sometimes on a tough day, when i’m a little bit physically slumpy, i wonder if simply raising my arms and arching my back would change my thoughts. this purple heart plant seems to have the right idea. adopt the posture of celebration, and count on celebratory things to follow. of course, on those tough days, what you really want to do is just sort of keep slumping. and drink lattes. oh and find someone to blame. there’s almost always someone to blame. and that feels good.
purple heart (aka wandering jew) tradescantia pallida
oh we sort ourselves into colors, don’t we? even though we’re all just tide-tossed shells.
mediterranean clam shells
the beach at sète, france
nobody here looks as old as they actually are. if you see someone who looks 65, you should assume he or she is probably 70-plus, if not 75 years old. there’s an 84 year old ex police officer up the street who takes a bike ride every day down the hill to check his garden and then climbs back up again. all i’m saying is, i have seen the people here, and i have seen the vines. and i am starting to suspect that we have a “picture of dorian gray” situation going on. out in the fields, the vines just keep looking older and older, and the villagers eat cheese and drink wine and never age.
grape vine stump
i spent more than an hour trying to identify the fruit of this climbing vine. it turns out it is a kind of fig. with the sense of triumph of that only a scientist can feel at the successful identification of a species, i turned to my husband and said, “look! it’s a ficus pumila!!” he leaned down for a closer peek, and said, “look! it’s a uterus and a vagina!” we really do see eye to eye most of the time. but testosterone is testosterone.
ficus pumila, creeping fig
i could have oriented this semicircle to either the left or right. it seemed fitting to turn it left, like a close parenthesis, since we are steadily making our way toward the period at the end of the sentence of this latest stay in the languedoc. the first round of goodbyes started yesterday, and will take on increasing momentum until our departure in 10 days. some of our friends will insist on multiple goodbye apéros. just like the three-cheek greetings, it seems our departure calls for three-apéro goodbyes. this is our fourth visit to this tiny, rural village. and it was during our second trip that the villagers very subtly switched from saying “will you come back?” to “when will you come back?”. there is no real doubt in anyone’s mind that we will come back someday, likely sooner than later. so, the close-parenthesis may be a little melodramatic. but given how emotional i’m feeling about leaving this sane and quiet place, and returning to post-obama america, i think you should congratulate me on my restraint.
succulents from our terrace