Light a candle, say a prayer

 You know the family reunion scheduled for August I have been gripping and stressing about? Well, it has been cancelled for the worst possible reason.  We received a phone call that the husband of Maurice’s sister had passed out and the doctor in the ER did a scan and thought he had brain cancer. Since then an expert in this sort of thing thinks he may not and on Monday they will be doing an MRI. The ER doctor even told them that he had metastases which understandably scared them to death. His name is Rene and he’s a really nice and funny guy. I always call him Cowboy because he has a collection of western guns and paintings of cowboys in their home. So, please send out your good thoughts and prayers for this really great guy who doesn’t deserve this. It makes stressing about a party seem like no big deal in the scope of life and death, eh?

Some fancier clogs at the same Brochante I wrote about earlier. I did a little research on them and found the following information:

 Clogs or wooden shoes have a long social history. The Klompen or Dutch clog was traditionally a work shoe worn in the Industrial Revolution. The style was also popular in northern France, England, Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands. Clogs were cheap and durable made from alder, birch, sycamore, willow or beech. When worn barefoot, thick straw was used to pad the rigidity of the wood. The upturned toe made the shoes easier to walk. The French, Sabot; the German, Klomp, and the Dutch, clog were made from a single block of wood whereas the Spanish pantofle and later US and UK clogs were constructed like shoes with a separate wooden upper from the leather upper. Although clogs and wooden soled shoes have had brief moments in fashion they were the traditional footwear of the poor and those work necessitated heavy-duty shoes.

 I always wondered why this man had straw stuck in his shoes, now I know. I took this photo in Paris at a wine festival parade in Montmartre. Doesn’t look very comfie to me.

PS-In France these shoes are called sabots and the word sabotage comes from sabots. Supposedly, the shoes where thrown into some machinery during a stike of some sort. Ah, the joy of trivia.

 In the summer there are brochantes all over the place. These aren’t like flea markets, or vide greniers as they are called here. These are antique markets run by professional dealers. I love poking around and always see many things I’d love to buy. I have to say that the prices seemed a little lower than last year for what ever reason.

 Farmers used to wear these in the fields. There were many made before they started mass producing shoes and are of wood. They look uncomfortable but I guess a little mud wouldn’t hurt them.

These dolls look strangely familiar to me for some reason.

 There are always wonderful linen things in these markets. I never buy them as I don’t think I’d use them. This nightgown was tempting but I passed it by.

I have a weakness for plates and platters but I didn’t buy any.

 This is what we ended up buying. We’ve needed one since we moved into our house. The seller actually delievered it, thank heavens. Now I have a place for dishes that I have stuffed here and there.

 Or should it be, On The Trail of Purple? There seems to be a sudden popularity for the color purple. At least it is new to me. You find it referred to all over blog world in such places as Gypsy Purple Gypsy Purple and Perfect Bound  perfect bound: domino sneak peak + purple. I even realized that I have a few touches of purple in my own home in a runner on my dining room table, a bunch of dried hydrangias in a vase and, right now, cut lavender from my yard in pots here and there.

 Speaking of purple, lavender is at its peak right now here in Provence (she reported live from deep within the heart of lavender country) and because it has gotten hot in the last few days, I’m thinking that there won’t be much lavender around for much longer so even though I was tired from a late night of partying and watching fire works, I made myself drive to Valensole, the home of the lavender festival. I passed masses of lavender growing in fields on the way and the fragrance wafted its way into my car on my way to the village. The festival was packed with people and there was booth after booth of products made of lavender and, yes, all things purple.

What is it about these neat, clean smelling rows that fill your heart with happiness?

 Free bouquets of lavender were handed out at the festival

 I didn’t buy any of this but I liked that label

 I don’t use soap anymore-just liquid gel-but sometimes I buy some just to make my bathroom smell good.

Aren’t these cute? They are little pillows filled with lavender to put in drawers to make the items inside smell like lavender. I think they are too pretty to hide away in a drawer.

 Bastille Day here in France is much like the 4th of July in the States. It is celebrated with fireworks all over the country and there is music being played in almost every village. On the 14th we were invited to a friend’s house to celebrate. It was an interesting mix of people in that there were two American women, two French men, a lady from Austria whose husband was Dutch, a Belgian man raised in England with his wife, French raised in Canada. Could there be more of a mix? They were all very fluent both in French and English. I sat next to the man from Amsterdam and learned that he spoke four languages. He learned his first language, French, when young as it is considered the most difficult to learn so once they get that one out of the way, they move on to others. He then learned English and German. I so wish the States were the same way. Wouldn’t that be great?

 Anyway, my friend has a very cute apartment with a terrace from which there was a fabulous view.

  We had a great dinner and then, because the mairie is almost next door to her, we had a first row seat to the fireworks.

 Afterwards there was a live band in front of the mairie playing mostly American rock and roll to which my friend and I knew every word. We all even did a little dancing on the terrace. At one point I asked them all this question: what is the biggest selling album ever from a movie? I base this on an article I read in a paper a few years ago. It isn’t Flash Dance, Purple Rain, or Dirty Dancing. What do you think it is? (My sister can’t answer this as she has been asked this question before.)

 I almost always take my camera with me when going to other towns, especially if there is a market. Maurice is always asking me why I’m taking photos once again of various places. I must have one hundred photos of many of the same things but you never know when you will get something really amazing. Anyway, here are some photos that don’t really fit into any theme but they are colorful.

I’m not even sure where these flowers were but I like their cheerful colors.

 Many people have grape vines growing over metal frames to provide shade. This vine had some really good looking grapes. I wondered if some tourist will walk by and help themselves?

 It’s usually hard to find markets on Mondays but the exception is one in Forcalquier. In fact it’s one of the largest in Provence. In one section of the market are all sorts of crafts, materials and jewelry, often from other countries. This booth sold some colorful scarves and tops. The people to the left are in a reflection of a mirror.

 Don’t these olives look great? You know that they could never be sold like this in the States-all out in the open and uncovered. The bowl in the back was a “caviar” made of tomatoes which I thought looked good. I’m still waiting for my first tomato from my garden. I have one that will be ripe any day now.