Oh, c'est important que je n'oubliais pas Memphis.  Nous ne loupions pas "Elvis".  J'ai conduit partout.  Fermez la porte Laury.  Ouvrez la porte Laury.  Clim Laury, Clim.  Ombre Laury, Ombre.  Parfois, j'étais fatiguée.  Nous sommes restés à Bâton Rouge pour deux nuits et un jour.  Notre premier nuit nous avons mangé dans une restaurant Cajun.  Le lendemain nous sommes allées à une plantation avec du lierre partout.  C'était un très bon voyage parce que j'ai regardé mes amis qui sont tombé en amoureux de mon pays, mes amis et ma famille.  

Since we had a rental car, I was the only one who could drive.  Good thing I love to drive!  We left St. Louis for New Orleans and made it in a straight shot, arriving the Saturday evening of the last Jazz Fest weekend.  I was on a mission-Saturday was the last night a friend was playing music on Bourbon Street after 30 years and it was the first Jazz Fest that the Neville Brothers were playing since the storm. I had decided long ago that I had to be there.  Now, WE had to be there.  My friends explored New Orleans the following week while I joined in when I could, worked and took care of a variety of paperwork and other business.  During that week we did squeeze in the Katrina tour and then we drove over to spend the rest of the day in Pensacola on the beach. We left on Sunday morning for Covington where we had brunch with the Fontenelles and swam and partied with Carol Miles and Keith VIllere.  We arrived in Baton Rouge for a bit of an extended stay with Kelly Kerr-the smiling red head in the picture with Christiane in front of Oak Alley Plantation.   

From Bâton Rouge, we headed to Lafayette where we stayed with Keith Landry and David Zielinski and crawfished our little hearts out.  That's Keith and David and the gang out in the backyard with crawfish everywhere.  They don't do crawfish quite like this in France-so it was a real treat for all of us! 

There's much more from here, but I'd like to share it with you over time and not leave anyone out!  From my parents who insisted that we stay with them, my sister who had incredible welcome bags for all of us, and friends across eight or nine states; to cards and letters and staying in touch across the miles-I have an incredible bridge to my life here and my old life there-Everyone is staying in touch.  I knew this trip would change my life.  It isn't unusual for Christiane to grab me as I'm walking by with Dali in the morning and say:  J'ai reçu une lettre de ta Mama!"-Or Kelly to tell me that he received a beautiful New Year's card from Josie and Patrick  And of course on Valentine's Day-"Laury, nous avons reçu beaucoup chocolate de Kathleen and Tom!" What a bridge...what a lucky girl...what a life!

I Travel By...

Today I want to share a post with you that I first wrote on February 25, 2009. After so many of you commented on the bike in the photo at the left, I thought you might enjoy a little trip down memory lane from when Dali, Sammie Cat and I were full time French Girls. One of my goals in my return to the states in 2012, was to be able to continue to live parts of my life here the way I did in Cadrieu. The two that I've been successful with are living with NO car and NO television. If I do say so myself, I'm proud that I've succeeded so far.

 

 

Enjoy!

 

At some time or another, all of my visitors to the Chatette notice that there are many ways to get here.  Of course, car is the easy one...but there is also on foot, by bike, by boat, by bus, and I'm guessing that the hang-gliders on the other side of the river could get here if they tried.  Living my life in the Lot without a car can have challenges, but it brings many gifts as well.  All of my friends (especially Jean) are very generous "lifting" me when necessary.  Then there are those others who say: "You're going to get tired of not having a car.  It's just a matter of time till you get one!" 

 

 

To which my response is: "Maybe, but I'm not ready yet!" I then visualize myself giving them the raspberries and finish the rest of that sentence in my mind... "and I don't know if I ever will be! So there!" All I can assume about those others is that they just don't understand. 

 

 

I'm not sure I would have understood either, if my time in the Lot hadn't started without a car.  The only life I knew here was life walking, biking, and busing wherever I needed to go.  It keeps me in shape physically and mentally, and prevents any huge bouts of "retail therapy" that tend to run in my family!  If it can't come home on the bus or the bike and fit in my backpack...it generally doesn't make it back to the Chatette.

 

All that said, I must confess that it is easier to just take a ride than it is to make a point of walking into town or taking the bus.  With Jean gone these last two weeks, I found myself reverting back to my more normal routine.  One morning I was looking for an escape, plus I needed to move some money around at the bank.  I decided to walk the 4km into Cajarc along the river with my camera in my pocket.  It was beautiful, clear, and sunny, but cold.  I didn't have to rush.  I wasn't on a schedule.  No one was waiting for me.  I took this shot on the right (cabbage or lettuce?-I really couldn't say) loving the effect of the frost! 

 

 

 

Went to the President and had a cappuccino while I wrote a bit in my journal, before heading over to the bank and the eco-marche for a few staples!  I walked back home along the main road, enjoying the sunshine and a much warmer afternoon than morning.  About 2/3 of the way home, one of Jean's neighbors who I didn't know offered me a lift the rest of the way home.  I got to practice my improving, but still pretty pitiful French, and met Michel.  Opening the door to the Chatette, I remembered that I came to France because of these kinds of days...the days that give me the gift of some familiar yet uncertain vegetables covered in frosty diamonds, hot President capuccinos that leave whipped cream and cinnamon all over my face, a fresh place to write and a chance to meet someone new! 

 

The Piano Shop on the Left Bank-By Thad Carhart

My Monsieur Winkelmann's story is a rather grand and sentimental one for me. I decided that the best way to tell his story and share him with you, is to return to the blog archives for a couple of posts that tell the story easier than I could at the moment.

You see, after the fire one of the first things I did was to sit and play Moon River on my Monsieur. The keys were blackish and a little icky, but he played and sounded just fine to me (none of the crashing plywood sounds that I experienced in New Orleans with my spinet after Katrina).

 

Any day that I went to the Chatette, I played my Monsieur. We serenaded our Sammie Cat with Moon River immediately after I buried her in her special spot in the garden. It was important.

Even so, one day as the decontamination was beginning someone walked past the piano and screamed: "Le piano est mort!" I was there and screamed back: "Non, I can't do anything about Sam but my piano stays!" That comment was only a foreshadowing of what was to come, but it gave me time to consider what I would do if that were the case. I decided that no matter what-My Monsieur Winkelmann Stays!

Shortly before I returned to the states, an "expert" came to the Chatette and told me that it would cost 10,000 euros to repair my Monsieur. I burst into tears on the front porch. But, I have a plan and it made me even more determined. My Monsieur stays.

 

Here is the beginning of OUR story:

 

2/24/2009-The second book on my beam is "The Piano Shop on the Left Bank-Discovering a Forgotten Passion in a Paris Atelier", by Thad Carhart. 

This book was a Christmas present from my friend Father Henry Willenborg.  Father Henry has this uncanny way of saying and doing just the right things at exactly the right time.  (We became friends when he was providing pastoral care at Project Lazarus in New Orleans with people living with HIV and AIDS.) I don't think he knew it, but this Christmas present turned into an amazing piece to the puzzle of my full-time life here in France.

 

I began taking piano lessons when I was 9 years old.  Between my Mom and Grandma, I was able to get a new Baldwin spinet piano and take lessons every week till I turned 14 or so.  I could have continued, but at that age I decided to give up piano for pom-poms when I made our junior high squad.  I still played.  (It's hard to resist Mom when she yells "Play Moon River" from the kitchen.) Eventually, I brought my piano from St. Louis to New Orleans and began playing every morning.

 

I remember standing in the the empty Chatette for the first time thinking:  "This is the perfect place for a piano!"  I pondered piano here on and off, but it didn't make any sense since I wasn't here all the time.  Pianos need to be played.  My piano from Grandma sat in 6 inches to a foot of water when the levees broke in New Orleans.  When I knew we were going to be here in France full time, I told everyone I knew that I wanted a piano. 

My friend Yves Jolly said that he had a friend who has an atelier in Paris where he sells, builds, and repairs pianos, and that he might have something I'd be interested in.  It just so happened that Yves friend, Philippe Jolly (no relation) and his family have a summer place here in the valley so we were able to meet the summer of 2006.  He had sent me pictures of the used baby grand "Winkelmann", so I invited him over to see the Chatette and talk with me about where it would fit, how it would get here and price. 

 

 

We talked about the "soul of inanimate things"...rocks, pianos, the Chatette, and how I wanted to be sure that the piano I chose would fit in here and be happy with us too.  He smiled.  With no piano yet, I kept my sheet music on a hand-carved antique book/music stand by the door. 

 

 

As Philippe walked out, he picked up my piece of "Moon River" and then must have noticed Bogart and Bergman on another piece because he left whistling "As Time Goes By".  I'd made plans to go to Paris at the end of September to see and play the Winkelmann and make my decision.  As you can imagine, that decision was already made.

Carhart's book was special for me because of pianos and Paris, but also because of the passion and serendipity with which his story unfolds.  He too, talks about the history and romance of pianos and their so many stories to tell.  And his "Luc", who loves and touches each piano as if it were a 2-legged love of his life!  He very clearly states in the acknowledgments of the book:  "Please don't try to find Luc or Mathilde or any of the others; they are not waiting to be discovered." And goes on to admonish: "Go find your own Luc!"

When I went to Paris that September, I mentioned the book to Msr. Jolly.  He told me that he was familiar with it.  I'd brought "Moon River" with me to play and did, but it was when Msr. Jolly sat down and played "Moon River" for me that my tears flowed and I knew the Winkelmann would be living with us. 

 

 

When we finished our arrangements that afternoon, I closed the door to Msr. Jolly's atelier to spend the rest of the day soaking up the Paris I love, before I had to catch the midnight train back to Cahors. 

I had plans to make my pilgrimages to Véra's old quartier in Montmartre and visit La Tête and St. Eustache to light my merci candles. I was lucky.  It was a beautiful sunny day.

The children were out playing as I passed the grade school on my way to the Denefert-Rochereau Metro Station.  I smiled.  I was happy to be in Paris again, reconnecting with my old friend. 

I was thinking that day that I had found my "Luc", but today I know that I was even luckier...my "Luc" found me in the Lot.

 

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Rocky Boy Heads Home

There he is standing at the window waiting for Jean to come and pick him up at any moment!  His bed is packed and full of the left over food and toys with his leash beside it primed to go.  It's been an eventful 2 weeks and it will be very quiet around here.This morning I heard a noise and knew something was going on.  I looked over the banister downstairs and he was chewing on one of the floor to ceiling beams that supports the upstairs loft and atrium.  I'm sure he's ready to get back to his normal routine too.  I'm off to take the 2 canines out into the yard for their evening constitutionals and look forward to getting back to you with another entry tomorrow.

I Lied, But...!

I know I promised you the rest of the rest of the story today, but as I pondered the bridge times of returning to New Orleans after the storm to coming here in May, 2006 to "clear our heads" and make difficult decisions:  I decided to save that last segment for another time. 

Today is celebration!  Seven years ago today, is the day that the Chatette and I became a "We"!  The big question though was how to celebrate.  I enjoy having friends over regularly, but with our heating system this winter the Chatette is a little cold for others, and then when you add in our 4-legged house guest, it is impossible. Around the New Year I had contemplated "Irish Coffees and Covers" fireside but gave it up to wait for spring and warmer weather. 

I told myself that if I were ever able to buy property in France, I would celebrate with Moêt et Chandon Prémier Cru Champagne.  You can see the bottom of that bottle in the photo-it is now a wonderful candle holder and reminds me of this important day.  So today-I took the party on the road...maybe a "Party Apporter"!  You already know I love chocolate-add in champagne and you can't help but celebrate.  I found 3 tiny bottles on a recent trip into Cahors, that were perfect to accompany my chocolates from Roland Périn.  This is my favorite Chocolatier in Cahors.  I especially like the tiny Cabecou Chocolates he makes, covers them in white chocolate, and puts the tiny Cabecou mark on them.  (I've put an actual sample of Cabecou Cheese behind it in the photo so you can get the full effect.) I bought a small bag of them and must confess that I ate all but one of them before I began my portable party today!   

Around 1:30 I loaded up my purple back pack with my 3 tiny bottles of champagne and my box of chocolates.  My first stop was Josie and Patrick's-where we chatted, I left the bottle and they chose their chocolates.  They invited me to stay and have other drinks as well, but I was on a mission.  My next stop was Christiane and Jean-Paul's-where my plan was to do the same; but I ended up with a coffee, champagne, chocolate and a piece of apple tart that was the test for a light and crispy crust that she had learned to make at our friend Suzanne Dupont's last Thursday.  My last stop was at Greg's where we sat together in the living room with his dog Megs, and drank our champagne and ate our chocolates together.  I got him off a ladder where he was pruning his wisteria, but he said he was ready for a break.  He took his last chocolate and left in on the table. Believe it or not, there are enough chocolates left to take them to language class to share tomorrow.  Greg counted them to make sure that I didn't do to this bunch what I did to the tiny Cabecous!  I told him maybe he should keep them at his house and bring them, but he says he's even worse than I am about chocolate.

It was fun to speak French with my friends and talk about all that had happened in these 7 years.  Mostly, that it's incredible that it has been that long.  Greg will celebrate his 5th anniversary in his house in November and we are thinking it might be time for another celebration by then.  I left Greg to his wisteria and weaved my way home back down the hill.  (I decided it was best not to practice walking backwards this time.) 

Greg came in from trimming his wisteria, looking forward to that chocolate he had left on the table.  Megs must like chocolate as much as Greg.  All that was left was a soggy little brown paper and a smiling Meggie Girl.  Greg says she's NEVER done anything like that before! Hmmm, I wonder!

The Little Cottage in the Woods...

And now for the rest of the story...during the fall of '97, Wendy picked me up at the train station in Cahors and said:  "We're moving to Belgium, can't you come and stay in our house for a year?" I laughed and said something like:  "Are you kidding?  I have a career, home, pets, and a life I can't just stop!"  But by the end of the trip, I was trying to figure out if something that looked impossible could be possible.  It didn't happen for a year, but I was able to come and spend 5 weeks in her place and then rented an apartment in Paris for another 3 weeks at the end of the summer into fall of '98.  For a sixty hour a week workaholic, community volunteer, no personal life person, who spoke no French...this was a huge, scary step. 

During that time I got to know Wendy's artisan Stuart Brown much better.  I'd met Stu on an earlier trip, so I was pleased to see him come walking down the road from where he parked his truck from my perch on the wall.  Before I left for Paris, Stu took me on a tour of the countryside and showed me his house that he'd been renting out since he and Madeleine were together now in Cahors.  I returned to the Lot every year for vacations after that summer, but never quite captured the peace and magic that I had found during '98.  I was afraid that maybe I had lost it for good.  Early in 2001, I was sitting at my computer drinking red French wine and eating Cabecou Cheese wondering if I was ever going to be able to recapture those times...asking myself what it would take, could it be possible and then I remembered something Stu said the last time I saw him:  "Madeleine and I will come to see you in New Orleans when I sell my house."  I remembered Stu's house as a tiny stone cottage on the river which might be in my price range.  I called Stu and we began talking.  The price was right, but I had been self-employed since '98 and wasn't sure if I could get a loan.  We decided that I needed to come over and see the house again-so I set up a trip for April, 2001.  Before I actually got here to see the house I wrote this "bedtime story" for a March writing prompt in Writer's Digest Magazine:

Once upon a time there was a beautiful stone cottage beside a road in the woods overlooking the river.  It was ancient and set below the castle in the village.  The village people thought it to be magic because it had such history and it told its stories in remarkable ways.  For the last few years the stories had stopped.  It was quiet.  The village people looked for the usual signs by the river, under the stones, near the fountain, listened to the whistling wind and rushing water but the cottage did not speak.  Then one day an American bought the cottage and began to make it her own.  She tended the garden, painted the windows, and cleared all the dead and dilapidated pieces away.  While she worked, the village people saw the sun shine a little brighter and heard the music on the wind and down the river.  The cottage was alive again and happy to have someone to love it and take care of it.  The stories returned, and even though the woman couldn't live there all the time, the cottage spoke to the village people and to the friends of the woman who came to visit from all over the world.  The cottage was surprised to find so many people to love it.  Everyone left part of themselves behind.  This went on for many years and the cottage glowed a little brighter and the symphonies on the wind and down the river were a little louder.  Then one day the woman came and stayed.  She brought her pets.  She brought her car.  She brought her whole life with her forever.  And she and the cottage lived happily ever after together...for as long as that can be. 

It turned out that the "cottage" was much bigger than I had remembered it.  It had been difficult to see because it was so overgrown.  I knew that I wanted to do everything possible to find a way to purchase the house.  My house in New Orleans was almost paid off, so I was able pay it off and take out another mortgage.  That mortgage allowed me to buy the "Chatette" outright.  So, my house in New Orleans has the mortgage and the Chatette is mine.  2001 was the year of 9/11, the change over from francs to euros at the end of year, and tenants who didn't want to leave until their new home was finished.  In November, my sister and brother-in-law came over with me and I signed the intent to purchase the house.  I got my bank account set up at Credit Agricole and was as ready as I could be. By February, we were ready to close the deal.  The "Chatette" and I became a "we" on February 22, 2002.  There are the stories of the early times when I was squeezing out as many visits as I could and trying to find ways I could come and be here more often and longer.  I struggled to balance life in New Orleans and life here. I always felt like I had my feet in both places.  I got to a point where I had simplified my life in New Orleans to the point that life there was closer to life here.  And then in 2005, I was set to come from June through October since I was offering workshops to social workers here and had people scheduled for June and September.  I was also looking at employment in Great Britain and had an interview set up for that period as well.  On my birthday, August 27, 2005, I got the call from my housesitter Gaynell that a hurricane named Katrina was heading to New Orleans and it looked bad.  Dali was evacuating with my brother Tom and Sammie Cat was going to be staying with Gaynell.  And now that I think of it-there is much more to the rest of this story.  It will be difficult for me to write, but it is important.  Those Katrina times are the bridge times to here and now.

The photos in the piece were both in the show I mentioned yesterday.  "PontSolitaire"-the Pont Valentré in Cahors and "Mon Chez Moi"-The Chatette.

Pieces to the Story-A Woman's Place...is in France!

Quite a few people have asked about how I ended up here:to which there is no easy answer.  Since this is a special weekend for the Chatette and I, I'd like to share some of our journey over the next couple of days.  I want to begin by sharing a piece that I wrote back in November of 2002 for the program of my photography that was showing in a group exhibit at the Ariodante Gallery on Julia Street- New Orleans, entitled "A Woman's Place..."!

Being a Bourgeois, my affection for France began long before 1992 when I stepped off the plane at Paris's Orly Airport for the first time.  Our visit began poorly.  With two days left, a handsome expatriate walked up to me on the street and asked if I had time for "a little conversation".  That little conversation grew into a two-year romance that was the stuff of fairy tales that don't come true.  But, he gave me Paris.

From then on, when I returned I would stay with my 80-something year old friend Madame Véra.  Speaking by phone prior to my arrival, Véra's last words were:  "I will have a coffee waiting for you."  Véra died while I circled Orly.  Grief-stricken in the rain with no place to stay, I found a hotel and was befriended by their concierge.  Wendy and I kept in touch and I was invited to visit when she and her husband Stéphane bought two old ruins in the Lot valley of southwestern France.  Soon, all my trips to France included Paris and the Lot.

I know two Augusts in the Lot Valley.  My first in 1998, was full of slowly rising morning mists that burned off to sun-drenched afternoons of drinking Cahors wine, reading, writing and watching the butterflies dance to Mozart from Wendy's Patio.  Regular rains came in September that year, when the snails and I were only visitors.

Four years have passed, and instead,the low-lying morning clouds shower into the later afternoons that I spend dodging raindrops so I can watch the snails on my terrasse.  I don't care if the butt of my overalls gets wet or my hair is a mess.  My make-up can't run because I'm not wearing any and there's no one to tell me that I don't know when to come in out of the rain.  I am free to do as I please and it pleases me to be wet with my snails on my terrasse in my place in France. 

I began to make my own place in France earlier this year, when I bought the 3-story, 13th century former entrée to the Chateau.  Although it is mine on paper, it is impossible to own the centuries of history, beauty and magic that are captured in this place.  We have each other for now.  It is the magical stuff of a fairy tale that did come true.  It is my gift. And, the snails and I are here to stay.-Laury Bourgeois-November, 2002

This second photo is entitled "Ma Soeur" and was the signature piece for my work in the show.  The show had 6 pieces, 4 of which were framed 11x14-s, while the other 2-"Ma Soeur" and "Mon Chez Moi" were 24x36 framed.  I would like to tell you that they are all with me in France, but my two big pieces were too large framed to bring along and too difficult to dismantle. "Ma Soeur" is living with my friend Steve Loria and "Mon Chez Moi" is living in the office of my friend Carol Miles.

Now that you have the overview-tomorrow...the rest of the story.

I Can't Believe I'm Watering Dead Things!

One of the great things about living here in the south of France is that we have four clear seasons.  I can already see buds peaking out in promise of spring.  Some things got caught in the freeze and frost before I could get to them and other trees and shrubs need to be pruned.  But, at least I know that they will return.  I used to have a similar ritual in New Orleans.

The people I had purchased Columbus Street from had concreted everything in sight.  The driveway (that could park up to 12 cars during the Jazz and Heritage Festival) was surrounded by cinder block walls in the back with a wooden fence running the length of the drive.  I had one big tree and a flower box that ran half the fence full of Red Cannas and Pink Trumpet Plants.  My tree didn't look quite as bad as this ancient oak in City Park, but after the storm all of the cinder blocks fell down, some of the tree fell on the fence and it had also collapsed and dislodged in other places.  Everything else in the garden was gone except the tree and the ghosts of the trumpet plants. It was difficult being in the flooded house and apartment, so I spent a lot of time out in the yard.  One Sunday morning I had gone out into the yard and kicked into my normal routine.  I'd unrolled the hose and began watering. Half-way down the flower box, I looked at the tall, white, hollow skeletons of my trumpet plants and stopped.  "I'm watering dead things-I screamed!"  I put down the hose and wondered what had possessed me to water at all.  By Sunday afternoon I had single-handedly pulled every dead shrub and tree out of the flower box and carried it to the debris pile in the triangle in front of my house.  I must have pulled at least a dozen trees as big as 15 feet high out to the street. I just couldn't look at dead things anymore. On the last trip, my neighbors raised a beer and I went over to join them.  We got closer after the storm.  Those of us who owned our homes in our little triangle were back at the beginning of October and were quite proud to be in the first 65,000 or so people who had returned.  We were excited and felt like pioneers in a whole new world.  Seeing this familiar tiny purple flower peeking through a broken slat in my fence gave me hope.  It may have been just a weed, but it was an old friend from my old life.  I went out later that week and bought some new flowers and shrubs to try to cheer up the yard a little further.  The yard was my haven and sanity during those horrific times.  By January 2006, everyone was exhausted.  I still had my lights up on the fence from trying to decorate for Christmas when my friend Michael came over to sit out in the yard and enjoy the lights.  He pointed out the darkness all around except for us.  I looked at him and said:  "I miss the gold old days, and I don't mean the days before the storm.  I mean the days when we first came back.  We were excited.  We were going to make a difference and get things back on track."  He agreed. It was getting difficult to hold on to hope.