The "POESIE" BOOK 1942 part one

If I told you that I am the only one left alive to tell this story you surely would wonder if I am in lalaland and ready for the straight jacket.

My story I have lived and still around to tell it.

In 1942 Belgium, middle of a war, I had my Holy Communion. Very important for young Catholic girls.
I was 10 .
It was a very hard time for all of us but I had maiden aunts who always spoiled me.
They surprised me with a gorgeous "Poesie" book.
It was the trend of the time to get one of these books and have your friends write in it or do a drawing.
This book was pure luxury, faux suede in nuances of grey and "Golden" letters to tell us it is indeed for poems and whatever else.
I stroked that book a thousand times over the years.

The importance of the book is truly not so much about my school friends who wrote known poetry but most of all that grown professional men in wartime sat down gifted me with their own poems and illustrations.
Let me explain: My house was situated about 100 yards from the electrical plant which was bombed and a target. In 1939 the plant started to built a bunker. Quite large with different rooms. My father who was a policeman in that district was watching the construction and was told that a bomb could land on top of it and the walls would not budge.

At least this is the story he told me and my Mom.
The plant gave us permission to go in it day or night and take shelter.
We did not have time to use it before the invasion because it all went so fast and we changed flags in no time.
Equally fast the German army decided to put a huge cement fence around the whole plant properties which included around the bunker.
Mom and I could only look at that wall and our hopes for safety were gone.

My mother was a woman with determination in her eyes  she decided to go talk to the commandant at the plant. She dragged me with her, both of us trembling and trying to look brave. My mom was fluent in the English language but did not know a word of German. She told me to kick her if she started in English.

We stood in front of this neatly uniformed officer and started to explain with gesture ...bunker climbing over...bombs falling....permission to go to the bunker over the fence. She had even drawn a picture. He had other things on his mind and quickly dismissed us with a "JA".
Triumphed we marched home and asked father to fix it so we could climb over that cement mountain. He got two ladders and we started to learn how to use them.One on each side.

My mother has always been like a Rubens model, she was heavy, but she could beat me in running and climbing. I was all legs and did not quite know yet how to use them, they seemed to grow an inch every day and I had extra length that I was not quite used to.

So our adventure started which would last till our liberation in 1944- the war not over yet as it lasted till 1945 and the Battle of the Bulge had yet to happen .
Daily alarms let the workmen and engineers free to come in the bunker if they wished. The people involved with work that could not be left were stuck in the factory.

My mother at first was very uncomfortable. She was the only women in there and she was afraid of men.
I on the other hand had lots of attention. Rooms full of fathers telling me stories was just up my alley. Soon groups were formed and card playing was the entertainment. I knew how to play whist, my grandfather had taught me. I had a memory like an elephant, I knew and constantly counted the suits. So I became the partner of choice, the man would ask me in advance like with a dance card to play with them.
They would say" Jeannot next alarm is my turn, play on my table!
Mother did always play with others, she never got a chance to be in my corner.
She did not allow to play for money but the guys would slip me a centime or two and I would always have left over but returned it for fear of a spanking when I got home.

The bunker had it's own generator or such an item that we did not often sit in the dark. Even so we often had days without the electricity in our house, My mother took up taking care of the wounded as there was a sort of small infirmary . It was said that when a man came in with part of his scalp cut that she saved his life and bandaged him until the electric little van from the factory could take him 7km away to Gent and a clinic.
She was good at that she should have been a nurse.

How often did we have alarms, almost daily because we were also on a flight path for other cities and as soon as airplanes had been spotted the alarm went off. They did not know who would get it so they did not take chances. I could hear my mother ramble when the siren started and she was mid stream to cook on her coal stove, had to remove it all and then start again later.

Mother always told me we were bombed 13 times. The factory was hit quite often. One  time bomb landed in our yard in a deep hole stand waiting. My fearless father wanted his picture taken with it and we did not have a camera so he borrowed one. He picked up the bomb and my trembling mother had to take his picture. What a stupid thing to do. I think he knew more about the bomb than he was telling us.
Then the soldiers came and took it away.

So in between the card playing I begged my  partners to write in my poesie.
My mom did not like that, she said they had better things to do than writing in a girl's poesie book.
Well, she lost in that game. Many did. Therefore I am writing this because I was the only kid in there during the whole war and of course no one who was there then is alive anymore. My own Mom left us in 1993 and she was 83 and young when we were bunker occupants.

To think that engineers, workmen, (remember we were very class conscious in those days) but regardless of blue or white collar workers they replied to this girl's pleas.

I did forget to mention that mid stream the Germans put  barbed wire over the fence. That was more tricky to get over in a hurry while sirens are blasting away or a squadron is over your head flying too low for comfort. We did not wear slacks in these days, Mom and I had to repair many a dress or skirt because we just hung in the barbed wire. The one day I took the climb too short and landed on the wire with my thigh.
No doctors near us, no cars to take us, Mom doctored me up but I still have the patterns of  open wounds (4 of them) which I claim as my "war injuries".

Our cat knew way before the alarm that planes were on the way, she was so adept on climbing over the wires and sat by the bunker door waiting for the first visitor. My father used to say that she knew when they took off in England.

Here a few examples of the men who made my heart sing with their entries in my "Poesie" book.
Hero's of a different kind to a child in her early teens.

Two brothers took the time to do these little vignettes.
They were both engineers in the drafting department.

 Translated somewhat : twelve years , how lucky is the child who can live without worries with mother and fatheer.
Twelve years what a great time even if the war is raging and humanity has hate and destroys all that is good.
And with days loaded with sadness and sorrow , clouds covering o ver you with the years, perhaps with a tear you will feel better remembering your twelve years.

a workman at the plant.

The book, like myself is a bit ragged.
The spine is giving out (how well I feel that one)
the color has vanished for both of us
the skin .....well..let's not go there.
But this book has been with me from the time I left Belgium 1953
then Canada till 1955
then New Jersey till 1962
then California till 1970
then Spain Costa de Sol till 1974
then North Carolina till.........now
The Poesie book never left me neither did my Holy Communion dress and I am no longer Catholic...go figure......Oh! I forget I have the Catholic GUILT still.

This was an engineer in the plant who was also a writer, my mother would type his manuscript in the evening in the plant while I slept on the chairs. One day he asked my mother if I could live in the summer with his family. His house was a few miles away from the danger zone and I do not believe that area was bombed by mistake either. The writer had 2 daughters 2 and 4 years older than I. I was completely at home in what they called le petit chateau."La Tourelle" , at one point I slept in the tower. Even so they had maids I was like a member of the family and roamed all over and ate with them. My only problem was that Mr. Ryffranck wanted me to drink water with the meal. Mother had never insisted in that. I just hated it and still do.
He wrote the poem and the eldest daughter signed it. She may still be with us.
The second daughter passed on after the war in a horrific car accident.

The top brass at the plant had a plot of garden and a gardener, so it was instructed at the gardener to make a nest under the hedge and when there were eggs he was to place one egg every day just for me.
Their gardens touched ours just separated with hedges. My daily egg hunt was always a pleasure, if the gardener would have a lot to share he would put more in the nest. I could not thank that man enough, he helped my family during the whole war.

I asked a friend a few years ago to show me where that "Tourelle", we could not get near it but here is a photo taken a few years ago. Obviously everything around it now is new.

The poem he wrote : On the road of existence
goes dear little Jeannot
serene full of hope
happiness is not a vain word

Be always good and sincere
adore your parents
joy has no other mistery
than your work well accomplished

from this cruel war
perhaps you will remember sometimes
also think of la Tourelle
which gave you shelter under her old roof.

I think about it often.
The fun was when I went home and refused to dry the dishes.
I said the maid could do it.
Mother said: Look in the mirror, you are the maid.

And now we have a few from friends and my mom:

My Mom with photo,.
cousin Jeanine pencil,
last one second cousin Stephanie also my teacher and a great artist.
Mom would always give me cyclamen for my birthday (our house was cold enough to keep them for a long time).
Not all my entries are in here and some will come in part II and have changed my whole life.

I posted this in honor of the grown ups who took the time to humor me and enter something I always cherished.
It was war time but I did have some fabulous people around me who cared.
I am wondering in our busy days today if a 12 year old would approach a CEO and ask to write a poem or draw something in her book what the answer would be. I can only hope it would be YES.

FALL 2013

Walking Bijou ever so slowly because I am watching the wind pushing the leaves towards me like a ballet of colors. It is really cute, dancing leaves. I stop at the end of the street and see the same scenario from a different direction. It makes me think of Leo Buscaglia , in one of his lectures he said that he had a "leaf party". Instead of gathering all the leaves in neat bunches and clearing his lawn he told his guest to go outside and get an arm full of leaves and bring them inside. Once the floor covered every one danced in the leaves and had a great time. I am guessing he had a maid to clean up.
I would love to see that  in my kitchen...it is not going to happen because Brie would have my hide.

The garden started gorgeous this spring, basket drooping with all sorts of flowers, all sorts of colors.
I was in heaven, then started the rain summer, every day rain for how many weeks? The flowers started to droop then rot at the stem. I no longer looked outside. I did not want to get involved anymore and clean up the weeds which took over my hosta garden. Besides that the mosquito population has surpassed all the other summers. One comes inside with bumps on arms, legs etc....I stay in!Period!
Having said that when I finally made it to the entrance of the garden with Bijou wondering why I am so slow and he truly wants the reward when he goes in, then I see almost in my face the green hummingbird, he is so gorgeous with luminous plumes as he buzzes around and does acrobatic flips in the air. He does not seem to see me. He just hangs around very close and I stop in my tracks to admire. At the same time Bijou is pulling at his lead and runs towards a chipmunk who was in the squirrel feeder. This year we have tons of chipmunks. I watched him run in a zig zag fashion between the weeds and the hostas and for a moment I forget that I have not taken care of my garden. The little "friends" have tons of places to hide and the hummingbird finds a sad looking bunch of left over flowers.
I forget my neglect guilt for awhile, this was fun, Bijou thinks so too but he still runs for the steps and his treat.
Life is good.
Meanwhile my black walnuts are falling and so are the chestnuts, better duck them.
The squirrels are running about with nuts in their mouth larger than their heads.
I let them have the whole lot and be prepared for winter.

LUNCH IS NOW BEING SERVED

With the new dining room set up I promised Brie I would have people over now and then and get out of my "Greta Garbo" style of wanting to be alone.

Early on in his disease, old Bob, did not like people in the house.
Workmen in here became a nightmare.
He still knew most of the family but he did not enjoy them coming in either.
To avoid his rambling and discomfort I pretty much locked the door and we became
a twosome for the next decade.
Looking at the changes in my life, I had a lot of anger, so I put my gorgeous mahogany dining room table on the side walk and a big sign "FREE". The chairs had been my grandfathers so I gace each of the girls 3 chairs. Poof dining room gone.
I had several sets of Limoges china (I am after all an antique dealer) both girls got a set I am not even sure Sabrina wanted it. Bobby wants nothing.

Somehow in my very busy mind I felt better. No more people over, no more cooking for others, "just you and I ,my love" is what went through my mind.
That became quite a chore as he wanted less and less food. His teeth became bad from the medication but I did  not want him to be more confused with dentures. I made all soft food.
Often 3 choices. Flan, rice pudding, very well soaked bread pudding. Often he would refuse all 3.
Finally we went to the bottle stuff but that he did not like much either. He lost weight and I worried about stuffing him with anything he would eat.

After 13 years Bob gave up , he had been a fighter. Well at the end he became a fighter. The kind gentle soul was lost. We knew all along that he would die, Alzheimer is a dead sentence the minute they give you that diagnosis. How many years you have is a ???????

I was totally lost when he was gone. A lot less work and yet I even missed that. It felt strange to sit and relax. It did not feel right. Within six months almost to the date I was in the hospital and had a serious surgery. I kept hearing the words from our meetings at the Alzheimer group :"Every one in our group has been ill or died within 6 months after a loss".
Say what? Here I was in a hospital and I did not truly want to go on. I wondered why I had even come out of the surgery. It would have been so good to go to sleep on the operating table and not wake up.
Did I think I would meet him somewhere? Not really but there is always that slight hope...will we meet again...will he show up one day in my bedroom like a cute cloud who would come and go....Nah...
I am realistic. I have seen and lived in too many situations.

My return to my own reality did take time. Depressions came and went like the summer storms. Dark clouds over my head and then wake up to sunshine one morning and be happy to be alive. Then by evening the cloud comes and gets bigger and darker. I go to bed and cry some more.
My big helper and truly my own Valium pill comes with 4 legs. My Bijou, Maltese, knows me. He looks at me with his big black eyes and come to lick me, hugs my body in bed and I sleep protected.

I decide to take up a hobby, years ago in the late 1960's and the hippy age, Bob and I, we made necklaces and sold them in his shop. Not much design then but lots of color. We went to Venice and stocked up on Mille Fiori Beads and sold them all a week after we got home. I love beads. I was in my element. Bob too loved beads he had made a giant curtain to fit between our door opening. He was a demanding beader all of his had to be real vintage crystal beads. The sun would play in them and it was a spectacular albeit very heavy piece. Later he sold it to the Shilling heiress who was a good client of ours. So....I decided that I could go back to that and make necklaces.

Equipment had changed quite a bit from threads to the enormous selection of beads on the internet.
With daughter's help I opened a mini shop in a small mall with other dealers. I did well for almost 3 years and then the mall had to close and we were all out of selling spaces and had to leave within 7 days.
At this point I figured that I am 81 1/2 with the 82 looming very closely and it was time to just stop.
Last Christmas I was working late in the evening to get enough stock together and now I like to go to bed early with my kindle, enough work.

So that period gone in my life and finding more and more of who I am  when I am riding solo , I decided to clean my work studio and try and find space for the hundreds of beads I have in stock. Change the studio back to a dining room. Not fancy like before but what they now call country chic. Found the table and chairs at a consignment shop, got my loyal family painters on the job and voila. A new phase coming.

I promised Sabrina that I would put the dining area to use and invite people.
People? I can count my real friends on one hand. After all I had shut the door a decade ago.
So to make good at my promise I asked my good friend L and C for lunch.
They have taken me out almost every week and L. being a proud male will not let me pay.
Time turning the tide.

I was delighted when an email told me they would come and then I sat down and panic set in.
What to cook? I suddenly felt like a new bride who is expecting her mother in law to show up for lunch. Mind you, my friends are very low key, do not expect a gourmet lunch like at the Tour d'Argent.
Somehow I just did not remember what I had ever fixed for lunches...yes...I had done the Belgian Bouche a la reine, but it is so hot to turn on the oven. I went blank again and Brie said:"Mom, just do cheeses a glass of wine and grapes ". OK that sounded easy. So I had a table with 5 different cheeses and different ham and salamis wrapped around mozzarella, Kalamata figs, croissants, Asiego buns, grapes and melon. For dessert I did turn on the oven and made my mothers flan.

I was a hit. My guest seemed to enjoy it a lot. Table was full like a buffet and enough choices.
I stopped shaking and started to enjoy this renewal. It would have been so much better if I had been able to hear them. Their voices are on the low sound , but then I just occupy all conversation and tell them my life story. They are gracious and let me do my monologues they are used to it by now.

Next invite is out to the kids for Christmas eve like we always did when daddy was alive.
I know what to cook then and the kids will help and bring stuff.
Life is good.

Three Piles: Keep, throw away, donate

not in that order.........

I know the drill, I have seen many a TV show and Jeff Lewis brings out the worst in me, his idea OF "Throw away" is to empty the room and put it all in the dumpster.

For many days now I have been following the rule in order to empty a work shop room full of beads and "stuff". Today is my last day and I am coming to the end of a little box here and one there and I am so numb that I have no idea anymore what to do with what.

I am saving my children a lot of work because I did do a lot of donate and throw away. A lot. When I am gone they will not have to sort that junk.

Hospice in Asheville will have a lot of goodies for the Christmas season buyers. They may even be overwhelmed. Meanwhile my back feels like it is going to crack some more and my mind is a jungle of ideas propping up. Next Saturday Bob will have a BBQ outside. We have a cook ready and that is about it.
So next week I will be very very busy.
This is important, this is the first time in 5 years he even wants to see his old friends and be comfortable.
It is huge.

OK back to the last 2 boxes or I may just hide them in my bedroom till Sunday!

Tomorrow it will be apple festival in Hville. Rhonda broke 3 toes and I do not know if she will be able to walk that much. Brie will be here too. We shall see. It is near the end of the month and I don't exactly have Biltmore luncheon money either. At the Festival a 5.00 streudel will be terrific.


Tomorow the painted table and chairs will arrive. Zack the strong one will load up the Bee.
Anxiously waiting to see what the paint has done.
If it is to new looking I know what to do.
Bob's favorite thing: "Lets antique it, where is my burned umber".
If a frame needed antiquing then we got some old forks and made them very hot and made holes in the wooden frames looking like wormy chestnut! I was very good at it. Great to just burn your frustration away.

Night all.

Lets hope we do not have a war by tomorrow.

So the Brits said NO

Syria: The Brits said they are no longer "IN" for whatever force the Americans are going to do next.
I have given Obama all my admiration for a job almost well done in a very touchy time.
I love Obamacare and I trust that he is not being told by big money what to do next.
He has a very bright mind but even so I lament over the death of so many I am sure we can't put a stop to it.
What we start will have a snowball effect in the region.

I am scared.
When Grandma Kensinger was in her 80's she's giggled and tells me:
"I am so glad to be so old, I do not want to see what comes next in this country"

The future:

      The millennial generation is the generation of children born between 1982 and 2002, some 81 million children who have taken over K-12, have already entered college and the workforce.  This generation will replace the Baby-boomers as they retire.
       The millennials have different characteristics than any generation before them and in order to serve them better, K-12 education and colleges and universities are having to change the way they do business. The millennials have grown up in a society that is very different than any group before them. They have been plugged into technology since they were babies, are a safe generation, are the first generation for which Hispanics/Latinos will be the largest minority group instead of African Americans and have the most educated mothers of any generation before them.  They are the most scheduled generation ever, are true multi-taskers, expect to have 6-8 careers in their lifetime and are attracted to diverse environments.
       The millennial student has been a different animal for their teachers.  K-12 institutions, colleges, universities and now the work force are wondering how to motivate and meet the expectations of this generation.

Are the Millenials going to save us ? I have two grandsons already in the work force and look at everything in a different way. One is a type of computer science genius, makes tons of money, trying to buy a car with cash and a house with cash. The other one is a dr on way to be a psychiatrist, he and friends built a mud house and have lived in it until now during his hospital work he needs to be close . Up to now he lived with second hand clothing has a partner but they decided not to marry. She is on a bike tour to "clean green farms" to write a book about them. Later they say they will adopt a child when they are secure with work.

No one speaks of the house with the white picket fence, babies and nurseries. Their friends are many and have all different colors and attitudes and it is just fabulous to see how well the mix works.

I think that that generation will no longer know color. How they can maintain peace in every region is another matter.

I can see clearly now the beads are gone....

Done and I am exhausted.
How I wish for the days when I could do 3 things at once and run 3 business at once.
I get tired after I am up and running for just 2 or 3 hours.
Take little naps and I wake myself up because I snore.

I should stop the bitching after all many my age are not able to do what I do.
I should count my blessings.

This week is a hot week.
Saw the farmers all but cry as the tomatoes touched by rot and bugs and dry roots and going to cost us plenty and the farmers are begging for help from the government.

We have the apple festival this week end and the crop is dismal
 Ouch looking out my window I see a large plane way too low on way to Asheville airport.
Makes me a bit nervous.

Tomorrow we pick up where we left off with a promise to go to Biltmore.

It will be hot with showers after lunch.

The news from the Pres. is scary.
Is Syria the new Iraq?
Are we not sure about who is killing these people with chemicals?
Are we going after the illusion that we can help?
I love Obama but he better be sure of what the consequences will be in the region.
It could all back fire.
Again " weapons of mass destruction" story????
Lets hope not.

Goodbye beading workshop

Mixed emotions as I am on my last day to find room for all what I have left in the beading department.
I sorted it all out so if I want to sit and do a few necklaces I can do that too on the kitchen table.
Kitchen table is my center of living.
Round and tiled and sturdy enough to hide under if a tornado comes.

I am sorry that the Ecclectic mall had to close. I was on a roll for awhile.
I did not have what it takes to start over again in a new place.
Sabrina is the main helper for such adventures and she set up for me in Brevard .
I did not want to do another project that I can't do alone.
Tired of asking for help.
I do not do that very well.
I am stubborn.
I am independent , I have been so since my divorce from husband 1.

My mother used to say that I am the spokes of the family wheel and the family needed me.
That is no longer so.
Brie is taking this over.
Brie is also on overload.
The last year has made a very big change in that gorgeous woman.

So new adventures are in my future as I am remaking my studio into a dining room again.
Not fancy like it was but utterly country chic is what they call it now if they want to sell a piece of wood all banged up. In my shop days all this would see the trash can. The Millinials want country chic or
metal. The industrial look is also in. Too cold for me.
The Millinials are taking over the market.

I have a huge long narrow work table. High. I thought it being ideal for me to sit and bead without bending much. It did not work out. The nice swivel high chairs made it even worse. After one hour of beading I found myself back at the kitchen table. The back in spasms. I am giving the table to a friend who can use it.

Today is my deadline to have the room empty.
Little beads are appearing out of nowhere.
I swear there is a bead fairy aiming at me in anger.

Saturday comes the new look.
meanwhile I have to stop writing and get to work....
10 hours to get it done...............

Living in a house

for 37 years, add several shops plus Santa's dolls and then in moves your son with his toy collection, not playing toys but collectables and one day you figure that no one can walk into the garage without falling over something.

Enter the one with the red cape? No but close. Sabrina watches all the home improvement shows so she came and we now have walking "lanes" between the metal shelving. Most of my stuff went to the dumps as it had been here since 2001 and then Bob got sick and the garage was my last thought. So Zack and I had 4 trips with the Bee to the dump. Since I had been there with old Bob it is now very well scheduled and it was a pleasure to deal with them.. Problem is they have only certain months and 1/2 a day when they accept old paint cans.

Zack is a tower of force. He seems to be able to lift anything.
What is nicer is that he does whatever it takes to help his Meme.

One job out of the way.
Now I have to finish to empty the office/bead work shop , I am almost done and then comes the dining area again. Albeit rustic this time.

Thank you Brie and Zack and Bobby for all the work.

IS IT STILL BROKEN?

Grab a plate and throw it on the ground.

-OK Done.

Did it brake?

-Yes

Now say "sorry" to it.

-Sorry

Did it go back to the way it was before?

This lesson came my way last week and it is sticking in a corner of my brain. Maybe I will remember it for awhile and not brake anything I can't mend.
But then I look at Bob's explanation:
]

" A simple psychological way to give the client an epiphany about the varying levels of cause and effect. Everything carries a different weight, so you should consider your actions (and the effect or fallout) before doing."

OK, Bob, I still think there is some hope after one "breaks" the plate and you can reglue it to be perfect again.

keep the dog

My mother passed away at 83. Her routine every day was to bathe get dressed,, stockings and all and be ready for the world. The world had left her. She was difficult  Her friends in her apartment building had either died or just did not come back anymore. She had a state worker 3 times a week and that was her entertainment plus the TV. She followed tennis and anything Royal. She saved from an ample pension and became more frugal than ever before. Her knees had given out and the drs. decided that surgery would be too much for her.
What I can't figure out is how she got up  every morning and did the dress routine.
Now me at 81, I HAVE to get up. I have a Maltese with the blackest eyes sitting on my face looking to see when the eye lids will move, next his tail is wagging. Mommy is awake.......I look around and even so it is already 9 am I just want to stay in bed. If I did not have Bijou or hired a dog walker I am not sure how often I would be washed and dressed and get out of bed.
What my mother had in determination I only have in obligation to my best friend Bijou.

Should I complain?

Should I complain? I better not. Reflecting on my life there is no reason to moan, bitch or complain.

I grew up during a bad war. I survived it. 

Separated parents? That is now a norm.

First Marriage? A disaster but I do have 2 gorgeous daughters from that marriage.

Divorce of my own ? so what? I met the love of my life and for 42 years I was his queen, we added the icing on the cake and had a son. 

Lost him and still grieving. So what? This is life.

I can still walk in spite of a complicated surgery on my ankle broken in 3 places, I do not even limp, only bad weather reminds me of the accident. Lots of people my age are in wheelchairs.
Complain? I better not.

They took a kidney. It was cancer. Now can I complain? NO, not at all you still have another kidney working like a charm, the cancer is gone, no chemo was needed. You better not have a negative word to say about this experience.

I have vertigo, its a bitch, in the end it is just the same as someone with a drinking problem , I just sway and do pirouettes and sometimes I fall. I have a nice big cushion on my derriere but I still damaged the L1 and L2 and gorgeous dr Brooke said"Your back is broken"
I said" why can I still walk if it is broken? He said:"you are very lucky not to be in a wheel chair, do not overdo it. I am still walking and my dog Bijou is very happy about that.
Many people are not that lucky after a bad fall.

I lost 80 percent of my hearing. That annoys me A LOT, I have to learn not to bitch about it.
I have to remember that I heard my babies laugh and cry, I heard divine music, I heard loving words  whispered in my ear. I lived long enough to hear the giant grandson tell me:"I love you Meme". Many people are born without hearing anything. Who am I to moan about it?

Life has been good. If I have 1 more year or ten more years I should reread this often and remind me that I should not complain. 

People come and go in our lives for a reason.

Well, that is what I feel. There is a reason (at least for me) when we meet people and make some sort of connection.
I have oftene learned a lot from these connections.
The latest two women who made a deep inpact actually were our neighbors.
They had been there for 4 years and Bob and I "discovered" them a year or so ago.
I am very much a recluse and Bob then did not leave the yard due to his illness.

I would see the girls (to me they are girls) working in their backyard and wave and it would all stop there.
One sunny day I looked over to the yard and saw Bob talking and laughing with one of the girls.
I could not believe that he had gone that far out and even more so that he actually had a conversation.

That ws the beginning of a friendship with the "girls" . They were instrumental in bringing Bob out of this house and into their lives. He' go first thing in the morning to say hello to them.
He went inside their house, that was a big new step.
He helped in their yard.

He started to smile a lot more and even going back to his sarcastic funny jokes.
He did not seem to have attacks when he was over there.

It was a terrific year in relearning how to deal with people. Bob was ,of course, in therapy now for a couple of years but we all saw a difference in him.

I took second seat to this environment letting him be the visitor in their milieu but I started to take to them too and as they left this week for another state and a fantastic future (teaching in a University while working on 2 doctorates) I was just sad to see them go while rejoicing to what waits for them.

Bob does not have that support team anymore but I am sure he will continue to heal, he is on his way.

DEAF....DID YOU SAY SOMETHING??

My complaint for the day:
Just because a person has lost their hearing it does not mean that you sit at the same table and turn your back to that person. It does not mean in a group conversations that you just push the afflicted person aside and stand in front of them. The person has sadly enough lost their hearing they are not invisible, they are not there to be totally ignored. Do not be so rude, try and explain what you are talking about as well as possible.
Most people (not always old either) like to be still a part of a world, most of them are already shutting out too much in their social life.
It is not something you are going to "catch", it is a problem you may encounter yourself at some point in your life. Thank you for taking this in consideration next time you are with a deaf person.

Check little girls with tempers

I sat in the car, tired and wanting to nap, Peter in the back seat already asleep while the sisters went into Walmart to pick up a few items for me ......

As I am adjusting my seat I see a little girl walking in the parking lot, she is not exactly walking, she sort of floats with her arms swinging to and fro with full force while her pony tail is hitting one shoulder then the other. I have seen that scene before. I smiled as I remembered my Sabrina and her tantrums.
This girl was having a tantrum and no one watching except an old lady who wants to take a nap.

About 4 or 5 cars in front of me she stops at a beige truck, nice truck.It is a 4 door cabin truck and she is now hanging at the door handles, they do not give in to her. She lift up her legs and with all her weight she hangs on two handles...no budging. I started to worry that they were going to come right off the door.
I look around , people come and go but no one stops at the truck, no one seems to know she is there.I am wondering where the parents are.

She walks around the truck and out of my sight I figure she tried the doors at the other side too, she comes back in view and tries to crawl in the bed of the truck. I am getting sleepy and want to rest. She is a little brat intend on waiting there for the parents. I doze a bit but come out of that snooze thinking about that kid.
She is still there, she walked around the truck over and over again. Should I approach her? I am concerned over that, what if she was told not to speak to strangers? What if she runs away and I am hardly in a position to run after a 7 year old (my guess). Brie left the key in the car, Peter is asleep, do I make it my business?
I do not know how long I sat there hoping someone will come out of that store and think it normal for her to act this way. Or maybe not.

I want to get home, these two dames must be buying out the store, I only had 6 items on MY list.
I have me cel with me, I call Sabrina:
"Brie? Where the heck are you?"
"Hi, Mom I am at the register, be there in a few minutes"
"OK, I was just getting a bit antsy"
"I'll be there in a few"
"Brie by any chance has anyone called out about a little girl lost?"
"Yes, Mom, several times, it is an Amber alert"
"Brie I have been watching her , I see her"
"OMG she tells the cashier "Mom found her in the parking"
"Mom , do not loose her, follow her if she goes away"
"Mom, OK?"
"Yup".
I leave the car door open forgetting the keys are in it and my purse wide open on my seat, Peter still sleeping.
I walk towards the girl but do not try to get near.
Within 5 feet or so I say:"Your Mom is coming"
she answer, I do not understand.
She keeps looking at the store door.
She is still in a bad mood, stomps her feet a bit.
I wait and waive if someone is looking where we are....
2 security people, young woman, young man.
The woman runs to the girl, she tells her something takes her by the hand and goes to the store.
I am somewhat shocked.
First of all, what if she was told not to go with strangers????Why did they not bring the parents here to the parking?
The young man asks me what I saw and I tell him. He does not seem to care much because all he wants is a reunion and I conquer.

The girls come out and hug me "Good job Mom"
Brie: Our family is always aware of what goes on around us.

I am thinking if this had been nothing at all and a usual habit with this girl I would have been told:"Oh Mom do not be so negative"!
 

SHOPPING THERAPY

She came into my shop about 3 or 4 times a year.
She put a smile on my face.
One of these clients you do not forget.
I can see her now walking in the door .
"hello my dear Mrs. K. how are you?"
"terrific now that you are here to cheer me up"
"You may not know it but I jist celebrated my 96th birthday and I do need
to give myself a gift, so I will browse in your lovely shop!

I could never get over the fact that here she stood almost 100 years old and
she wanted to buy herself something.

I see her in her navy blue suit , a sort of shantung worn by much younger people and it had a little white border. Her blouse was pure white silk with a little bow and an exquisite brooch (broche to me)
her shoes ,of course, navy with white trim and a tiny heel.
Her hat was a fine straw hat with a white rose which reflected her snow white hair.

A long time ago she told me that she was a preacher';s wife, a real Southern Belle.
She had lived most of her life in South Carolina. Her husband had joined the Lord, she said and she smiled.
She would add that he went "home" too soon for he was a gentle man.
She was petite and rather thin, one would wonder if her legs could keep her up but she walked at a steady pace.

I would help her look for what was on her mind and often she would find the right item, mostly jewelry or if I had vintage gloves she would try them on. She was what the French call "une coquette", she came out of a box and one had to look at her , you just could not help yourself.

The majority of my clients would come in with china ware, cut glass, old pearls , martini glasses, Hummels and Lladro. They would all have the same sing song :"I am too old to use this, I no longer entertain, I no longer can keep up with the dust, my children do not want this, my daughter does not even talk to me, my granddaughter just wants what fits in the dish washer. My maid no longer comes and I can't polish the silver, can you please sell it for me."
The majority looked very unhappy, the end of the road bothering them, the memories to be buried.

The Floridians who come here in the summer to cool off (try that this year!) would always have these
different color suits ready to go jogging or not....bright colors, bracelets by the dozens and bright lipstick.They stood out but as widows they had to sell the NC property so more "stuff" . I almost always told them to go for auctions, I knew that I could never pay enough so that helped in the long run.
Buying? are you kidding? they would walk around the shop and say :"I have this and have that but better quality, of course. "

I would observe the older women and started to think what road I was going to take when I would turn 80.
Would I wear all these colors still? I sure do! Would I wear the jog suits and the hoodies? Never.
I look like always a gypsy antique dealer with long skirts ,jewelry and much color.
It's my style but at 5.7" I can carry it a bit. Did I say 5 '7" ? I am lying I shrunk 1/2 inch.

I have given a lot of my "goodies" to the girls because they wanted them and appreciate them.
So that helped me. I was not a Hummel fan and could not afford Lladro so I am safe here.
I did like sterling silver and must admit that I no longer like to polish it and never had a maid to do it, well, I am lying again, Brie used to polish for me until she grew this brute force and one day twisted one of my candle sticks into a pretzel. That was her last polishing job.

 Surely one who grew up without a touch of silver anywhere not even silverplate , a mother who prided herself if she could buy stainless steel forks that had to be 18/8!  Why the silver longing? I did not learn about 925 sterling till my Bob came into my life and had all these different gorgeous patterns of teaspoons for his coffee. He taught us all to look for the 925 never mind 18/8.

Rhonda was quick to go to the church bazars and find the spoons she liked (she was not into sets yet) if it was sterling it was going to be hers. She'd go to the cashier and say things like :"I like this so much do not know if I have enough pennies...(sad face) usually she got them for free from old unsuspecting sweet church ladies. Especially the Episcopalians, Rhonda 's testimony, she said they had the best silver.
Then she'd come to the shop we had and tried to sell them to us.

So as I watched the elderly in my business I decided I wanted to be 94 dressed like a gypsy and still go shopping.

Well, I did it in a big way. Since my bead shop was closed unexpectedly I have been brooding about my office/workplace. It's not as orderly as I would like it to look at it every day and slow down on beading. I am blue about the subject, I miss it  and yet I do not have the courage to start again in another place. I need too much help for setting up a new shop and then keeping it up. Brie needs a rest and Rhonda is hardly home as her hours are brutal at work.

So on a whim  I decided to make the room again a dining room, nothing fancy, nothing expensive I did all that during the younger years. I wanted something very European and country looking nothing modern and I told the kids that Christmas eve was on me with the new room!!!!They love it!!!!!!!!

Just like I decided within minutes to give up my dining room I decided to have it come back.
I had put my solid mahogany table on the side of the street with a sign "FREE" ten minutes later it was gone. My chairs were from my grandfather so the girls each got 3. That took care of it.
Entered the beads and plastic drawers piled on plastic wheels who could not keep up with the weight.
The white plastic turned yellow like over night. As long as I was working in there I had no problems but with the changes also came the nostalgia of again having the kids here for Christmas.
So at 81 1/2 I went to the consignment shop and bought a Bavarian kitchen table strong enough to hide under if a tornado comes and four high back chairs just like I had in my house in California.
Who buys furniture at my age? Who cares? I am old enough to know better and old enough not to give a damn.

I think my preacher';s wife is "home" and smiling at me.

The Mediocre Farmer

Ok. Ok. So I admit it, I am a mediocre farmer.
How do I know that for sure?
Well after years of farming I am at 269 points, my friends are at the max 450 points.

If you are from another planet you probably do not know about our "Farms".

" Farm Town was initially sent out in February of 2009 to a few select members of the Facebook community in order to “iron out the bugs.” The game was finally added to the Facebook Application Directory in June 2009 and debuted as the fourth most popular game on Facebook.^"

 My son who lives with me knows that I love games, especially on the computer.
He saw the birth of the Farm Town as something "Mom would love". so he started me on this innocent adventure.  He did  need someone to "harvest" his field so he had different motives.
In the early days you had one field and you plowed, planted and harvested one little square at a time.
Time consuming it was.
I was his slave to go and harvest the pineapples he planted, always the same fruit because it yelded the most points. You keep on planting and eventually you get points which will buy you more land, seeds, animals,trees, castles and lean-tos.
With real cash and Paypal it is only a few "clicks" and you can shop for whatever your greedy heart wants that day.

Young Bob left the game after the second farm, so did my Sabrina, I on the other hand do not give up with ease as I now have 19 farms. Last week I gave up my 5.99 in REAL cash so I could get a combine which does 3 things all at once. It harvests, plows and seeds about 9 squares all at once. It saved me at least an hour of work the 19 "estates" I own.
I think I was singing all day when I bought the combine, it is so cool.
Now if you strangers to this game think I am a nut case, think again.
There are millions in this game, all over the globe.

I have farmer friends in the UK, in Greece, the Ukraine, Thailand New Zealand  and every state of the Union in the USA.

With my farmer friends I have made a friendship circle. In the 50's and 60's we had Round Robins with letters who did a circle of friends. Took forever to get to the end of "round". Now every morning I get my coffee sit by the computer and chat with the world.

I feel very lucky that I have that connection. I am somewhat of a loner, I do not drive, I do not like to be in particular clubs, groups, organizations of this and that. I never have. I kept in touch for decades with a very few loyal terrific friends. I am in heaven with my computer.

In the meantime Farm Town is so big that I can't keep up with it all ,I am OK with that.
Some days I just want to work the farms in every aspect, the flowers, the trees, the animals, the plowing. Then there are weeks I do not look at anything. When I come back it is always there waiting for me to play catch up.

Now and then I will splurge 5 or 10 bucks for some tool I would like but it is not something that will upset my budget. It is not a gambling thing. Now keep me OUT of Vegas, there I am in trouble.
I am a gambler, why do you think most people are in retail? They gamble if they buy this or that wholesale and can sell it for a profit , that is pure heaven.

This morning I did feel a bit out of sorts when I was planting dandelions. Who does that? My real ones are a quick fix with some poison and they droop but in Farm Town what do I need them for? I have not figured it out yet, everything they put up has a reason. Now I have a rabbit hutch with 22 rabbits. I wonder can I move the hutch and let the rabbits have a field day?

I love the windmills, of course I do. These are RED you can see them the minute you are on the field, they make flour out of the wheat you plant, better plant a lot. There is a bakery and pizza place ,then there are B and B';s with huge breakfast menus...and on and on.........

Sorry, I have to run I have to plant lemongrass........what was that for???I can't remember.....but I will find out...........
See you in Farmtown.

"would it not have been nice if Zimmerman

would have given this young man a ride home to get out of the rain" I am quoting from a sermon by an Episcopalian priest.

Are these days gone? Totally gone?

Now we can play cop and carry a gun and offer a bullet instead of a ride.

Better yet it is called self defense.

Outrage at our judicial system with all the loop holes and the prejudices there.

I just read in Time that by 2040, (I thought that is when my son will be 70) not so far away...by that time it is estimated that the "whites" will be the minority in the USA.

What will happen in the meantime?
More murders now also black on black in the ghettos?
More innocent people being shot?
A little girl was shot yesterday during a funeral service for a relative who had been shot.
Does any of this make sense?

Guns?
Hatred for each other?
Profiling? We all do that, lets be honest.

Profiling is very dangerous it makes you use judgment on someone you do not even know by name.
I was brought up with prejudice and profiling.
I did not figure it out till much later in life.
Both my mother and father had been kids during WW1 in Belgium.
Both hated the Germans with a passion.
If someone would walk by us speaking German my mother would turn white from anger.
She would say words under her breath I never heard her say out loud.

WW2 came and I surely joined my parents in hating the Germans and this hatred lasted with me for decades. One such national would walk in my shop and my help had to take over ,I would not serve them and would often run to be sick to my stomach.
I did not know these people and I disliked them with a horrible passion.

A German person I will never meet in person  but became a friend of mine on the internet has changed my mind. I do not even know how to explain it. She is German and I adore her and we write every day a few words here and there. Over the past few years she had given me great advice and helped me over hurdles.

I am sorry that I perhaps lost other friendships because someone was born in Germany.

I speak with an accent and the first guess strangers ask me is :"You German?"
In the past I would have a whole story for an answer and it was not a pretty one.
I so wanted to be able to say a "TH" sound but it is not going to happen.
Now I just answer and say "No Belgian, and I speak Flemish therefore the accent".
Leave it at that.

Can I forget the war? No, not ever.
When I see the kids in the Middle East, in Africa and wherever there are fights ,bombs, airplanes, soldiers , I feel in my heart that all these boys and girls IF they survive will have these horrors scars in their mind.
I just hope that they can grow stronger from the experience, I think I did.

So what will happen now that America is back on the sing song about we MUST OVERCOME.
If we had Zimmerman would not be a vigilante, he would not need a gun, he would not have taken a life and he is not the only one. Who knows how many similar incidents are hidden under the rugs. It took the child's parents to bring that incident to the light and ask questions.

I see  no quick answers but for the moment the sad picture is back on the front pages, wake up America, forget colors, we are all human beings who would enjoy not being afraid.

New care for dementia patients.

Yesterday I could not spell "flood" no matter how I put things together nothing jived and the more I panicked the worse it got. I was stuck on "flud" and flud it was.

I scrabble for too many hours these days. I am petrified when I forget one little item.
I want to be clear of mind.
I want to remember everything.
I do not want to sink in a dark space like Bob did.
I so wanted to help him but I could n't.
YET..I could have done better....

I just read the New Yorker and an article by Rebecca Mead about new procedures in care giving.
Years ago already in England Thomas Kitwood, a social psychologist , started to view dementia and the care in a different light. He started the Bradford Dementia group. Prime Minister David Cameron is leading a campaign ,the Dementia Challenge, that aims at providing sufferers with the service and support they need.

In Belgiam the city of Bruges declared itself "dementia friendly", clerks are trained to anticipiate a shopper may have problems remembering.

in Arizona a model care facility named the "Beatitudes" has so many new ideas and while I was reading Ms Mead's article I could still feel what I could have done better.
The struggle with the bathing comes to mind.
Not that I required a bath every day anymore but when I thought he really would feel better having a good "wash down" he became violent. At one point I put towels on the bathroom floor and just washed him down while he was punching me. I was thinking that I had to win. There are ways of calming them down and working with the moods.

It is interesting to see that we are beginning to think of these patients as real people...they need to be
taken care with more dignity than sitting in a chair all day in a hall, head bent down smelling of urine.
There are options as we see in Arizona.

If you have someone with that mental problem do read the article, it may help both of you.

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/05/20/130520fa_fact_mead

 http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/05/20/130520fa_fact_mead

New Yorker May 20.2013  the sense of an ending by Rebecca Mead
 

My peers

We were walking arm in arm, three old broads who have know each other since childhood.
I the youngest by just a couple of years.The oldest probably 8 or 9 years my senior.
The Veldstraat in Ghent Belgium is a shopping street.
We had started there, walked by shops full of the latest styles. We made fun of the young who came out with shorter and shorter skirts. Hair with rainbow color streaks. Overly done black make up around the eyes almost looking like football players ready for the game.
We sure had a great time talking about our own mothers and how they would see this scenario now.
Of course I had to tell when my mother unexpectedly visited me in the Inno tearoom.
I was with a few of my girlfriend's not yet 15, blond hair down my back but once out of the house I changed it to the side sweep a la Veronica Lake (unacceptable to Mother) , then when we girls met at the tearoom we would gossip and one package of cigarettes did the delivery around the table.
I had no idea what to do with it so I puffed and puffed and blew a lot of smoke but inhaled nothing .
I did not know that the waitress the enemy. She called my mother at work and there she stood with the steel eyes. Took the cigarette out of my hand, looked at the girls. Said "Au revoir" and dragged me to the ladies room where my hair was again combed with a middle stripe, a comb on each side with a little pink bow on it.

My story brought my friends in tears of laughter, they had all known Mme. D. ,my mother, and sometimes they had to do with her antics after we all became adults.

At the end of the Veldstraat E. decided it was dessert time and coffee, so we found a cozy pattiserie in
de Volderstaat. We made sure we had enough whipped cream to last us a few hours. The stories continued.
A. had been my neighbor at one point, our enclosed back "yard" was very small , all cement and the outhouse and the coal and potato bins in a little cove next to that. The pump was outside and in the winter we had to make sure to have hot water on hand to break the ice before we could pump water for our coffee and face washing. A7 foot brick wall separated us. When my Mom yelled they would often yell back with an answer for her. When I got married in 1951 and bought a record player they complained that I was listening to Ima Sumac with all her vocals, I had 3 records, Johny Lane, Ima and Nat King Cole. What did they want from me? They wanted me to move out which I did after 1 year with mother and husband.

Finishing our coffee and on to another street and A. the elder, liked a little bit liquor, she could hold it too.
One wine for me and I will dance on the table or under it.
So the next big bar with lots of room we settled in and it was A's turn to treat.
They knew her and the barman from behind the counter said "Een kleintje,voor jou?"
( a little one meaning all hard liquor in small glass)
together E and I settled for a calmer beer.
More stories ...remember when....more laughter....
Then A. said that every Saturday she had to watch her husband as he would get a ladder and try to see above the wall when I sat in the galvanized tub to take my bath. I had not known that at the time but found out later so I started to put the tub in the corner next to the coal so he would not see me.
My turn to treat so another kleintje and another beer or two.
We started to entertain a few people who came in, they wanted to laugh with us.

It was a great afternoon and it was the last time I saw them.
We all 3 stood together and cried while hugging. We knew.

Yesterday I heard that A. has dementia and almost burned her house down with cooking sausages till they turned into smoke and alerted the gal next door.
E. has a new knee, totalled her car a few months ago but came out OK.
Her husband is older, he is pushing 89, like me he is deaf but he learned how to use the computer and writes me jokes every day, as well as to 121 other people.

We were young once and now we are leaving one at a time.....
Memories of the three broads in Ghent are still with me....I would hope that A. can find them now and then in her new world.

RENOIR THE MOVIE 2013

Source

Pierre-Auguste Renoir paints on the French Riviera in 1915 after his wife dies and his son is wounded in a battle. He finds a young woman named Andrée and she becomes his last model.

Search For: Michel Bouquet · Christa Theret · Vincent Rottiers

 

ok SO what is it with me. Some critics had "bad" things to say about this film. It was too slow, the script was "empty" etc...etc...it is now about 2 weeks since I saw it and it haunts me every day.

I keep replaying scenes in front of me and each one is like a tableau ready to be painted.

 

Have I been an artist wife for too long?

Did I find similarities in the life of Renoir and ours? No.

First of all , Renoir is very old here. Michel Bouquet does not have to say much. His old man grunts tell a whole conversation. He is also at this point in life a rich man and has sold a lot of his work.

He suffers from arthritis to he point that he does not want to give up to paint "something" just "anything".

He does try.

His cripple fingers have to be bound with the brush inside.

His entourage makes up his palette , now ochre, now blue, now white , not that much....

The little dobs of paint are waiting for the shaky hand.

I sit there in the quiet of the movie house with "ears on" and I can hear every word, it is in French.

I am feeling his pain and I want to cry.

 

The day after delivering Sabrina I woke up with fat swollen feet. To stand on them was like walking on thousands of spikes. The doctor said that I had "gout". Gave me some pills and sent me home.

"Gout" back home was a priest disease or the Baron down the street from the school, he had it too.

Mother said :"They eat too much rich food and drink too much wine!".

I was afraid to write mother. What was she going to think?

Next my hands became swollen and ugly. The pain was worse and worse.

I could not pick up a coffee pot to pour coffee and I could not comb the girls long hair.

As I watch Renoir sitting there and often screaming out I forgot it was a movie and felt for him like he was sitting next to me. I figured he had courage and willpower to want to continue to paint.

My ordeal lasted 9 years until a "bad" drug called Butazolidin put me totally in remission and life was good again. I was 28 when it started. My stomach was so bad from all the aspirins I took that I ate every meal with papaya for easy digestion.

 

The staff in the Renoir house brings in a new model hoping to have him in a better mood.

She (Christa Theret) is gorgeous. Not a fake anything on her. Gorgeous hair, no fake eyelashes, no filled up breast. Not a Hollywood scenario. She poses with great grace for the master. There is a twinkle in his old eyes. One can guess what he is thinking. Yes, the past, it seems that a lot of models came in found their way to his bed and were later dismissed. 

 

My mind wanders and I remember asking Bob when we were first together if he had done a lot of work with nudes. Not sure of myself as an artist wife I wanted all phases covered.

Bob answered with smiles.
"Yes, he said, in Chouinard we were required to do nude sketches. Live models came in all the time. The class was always completely full and I was as usual always late. So I ended up with the view of a crack in a rear end sitting in front of me. When I did get a chance to sketch a front of a lady she was about 300 lbs. So I lost my appetite for nude work".

I did not know if I should believe this or not but I figured no young chick with boobs under her chin was going to end up in my house.

I did not have to fear. Bob was in love with still life. He said they did not move (the models) and he got to eat them afterwards. 

Not so when we lived in Spain and he had a commission to do a fish with vegetables....

we went to the mercado and looked at all the fishes. He did not like any of them. One of the merchants had a short fuse with my husband and started to yell things we had not taken up yet in our Spanish conversations book. I kept telling the man "Es un pintor," like that was going to make the grade. I held up a fish and then pinches my nose and showed that we wanted mucho colores on the fish.

He got the picture and brought out the smelliest fish with blues and greens. Bob was in heaven.

I stayed on the balcony when he painted.

So back to the movie which had every scene set up to look like a natural painting. I could not get enough of it. Slow...the reviews say...I liked it slow, seeing the trees the river, the kids and girls in long skirts stepping stone to stone. At one point Renoir from behind his easel tells his friend :Oh, how very pretty!

I did not think that he was a dirty old man, I thought like Bob when it was beautiful he would say so.

I wrote this before but when we were in Rome in 1969 all I saw was one Lola Brigida after another. Voluptuous black haired beauties. Bob never said a word until we came to the beggar lady on the church steps. Her face a map of lines, deep worn out lines on a skin like leather. He gave her money and asked if he could photograph her as she was so beautiful. She smiled, she did not have teeth but he made her day.

Somewhere I have that picture and it sure made my trip. The man was a peach.

One does not truly know who in the film is the main object, the painter, the model or his son (Vincent Rottiers). It is a three part scenario. Not much melodrama except that the son comes back hurt from the war and then must return.

But we all know that Jean Renoir came to Hollywood and married Andree, the model, but later divorced.

In real life I think the fantasy ended there.

My life of remembering goes on and how lucky I am.

Instead of sitting by a cool river Bob and I would walk into the Spanish sugar cane fields and find a place to sit so he could do a watercolor of a finca. Not just any finca..the right one. The hot sun did not bother him then nor I, so we found this little stone bridge over a dried up creek and took up residence.

I had the Casera drinks ,cheese and fresh bread if we got hungry. Bob had sketched in his finca when out of nowhere came dozens of goats. We scrambled papers, brushes and pencils as they surely where headed for us. We were sitting on their "salt" on the bridge. They needed the salt to continue their day. The herder thought it was hilarious. I bet Renoir would have said:"how very pretty ". We never forgot and so I could like it all again while watching the grand master on film.They called him "Patron".