Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 162

Travels with Diane, Etc.

Where to start? Where to start?
I guess at the beginning. Good flights. Too much food. and great company.
Wonderful friends/travelling companions
Us
Then: Paris.
Did these inveterate travellers pause? Not for an instant, though we had been conscious for nearly 24 hours. Taxi to our Air B&B, settling in, and back on the street. (In a totally non-prostitute sense...)
Because we were in PARIS! It was a beautiful day (The only one while we were there, as fate would have it) and where else would one go on a beautiful day in Paris? La Tour d'Eiffel!
See how French I am?!




The sheer immensity. Even majesty!
The crowds.
The heights.
Okay, I'm not so good with the heights. But when in Paris . . .

Then because they obviously didn't know we were coming and had scheduled a concert that we weren't invited to, the outside of the Beautiful Paris Opera.
Sigh.

The next day, The Louvre.
Where we spent the requisite two weeks--less one week, six days and 20 hours.
Yes we did the Louvre in only four hours. My advice? Take longer . . .
Venus says 'Hi!"

You know, I thought it would be bigger
Baby hands!!!
Okay, this is definitely NOT what I see when I look up at my ceilings . . .
From there, Notre Dame Cathedral.
In a word? Magnificent.


All I could think was: Who washes THAT window?
The next day, The Catacombes! Dun-dun-duuuuun! After a looooong three hour wait (a word of advice--buy your admission tickets in a group. Online.) in cold wind, we were nearly ready to just take up residence with the other dead bodies.
The nearly-dead.
The truly dead.
Then we warmed up by doing the Champs-Elysees from the Arc de Triomphe to the obelisk (with its attendant 'French Eye' and who thought this was a good idea?) Couple of pictures of Eglise de Madeleine, then groceries, then back to the apartment.



See what I mean? Now THAT'S a church!
Picked up our car, stopped off at Versailles and the new Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saint temple (Ummm wow. And wow.) Then back to the apartment for our last night in Paris.
Dozens of gi-normous rooms. A hundred galleries. His own church. But no bowling alley.
Okay, there were several pools, so the absence of a bowling alley is forgiven.
Missed the open house by days. Days! *sob*
Off on our roadtrip. And a stop at Euro-Disney.
Did I feel guilty for being there without a single one of my grandkids?
Nope.

This is me: Squeeeeeeeeee!

If you stand just right, the lamps inside look like eyes.
True story.


My hero!

First night, Chateau Bellfontaine in Bayeux. A genuine old chateau. And we stayed in it!
Can anyone say: Yow?


Then the Bayeux tapestry. Which really has to be seen to be believed.
Now that would cover one huge wall! Or all of the seven dwarves beds at once. Or . . . well, you really have to see it . . .

Then out to Juno for a lot of tears and some pictures of the Normandy Beach Canadian graveyard.
Then on to a couple of museums . . .

Gorgeous. Peaceful. Everything a cemetery should be.

Then some really big guns . . .
Smile!

On to Mont St. Michel, rising like a man-made mountain out of the sea.


Scenes inside . . .
. . . And out.
And in and out . . .


Stairways great . . . . . . And small.
Then to Tour and the chateaus: Villandry



Usse (Sleeping Beauty)





And Azay-le-Rideau. Again on the water. I wonder what their basement looks like . . .




Lascaux. This time to see the cave drawings. I loved this one. Well, I love them all, but for some reason, this one especially. I guess because I never learned to draw.
Because the cave itself is off limits (pollution) to human interlopers, it has been painstakingly recreated. I couldn't see the difference. Can you see the difference?


Stopped for a photo-op at Carcassonne. Sooo much more impressive than my picture shows.


Then on to Avignon.
Something we want to re-create in our home town. Doable. Right?
Palais des Papes


The famous Avignon half-a-bridge.

View from the famous bridge.
Everybody! "Sur la pont d'Avignon . . ."
A gate latch. I don't know about you, but my gate latches don't look anything like this...

And I'll pick it up there on Friday.
See you then!

Parent Pioneers

Every month, Karen urges her fellow bloggers to participate in a writing challenge, based on a theme. The rules are simple. 
1. Poetry. 2. Write it.
The results are both beautiful and diverse.
This month's theme is RENEW.
For me, the word always brings back thoughts of the ranch. In the spring.
So, this month, I'm going to use a poem written, not by me, but by my mother.
Discovered by me in one of her journals only a couple of years ago, over a decade after her death.
I know this is stretching Karen's rules, but I do hope she'll forgive me . . .

Pioneer Stock [image error]
Fresh, clear air from East to WestAnd room to come and go,To watch the prairie grasses wave,And feel the cool winds blow.
To hear the Whisper through the trees,And watch the morning light,The little prairie creatures stir,The ducks and geese take flight.
To see the lazy shadows playAcross the hills at dawn,And watch the golden sun rays touchA mother and her fawn.
To look out o’er the rolling hills,As far as the eye can see.And not a thing to mar the view,Not road, nor fence, nor tree.
And far across the plains we seeAt the edge of the prairie.A ridge of snow-capped mountains riseIn Splendid majesty.
When winter sheds his frosty coat,And north winds cease to blow,We see the fragile prairie flowersPeek through the melting snow.
When all the lights of the Milky WayPlay eternal melodies,A million winking stars aboveJoin the Heavenly Symphony.
And, stealing ‘cross the rolling land,A whispering, gentle breeze,A haunting, trembling Rhapsody,Stirs leaves in all the trees.
When the moon begins to float,Across the balmy night,Caressing all the troubled world,With it’s glorious, heavenly light.
We see the prairie antelopeCrest the hill at night,A silhouette against the sky,As he pauses in his flight.
As the frogs croak out a lullaby,And all the Prairie sleeps,A purple Shadow treads the TrailWhere the Wiley Coyote creeps.
The tattoo of the horses’ feet,As the stage coach rolls along,The sweat and grime and clouds of dust,The crack of the whip at dawn.
And bounding o’er a craggy ridge,The mocking laugh of Raiders,We hear the loaded wagons roll,With cursing Whiskey traders.
When a fevered child cries out,There is no way to go,To drive the faithful horses throughThe shocking drifts of snow.
Sit anxiously throughout the night,Clutched ln fear and dread.No way to call a Doctor, orTake the infant in the sled.
To rise with the sun and milk the cow,And tend the hungry teams,To pause a bit and watch the flocksFly on to other streams.
To eat a slice of thick, dark bread,Rich butter and some jam,Bowls of steaming porridge, and,A slice of home-cured ham.
Hitch the team up to the plow,And with the help of God,Glean a frugal living fromThe brown unwilling Sod.
Through Silver Willow, Sage, and, Brush,We hear the prairie call,The pioneers of this land are there,Their silent footsteps fall.
We share so much with those who’ve passedTheir hope, their faith, their tears,The courage to rise again and again,Our parent pioneers.
See what the others have done with the theme . . .Karen of Baking In A Tornado: RenewDawn of Spatulas On Parade: RenewSarah of Not That Sarah Michelle: Rebirth

Poetry Monday: He Did

I'm home!
With real WiFi and my  own bed!Tomorrow, I will be taking you along on my once-in-a-lifetime trip through France and Switzerland.But today?Today is for poetry because:Monday is an awkward day,It means the weekend's done away.Faced with a workweek, shiny new,We all need help to not feel blue.
Okay, well, it might take me a while to get back into the groove! :)

For today: When the daughter of my Dad's friend brought her future husband to meet her family, this is what her Dad told her/them.
True story.The brave young man married the girl anyway. I just thought it would sound fun as a poem . . .
Her family had all been awaiting this call.When at last they could meet her intended.Unsure if a wedding ball'd ever befallOr if spinster-hood ever portended.
But a young man, she'd met who was perfect, she'd bet,In whose honour and love she felt sure.So homeward, she'd set, their opinion to get,And to tell her her choice would endure.
Her father shook hands with her handsome young manAnd questioned him closely a while.They talked of his clan, and he asked him his plans,Then he turned to his girl, with a smile.
“From all that I hear, you have nothing to fear.But if his standards aren't mine and your mother'sDon't worry, my dear,” he said to her, clear.“He'll be buried out back with the others!”
Ahhh. Monday.See what my co-conspirators have come up with this fine day!Delores waxes beautifully lyrical at MumblingsJenny talks about her beautiful--but unpredictable--green-eyed fur baby at The Procrastinating Donkey

Modern Medicine

Monday PoetryYesterday would have been Daddy's 92nd. Happy birthday, Daddy!To celebrate, another of his favourite stories!

"I insist!" she told the doctorIn her firmest, loudest voice.When out the door, he would have sent her,Because that was his choice.
"I'm not leaving without answers!"Her voice was now a shout."Is it measles, mumps or hiccups?! I'm prepared to have this out!"
The doctor sighed and shrugged, "You knowThere's something I can try.We know the what and where and who,Well now let's find the 'why'."
So he found a room and parked herTucked up snugly in her bed,Tried, some sense, to whisper, andRelieve her of her dread.
Then upon her firm insistence,And with no more ado,He left, but said he'd send someoneTo give that second view.
All at once, her doorway opened,And a cat stepped in the room.He stopped her there in mid-mope, as,He circled in the gloom.
Three times around, he loped, the whileHe watched her carefully,Then he turned and with a feline smile,Meowed to be set free.
A moment more, the door, again,Swung open. Without guile,A happy Mr. Dog bounced in,Who sat and stared a while.
When the visits of her august guestsHad finished, back he came--Her doctor with some more intel.He called her by her name:
"Well, the catscan's perfect, Ma'am," he said,"I couldn't be more calm.And the Lab work's just as positiveSo it's time for moving on!"
So remember when its 'doctor time'.And you ask for more info.Your doctor looks to many viewsTo make his knowledge grow.
Monday is just better when it starts with poetry!Zip over to Delores at Mumblings and Jenny at The Procrastinating Donkey and see what their day is like!
Still traveling. In Switzerland. One of the biggies off my bucket list!Loving this!

Pebble Debts

Poetry Monday

Feeling a bit pensive today,  being away from family and having time to ponder...

Yes, I stood there with the crowd,

And yes, I joined their actions,

But mine were not as bad as theirs

They were but just a fraction!

I did not throw the biggest stone,

When stones were being tossed.

T'was not my stone that caused most pain, 

Could I, like them, be lost?

The rocks they threw were great, and were

With great precision met,

Mine was just a pebble, true,

Should I receive their debt?

Theirs, they cast with all their might,

Mine, with little force.

If greater strength means greater wrong,

Am I truly on their course?

When sins are being weighed at last

And punishments are laid,

Will the Lord request a smaller due

When my 'pebble' debt is paid?

Zip over to Delores at Mumblings

And

Jenny at The Procrastinating Donkey 

And see what their Monday is like!

Me, I'm still rambling with my Husby and our friends. In the South of France now and heading toward Switzerland. Loving this!

The First Explore

Four little travelers on their first exploreBags packed and loaded, they close the front door.They wave a good-bye to their cozy home nest,And brimming with eagerness, start on their quest.
The first leg is easy, just hop on the plane,They listen intently as things are explained,They try very hard to do all they’ve been told,Keeping seatbelts all fastened and hand luggage stowed.
They eat what they’re given and smile as they do,Pack everything neatly and bid it adieu.They smile and are pleasant to everyone there,All the pilots, attendants and peeps in the chairs.
The flight is so smooth and they’ve had so much fun,They’re really surprised to discover: it’s done!They gather belongings and check once and twice,Then follow the others toward paradise.
Now you have to know all of them really prepared,They read the brochures and their info, they shared,They knew they were set for this little explore,They were ready for all on this thrilling new shore.
There’s just one little thing that they hadn’t expected,An aspect, for them, that’d gone quite undetected.They knew all the culture and customs and facts,Could look up the ‘places to see’, just like that.
But this one little thing they’d forgotten, for sure.Something that wasn’t in any brochure,This something gave those English speakers  a wrench,In France, did you know, all the French people  speak French?!

It’s Poetry Monday.In France!Hop over to Delores and Jenny and see what their Monday is like!

Library Crimes

I rarely look inside my purse.It’s true.I don’t shop. And when I do, it’s so rare, I need instructions about where to slide or insert the little card thingy.
I also love to read.All of this will become relevant . . .When the kids were little, we went to the library.A lot.It builds character.We had our routines. Which usually consisted of me hauling a great bag of books into the place.And another great bag of books out of the place.Why do so many of my life’s memories include me carting heavy loads?Just wondering . . .On many of our visits, several of the books I carried in and out were for me.This is both good and bad. Because I read a lot. Which was good.But I also brought whatever I was reading with me wherever I went in the house. And, because I’m unorganized, usually left it there. So, when the time came for our weekly library trip, I couldn’t yell at my kids for displaced books because I was the worst offender.Sigh.On this particular occasion, I had lost the book I was reading.Really lost it.No amount of hunting and cleaning and interrogating family members brought that little beauty to light.Finally, in desperation, I decided I would simply have to purchase said book.During our library visit, I talked to the girl at the counter, explained my dilemma, and paid for the stupid book.Then gathered my kids and headed toward the exit and my great bag of books that had been slid through and was waiting for me beyond the turnstile.As we neared the gate, a great electronic shriek filled the room. Definitely not a ‘library’ sound.It startled all of us.Including the people behind the desk.“Ma’am?” one of the girls said. “Do you have an unscanned library book?”I looked at my children, all bookless, and shook my head.“May we examine your purse?”Nodding, I handed it to her and she opened it.And there, nestled among the used Kleenex, lipbalm and hairbrushes, was the lost book.I am not making this up.Both of us gaped at it like we had spotted a snake nesting in the warm confines of my handbag.“That’s it!” I exclaimed unnecessarily.She pulled it out and looked at me.I don’t remember what happened after that. I think they gave me my money and kept the book. Everything was a blur.I should tell you I have no idea of how that book got into my purse.
Ahem . . .I swear I’m not indifferent to rules. I understand how a library works—the whole borrowing and returning thing. I also know that when you wish to purchase a book, you go to a book store, pay your money, and then stuff your book into your bag.Knowing isn't doing, I guess.So, if you’re considering going to the local library to apply for a membership card and need a personal recommendation from a friend?Probably you should look elsewhere.
Every month, Karen, of Baking in a Tornado collects words.Then she distributes said words.The result is Use Your Words and it is such fun!
My words this month were:  character ~ unorganized ~ indifferent ~ recommendation ~ library and came to me, via Karen, from Rena at Diary of An Alsheimer's Caregiver 


Here are the other participants:Baking In A Tornado Spatulas on Parade The Diary of an Alzheimer's Caregiver Dinosaur Superhero Mommy The Bergham Chronicles Simply Shannon Confessions of a part time working mom Southern Belle Charm The Angrivated MomClimaxedNot That Sarah Michelle

(Bad)Luck of the Irish

He’s not a  mean or nasty lout,In fact, were you to ask aboutOur Paddy Craig O’Connor boy,You’d find that he’s just hoi polloi.
He’ll shoulder in, with work to doHe loves his wife, and kiddies too,He’s loyal, almost to a fault,A fisherman--a seasoned salt.
But after a long day at seaHe’ll meet the boys occasionally,And, of the good stuff, have a dram,Then get himself into a jam.
‘Cause Paddy, when he’s had a few,Well, there’s nothing he won’t do,Though he draws the line at lawless stuff,It's hard for him to say, "Enough!"
He’s mixed the pigs in with the sheep,And upset everybody’s sleep,Howled with the dogs, sang with the cats,Joined Ladies Aid with a box of bats.
Dropped a pig in the local pub,Took chickens to the senior’s club.Yes, Paddy really has a knack.For strolling down the 'mischief' track.
Until that time e’en Paddy knewHe’d knocked the Universe askew.He had to make a major change.Frivolities, he’d rearrange . . .
It’d started harmlessly enough,With Paddy swimming ‘in the buff’.Just floating out there in the bayTill the Archbishop came his way.
I must admit: How could he knowAn august visitor would show?But there he was upon the sand,With formal robes and raise-ed hands.
Well, Paddy rose out of the sea,His clothing somewhat absentee,Walked up to ask him “What's the craic?”And give His Grace’s hand a shake.
And right there on the sea levee,In frank and simple way, did heBeseech His Excellence to leave.A blessing for one who believed.
The blunt request no sooner said,His Grace’s face turned slightly red,T’was only then Pad realizedThey were the focus of all eyes.
The village, whole, was there to see.Pad sobered up immediately,And in the mayhem that ensued,Vowed he would be more subdued.
So if you’re staying there to sleep,Hear pigs and chickens and some sheep,Know, with those feats of fun and brawn,That Paddy’s clothes are staying on.

Every month, Karen of Baking in a Tornado presents a challenge.Poetry. On a theme.For March? Luck.What could be more fitting than a repost of someone's luck--erm--running out?Okay, well it made sense to me . . .See what the others have done!Karen of Baking In A Tornado: Luck Gone AmuckDawn of Spatulas On Parade: The Meaning of Luck
Jules of the Bergham Cronicles: Luck of the Draw

The Elves and the Shoemaker

What an amazing experience!
The Elves and the Shoemaker was my very first attempt at writing, producing and directing.
And I survived.
Would I do anything differently?
Nope.
Enjoyed every uncertain, educating, sleepless, difficult, breathtaking, teary, exhilarating minute!
To all my elves and shoemakers: Thank you. A HUGE thank you.
I love you all!
Pictures by : Kristi Milner Pfeiffer.
Sawyer's saving you a seat! Little Elf Face

Playbill...
Townspeople


Welcome to the town of Bliss, Anywhere.
The elves appear
While the Shoemaker sleeps . . .

These shoes are 'Perfection'!
Peeved being a little less peeved.
Bad Boy Blues
Narrator 'staying out of it'.
Sorry, Jonny, I forgot you were there.
Why were you there?
Shoes for everyone!
Videos and more pictures to follow as soon as they are ready!

In other news:Tonight is PIE NIGHT!The second most magical night in the Tolley year.71 pies this year. Apple, Strawberry/Rhubarb, Cherry, Blueberry, Cherry/Blueberry, Peach, Chocolate, Coconut-cream, Lemon and pumpkin.Wish you were here!

Taped

It's Monday!Time for a little rythm.A little Rhyme.And a whole lotta fun!
Our play has wrapped.
Today and tomorrow? Memories of The Elves and the Shoemaker:
Their parents were all in the cast or backstage,
Their grandparents, too, with the play were engaged.
Two little girls in the large gallery,
Two last little sprigs on their family’s tree,
Had grown bored with the play they had seen from Day One.
That first day was great! The rest, not so fun.
They’d seen scenes through first blocking and all incarnations,
Knew all of the songs and heard all the Orations.
And while those in the room were still fixed on the show,
Running sound and effects. Lights above and below,
Two little girls weren’t attentive at all,
They wanted to run. They wanted to sprawl.
They did not want to sit in their chairs quietly,
They wanted to dance, laugh and giggle. Times three.
But Grampa, just sitting there, manning the lights,
Had to keep ‘shushing’ his two little mites.
Then in an effort to give them a scare,
Vowed to tape two little butts to their chairs.
Two little girls sat down quietly then,
But those silly old wiggles soon started again.
And then Grampa, still working the lighting board’s keys
Heard a sweet little voice, and it said, "Grampa, please—
We’ve done everything mom sent for we two to share,
Grampa, please, could you tape both our butts to the chair?"
Every day we learn something, and today, here is one:
When is a threat not a threat? When it’s fun!

Ahhh! Doesn't Poetry just smooth out the wrinkles?
Visit my good friends and see what they've done with Poetry Monday:
Jenny_o at Procrasintating Donkey
Delores at Mumblings