Jennie Goutet's Blog: A Lady in France, page 14

Moccis in Brittany

Moccis is a Swedish footwear company that provides stylish slippers with leather soles, which are hand-washable! They offered me a pair in exchange for trying them out and writing about them. I got them just in time for our trip to Brittany.

Now, you know, Brittany is usually pretty cold. And the beginning of the vacation was just that – cold and rainy. But towards the end, we were blessed with some rays of sun –

lots of play time

and beautiful scenery.

The water was still freezing, though.

So I brought the Moccis along. (It’s pronounced mock-keys).

I was a little disappointed because they sent me a size up from what I ordered, so my feet were sort of swimming in them.

But because of the invisible elastic strap inside, they stayed on my feet. (I turned them inside out to see if I could photograph it, but it’s – as they say – hidden). This means that if you buy a pair for your children, it will stay on their feet too.

I wore them on all sorts of surfaces.

Sand.

Grass.

Stone.

And the indoor tiles. My feet were kept comfortable and protected in all these conditions, and with the non-slip soles, I had sure footing on the slippery indoor tiles.

There are 30 collector designs by creator, Anna Wetterlin, and they’re available for shipping in 20 countries around the world. (This goes for you, my readers in China, Taiwan, US, UK, Canada, Australia, Germany, and France).

Here’s what they have to say about the slippers:

Moccis are the only makers of luxury, hand sewn, authentic Swedish moccasins worldwide. Our clients include lots of A-list celebrities and fashion icons such as David and Victoria Beckham, Alicia Keys, Rita Ora, Sienna Miller, Claudia Schiffer, Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsay, and many more…We’ve been in the MTV Music Awards Goodie Bags for 3 consecutive years and we are currently one of the top 5 sellers at the children’s shoe department at Harrods and Selfridges in London with a fantastic 60% sell thru after only 3 weeks.

Click HERE to have a look at the catalogue and choose your own model of Moccis from the cute designs available.

You’ll want to bring them everywhere.

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This, That, Other Things

It has been an eventful two weeks. Juliet went to Barcelona to dance under the tutelage of the Opéra de Paris and learn the flamenco (and practice traveling on her own). I waited for her and cleaned my house from top to bottom, ignoring the hole in our wall from a staircase yet to be installed.

When my daughter arrived, we took a TGV to Saint-Malo and joined the rest of the family for a week and a half in Brittany. Most of the rain was out of the way by the time we had arrived.

I felt so full and nourished. I was joyful to be on my own for five days, and joyful to be reunited with the four people I love most in the world. I was joyful to come back to a clean house. I was joyful to lie in the sun and swim in freezing cold water and cook with my in-laws and watch the children playing without a care in the world.

Juliet secretly moving the chess pieces while her brothers play. #dinard

A photo posted by Jennie Goutet (@aladyinfrance) on Jul 11, 2016 at 8:18am PDT

When dinner is galettes for 18 people. #Brittany

A photo posted by Jennie Goutet (@aladyinfrance) on Jul 17, 2016 at 11:51am PDT

The cousins were thrilled to be reunited and spent the entire two weeks creating a hilarious 17-minute video clip about gangsters and hostages, which we all gathered around to watch on July 14th before going to the beach to watch fireworks.

I had no idea what was happening on a beach ten hours away from where I was and posted to FB how content I was just to be in this moment in my life.

We were cut off from most of the footage with no TV and limited Internet, but I couldn’t help but be struck the next day – when William threw his arms around my waist – that I had this privilege. I had the privilege of hugging and loving my son when other mothers who went to the beach to watch fireworks did not. And that made me mourn more than anything.

Huffington Post posted this image. The last line says, “je suis épuisé“, which means, “I am exhausted.”

A photo posted by Huffington Post (@huffingtonpost) on Jul 14, 2016 at 4:58pm PDT

And I think that pretty much sums it up when faced with the onslaught of atrocities. Black people killed. Cops killed. Civilians of all race, religion and age killed. We. Are. Exhausted.

Today, a friend posted this reminder and it’s what I’m centering my focus on: Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. (Matt 5:9). I will continue to seek and make peace.

§ § § §

Today, I picked up this!

I’m #French !

A photo posted by Jennie Goutet (@aladyinfrance) on Jul 18, 2016 at 12:50am PDT

I can vote! And go through the fast “residents” line at the airport. This is another cause for joy.

God would be terrifying if he were not Love

Recently, we had a theologian, Douglas Jacoby, from our church in Atlanta, come speak to the church in Paris. The man is smart. He got his Masters degree from the Harvard Divinity School and is naturally of an analytical mind. He spoke on Reason, Science, and God.

What he said, in grossly simplified terms, is that the first 12 chapters of the Bible are a story God gave us according to our limited understanding – as a father would give a child – not a factual account of how the earth came into being. If you’re interested in this stuff, you can check out his website here. I won’t say anything further because it was done quickly, with the French translation sometimes overlapping onto the English, and I don’t feel confident in my ability to summarize.

I will say this. When he showed a cartoon (in English, to the French-speaking audience) of two dinosaurs staring at Noah’s Ark in the distance, and one of them said, “Oh, crap. Was that today?” I was the only one who laughed.

12,000 Words

I’ve written 12,000 words of my Regency novel, and I’m gaining confidence that I might actually be able to get to the 70-90,000 word finish line. I’m pushing forward without a thought for authentic dialogue or historical accuracy because I can fix those later. Fortunately, I have people like Jaima Fixsen, one of my favorite Regency authors of all time (who I’m now honoured to call a friend). I’ll ask her help in catching any glaring problem before the book gets launched into the world.

Jaima, by the way, is the author of Fairchild, which you can purchase here. There is also the second in the series, Incognita, also available on Amazon. And if you sign up for her newsletter, you can get the third in the series – Courting Scandal – for free! Her website, and author newsletter, is found here.

So I’m writing fiction, and I’ve determined that the important thing is just to get the words out. It’s so much more fun to play around with words that are already on the page than to create them from scratch. One is like choosing from an assortment of chocolates. The other is like squeezing a rubber ball while the nurse searches for a vein.

I’m happy to have these 12,000 words because otherwise there’s been a dearth of words when it comes to expressing how I feel. I assume that it’s due to being completely off antidepressants for a few months now.

(As an aside, I’ve found that it doesn’t help when people say ‘Bravo’ regarding leaving off the antidepressants. I discussed the whys with my psychologist, and she helped me to see that it still carries judgement because no one would say ‘Bravo’ if you went off antibiotics. The choice to take or leave antidepressants is determined by the person and his or her doctor based on need, and is not open for commentary by the public at large).

Will you forgive me the lecture?

Little Things

Hi everyone. I’m really only writing because I wanted to continue to flex my (mental) writing muscles at a time when it feels like all my words were whisked away.

And it’s also to tell you about a couple of things. Juliet and Gabriel played a (tiny) duet last night. This was immediately after Juliet’s dance exam under an external jury. She passed to the next level (I’m not super surprised). Gabriel also did very well in his trumpet exam. The judge asked when he’d be joining the Opéra de Paris school.

Gray

They’re predicting cold, rain, storms, and all around gray weather in Paris this week. Somehow it seems indicative of the troubles in this world where evil is always searching to gain a foothold, and where it sometimes succeeds. Doesn’t it always feel hopeful when the sun is shining and despairing when it’s not?

When Jesus was nailed to the cross – the brief period when evil reined – on that day, from noon until three o’clock when he drew his last breath, darkness came over all the land. The sun hid its face that day while evil had its foothold.

But what came after that day was goodness. Evil reined for three hours. Goodness reins for eternity.

“What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

“For your sake we face death all day long;

    we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:21-39)

What separates us from God’s love through Jesus? Nothing! Not death, not even life. Not angels, not even demons. Not the present, not even the future or anything else that one could conjure up and dread. Not height that would bring us into God’s royal court, not even the depth that leads down to hell. Not anything in creation. Not anyone. Not one single man.

I am sticking to simplicity as I wait until the dawn takes the earth by its edges and shakes the wicked out of it.* I am quiet, I’m listening, I’m patient.

In simplicity, I’m meditating on my favourite hymn, written by a Romanian prisoner. In simplicity, I think, and sing, and pray these words over and again:

I pray, o Lord Jesus, my love you’d increase

That I, like you Jesus, might offer men peace.

My soul wells with longing for lips with your grace

And eyes of compassion for each searching face.

This is what I’m doing as I wait for God’s perfect justice. This is what I’m doing when everything is gray.

* (Referencing Job 38)

Droit d’auteur: pstedrak / 123RF Banque d’images

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Floods, Cats, Concerts, & Books

You may have heard that Paris was flooded, and I’m sure you’d like news and photos. If I were a good blogger, I would have both. But alas, I have news but no photos. In fact, I really have no photos for this post, and not even much firsthand news. Bad blogger. Bad.

Before I get to the news “light edition”, let me back up.

I’ve transferred my blog to a new domain and there have been a few hiccups. My last two posts have disappeared into a different plane of existence, never to be seen again. One of my random old posts got sent out as an e-mail as if it were a new post (sorry). And I was unable to access my blog for a week. It seems like everything has been sorted out now and everything should run merrily along.

So you may have heard that Northern France was flooded. In 1910, the flood waters came as close to our house as one street away, so we were not too, TOO worried that it would affect us. The Seine reached 8 meters  in 1910 and it was only 6 this time around. At the same time, we’re not completely out of the clear yet. We have another week of rain scheduled in the near future. But at the moment, it’s sunny. And we are at peace.

Well … as at peace as we can be when our construction workers all disappeared, leaving us with a massive hold in our wall and no resume-date scheduled. Peace is a relative term and doesn’t always have to do with circumstances.

Back to the floods. I can’t access some streets in my town, and some bridges are out too. The Louvre is still closed, I think, and you can see some pictures here if interested. (Click on the blue button that says, “Lancez le diaporama”). I believe the water was contained in the Seine for the most part. Only the cobblestone walkways below street level were flooded.

After the flood in 1910, they put safeguards in place that actually allow towns southeast of Paris to be flooded rather than letting the Seine rise too high and potentially flood Paris. So the ones the hardest hit (I think) are in the SouthEast, and the rising Seine has carried on northward to Normandy, which has caused further flooding there.

Otherwise, it’s pretty much status quo, even more so now that we have gas again (there was a freeze due to massive strikes). The timing is auspicious. We have flooding, and we have strikers. Limited train service, limited gas, weeks of rain. It’s fun to be here.

Now. On to the cat. We discovered what we thought was a stray wild cat. She was too dirty and scarred to be domestic, or so we thought. However, she allowed us to pet her and we couldn’t bear to let her stay outside in the cold and rain. She was also trembling from fear. The vet was closed yesterday and I asked my friend (who has a cat) to keep her overnight – since we didn’t have any cat food or anything like that – so I could bring her to the vet yesterday. It was a huge imposition because she was organizing her son’s birthday party (my kids were attending). But she graciously said yes.

So yesterday, I picked the cat up, borrowed a cage, and brought her to the vet. And good news! She had an electronic chip! I would love to report that the owner was as overjoyed to hear from the vet about the lost cat but he seemed to be annoyed. However, his wife came this morning, and according to the vet was happier to see the cat than her husband had sounded. They figured out that she (the cat) had probably been hit by a car and also been in a cat fight. I cried when I heard the good news that she was going home. Poor thing. She was so scared.

Concerts. In my disappearing recent blog post, I talked about the 2.5 opera-ballet that my daughter participated in. But that was just the beginning of a mad rush of concert-going. There’re also the  musical concerts. Piano. Piano plus electric guitar. Cello. Cello plus piano. Trumpet. Trumpet in a chateau. Trumpet in a park. Trumpet plus piano. Trumpet all alone. All three of my kids have several concerts, and I have never in my entire life longed for summer vacation as I long for it now.

Books. This is the last bit of news for today. Mine is on sale this week for only .99. Ninety-nine cents to read a labor of love and fun. It’s a good beach read if that’s where you headed. Will you download the book? Or spread the news?

Talk to you soon, friends!

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Life, Writing, News, etc.

Hi friends! This might possibly be my new blogging schedule – a post once every two weeks or so. I’ve actually toyed with the idea of closing my blog but I’m not ready to do that yet. I’m not sure if I would miss it, or if I would feel more free. I’ll think about it in the fall and decide if that’s something I want to do. A lot of my creative energy has been spent in writing the next novel, and this is something I hope to do more of. There are also personal reasons I am not able to write as freely as before, and because it doesn’t involve just me I’m not able to blog about it. Blogging without being open is hard.

In the meantime, would you like to hear our news? We attended our friends’ wedding in the French countryside. There were cows.

My neighbor gave me a gorgeous bouquet of cala lilies from her garden.

We distributed sandwiches to the homeless in Paris. We don’t often go, but I’m hugely grateful to the faithful ones who go every month. The kids are playing on a statue in Chatelet-les-Halles.

On Friday, I became French …

I know! Can you believe it? I did not give up my US citizenship, but now I have dual and I can vote. I was so happy and it was a very “my people will be your people” moment.

We went into Paris to celebrate my being French …

where our children acted elegant and distinguished as good little French children should.

We ate at La Coupole in Montparnasse, which was delicious and had a kids’ menu. It’s also a touristy place whose renowned clientele list includes James Joyce, Picasso, and Earnest Hemingway.

Sunday was French Mother’s Day! I got this mug decorated – appropriately – in the French flag colors (they forget they are also the US colours). And a jar of “sweet words” from William to “consume without moderation”.

Sunday afternoon was Juliet’s dance performance. It was an ambitious production: the satirical opera-ballet, Platée, by Jean-Philippe Rameau.

The satire began when I discovered it was not the quick little dance recital, accompanied by musicians, I thought it would be. It was a three-act, 2.5 hour performance in a gymnasium, with no ventilation and hard wooden chairs, to the tune of a dawning realisation that we hadn’t remembered to bring snacks for the boys.

From what I could see, Juliet danced beautifully.

She’s in the middle.

The camera is zoomed to the max.

Clutched precariously in my sweaty fist.

And that’s our news. If you haven’t done so already, would you consider picking up a copy of The Viscount of Maisons-Laffitte and then leaving an honest review on Amazon (and Goodreads)? It’s priced low at $2.99 for Kindle, and $10.99 for paperback.

To be real with you, sales and reviews have been slow, which is the life of publishing when you compete with all the other books out there vying for people’s precious down-time. As an author, and most particularly a self-published author, one spends many private moments wrestling with vulnerability and doubt, especially when faced with … silence.

Yet …

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Speaking of vulnerability, I’ll leave you with another snippet of my work in progress – with lots of slang from the Regency period. It’s loads of fun to write when I’m not sweating over historical accuracy or tearing my hair out over the elusive plot. It’s such a panicky sort of feeling to think I might be a fraud, and then I’ll find the groove and all is well again.

§ § §

A five-minute walk cleared up the mystery for her. She stood, hands on hips, in front of a gentleman sprawled across another stone bench. “My Lord,” she said, unable to keep the irony out of her voice. He grunted. “My Lord,” she tried again. The dog went over to lick his hand, sniffing his coat and finally reaching up to lick his face.

“What in damnation—” The earl tried to recoil from the enthusiastic tongue, but his movements were cumbersome. He opened one eye and stared at Eleanor until he was able to focus. “Miss Daventry,” he slurred. “What are you doing on the grounds late at night?”

“It is not late at night, my Lord, but early in the morning. The servants will already be up, as will your guests before long.” She bit her tongue to keep from suggesting his next course of action.

Lord Allinthridge sat up slowly and opened both eyes. “Morning, you say? Yes, I suppose it could be morning. I was up quite late, you see. And then I believe I went for a stroll.” His voice was thick, but intelligible.

“I can see that,” she said dryly. “I imagine this sort of thing happens when one has dipped rather deep.

He waved his hand airly, “I am nothing more than a trifle disguised.” He squinted at her. “What do you know about dipping deep and such things? You’re an orphan, raised with no male figure whatsoever, I understand.”

She sniffed. “I … I have a friend. A neighbor. Will Patterson. We grew up together and he tells me things so that I will not be quite so green.”

“Not so green, eh? For all that, green is what you will remain until you … well, never mind.” He put his hand to his head. “What will you do next? Now that your inheritance depends on catching a husband?” He shot her a sideways glance, his lip curled. “Sit, Miss Daventry.” He indicated the space next to him on the bench

Eleanor considered whether she should comply. It would not do to be seen sitting alone, next to a man, when it was near dark. Then again, he was her host. And he was likely ‘a trifle too disguised’ to attempt anything. She sat.

He turned to look at her. “So what will you do?”

“I will have my London season.” She shrugged. “And while I’m there, I will search out genteel opportunities to become a companion or a governess.”

“Why not marry?” There was again that sardonic curl to his lip. “Assuming, of course, you can distinguish yourself from the other bird-witted debutantes clamoring for a matrimonial prize.”

She chose to ignore the insult. “I do not think I will marry this young, if I marry at all.

Lord Allinthridge snorted. “All young women want to marry. You’ll change your mind as soon as you experience your first ball.” He kicked the earth at his feet, missing the clump of grass. “And you’ll jostle one candidate against another until you get the best fool to come to scratch.”

Eleanor looked at the dog who sat between them, eyeing each one in return. She held out her hand, and he came and licked it. The earl was starting to take on a gray sheen, but he persevered. “Then again, you might find yourself on the sidelines for want of partners. It’s the young women in high looks and fortune who tend to hold court until there is not a suitor left elsewhere.”

Eleanor stood abruptly. The dog jumped to his feet at her side. “My Lord, I wish you good day. I must return to the manor.”

“No, no, don’t go. I was, perhaps, not giving you your fair due. Some men like brown hair.”

“My Lord.” Eleanor nodded and turned away, walking a few paces before she heard a preemptory command.

“Miss Daventry, come here!” She stopped dead in her tracks, and acknowledged the internal struggle. He was an earl, and her host. She was … nobody. She should probably obey him. She made no movement to return or to continue, but faced straight ahead with her back to him.

“Miss Daventry, please come here. I have a proposition to make and I ask you to accord me a few minutes of your time.” It almost sounded like he was pleading. She slowly turned to face him and took the few steps until she was in front of him.

Lord Allinthridge patted the stone bench next to him again. “Please sit, Miss Daventry. I prefer not to have to look up at you while I speak. It makes my head spin.” She obeyed and waited for him to continue.

Suddenly, for the first time in their short acquaintance he looked almost awkward. He shifted on his seat, leaning away from her to draw breath. “I also must do the London Season, but unlike you it is not something I look forward to. It’s not something that has any sort of pleasure attached to it. And yet, I must find a wife.” He leaned forward on his elbows and drew another labored breath. Then he shook his head. “What maggot got into my uncle’s head to will away the unentailed estate that way. He knows I cannot support the property without it and I don’t like having my hand forced in marriage.”

Eleanor waited, her gaze cast downwards. She couldn’t begin to fathom what his proposition could be.

“This is what I propose. Marry me, Miss Daventry. You are young enough to be trained in how a peeress should act, and are not likely to be an exacting wife, which is just what I should choose. I will be an undemanding husband and this way we both receive our inheritance. I imagine the benefit will be mutual.”

He loosened his necktie, and Eleanor was afraid he was going to be ill. He did not notice her concern—or her disgust—but went blindly on. “It will save us both from a season that is unlikely to be pleasant or bear good fruit.” After a moment of silence, “So Miss Daventry? What is it to be?”

Eleanor lifted her gaze from the ground and looked ahead to the windows of the manor, which were lit in the pinkish hues of sunrise. “Thank you, My Lord, for your proposal. But I cannot accept it. I must get back to the manor before I am missed.” She rose, and her newly faithful hound rose with her. A crease appeared between her brows. “What is your dog called? Will he not stay with you?”

“He is not my dog.” His voice was harsh. “Miss Daventry, on what grounds do you refuse me?”

“On the grounds that I do not love you, My Lord.” Eleanor blushed, but turned to face him.

“You have no great fortune, beauty, or prospects. It is unpardonably … mawkish of you”—he spat out the word­—“to refuse me for the paltry reason of love. No one marries for love! Love does not exist, as you will find out before you’re very much older.”

“And yet, My Lord, I remain steadfast.” She reached down and hid a trembling hand in the soft fur of the spaniel. She murmured, “I shall have to think of what to call you since you seem to have no name.” She turned toward the manor again.

“You are not likely to get such a reasonable offer as this,” he called out, swaying now from effort.

Eleanor frowned. “It appears you and I are alike in one thing, My Lord.” She looked over her shoulder. “I also don’t like having my hand forced in marriage.”

She walked away, her dark brown pelisse gliding over the damp grass. “My Lord, you are not a trifle disguised,” she muttered, her soft words floating back on the breeze.

You, Sir, are foxed!”

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15 Promises of God

I’ve been so dry with my words. Unable to form coherent thoughts and unable to write anything new. Our construction on the house has come to a complete standstill. I’m trying different solutions for the carpal tunnel. None of them feel like healing, permanent solutions.

And I’m just plain busy. I wonder when I’ll be able to relax again. Probably not until summer vacation.

Meanwhile, we had house church on Sunday, and Matthieu’s idea was to compile some of God’s promises and let everyone choose one to talk about. It was so encouraging to read all of them, I decided to list them here.

And that’s how it came to be that this post is just a few of my own words, and many more of God’s.

Joshua 1:5  No one will be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.

2. Isaiah 49:16  See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.

3. Psalm 103:10-12

He does not treat us as our sins deserve

    or repay us according to our iniquities.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth,

    so great is his love for those who fear him;

as far as the east is from the west,

    so far has he removed our transgressions from us.

4. Hebrews 4:16-16  Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

5. Jeremiah 29:11  “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

6. John 14:3  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.

7. John 14:18  I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.

8. Zephaniah 3:17

The Lord your God is with you,

    the Mighty Warrior who saves.

He will take great delight in you;

    in his love he will no longer rebuke you,

    but will rejoice over you with singing.”

9. 1 John 3:1  See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him.

10. Luke12:32  “Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom.

11. Psalm 100:5  For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations.

12. Matthew 10:30  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

13. 2 Chronicles 16:9  For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.

14. Revelations 21:4  ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

15. Romans 8:38-39 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

§  §  §  §

So those are just some. Are any of these new to you? Which ones speak to you? And if you have one that’s not on the list, why not share it in the comments so we can all be encouraged.

Photo Credit: asafeliason, 123rf

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The Winners, and Pictures from my Garden

Well that was fun! I have six new winners to share with you today. The first to spin out of Rafflecopter wins a signed print version of The Viscount of Maisons-Laffitte, and the next five to pop out win an e-version of my book.

Congratulations to Sasha Maple Jones (I love that name) for winning the signed copy, and to Jacqueline Brown, Andrea Stunz, Kim Colucci Hritz, Kait, and Heidi Kreider for winning the e-versions.

I’ll be contacting you today or tomorrow to send you your prize. Thanks so much to everyone who has entered.

The Viscount of Maisons-Laffitte, as you know, is a fictional story. The only characters in my book who are real, live people are artist, Randall Mooers, and his wife Vivienne.

Vivi and I met at the gym when we were both living on the Upper East Side in Manhattan. She’s a talented designer, and she gave me some of her creations (sweaters, which were my favourite things to wear until they no longer fit after the pregnancies). It was only befitting that she should meet a talented artist at a café in a chance meeting that could only be called destiny. I asked them if I could use the real them in my book, and they graciously complied.

Now, my book is appearing on their website! Take a peek here to see what Randall’s paintings look like so you can get a good visual when you read the book.

I wanted to show you a few pictures of our garden, even though it’s not in the best state possible. This is the rather bleak view we currently have, and the workers almost destroyed our cherry tree by gouging holes in the bark. But one day, the cherry tree will grow into a big and beautiful thing, and when my husband works in the studio, he’ll be able to gaze upon the spring cherry blossoms framing a grassy lawn.

The irises are about to open. I know I have some in shades of purple, some in black and gold, some with purple and yellow … I can’t wait to see which one this is, but I think it’s the black and gold.

My birthday swing set is finally all set up. My brilliant husband thought of installing side cables to stabilise it. Yesterday we had a bunch of families over, and the moms kicked the kids off the set so we could have a go. It’s just as fun as I hoped it would be.

A friend brought some ginger over to plant, which I would never (ever) have thought of growing in my garden. But I use quite a bit, so why not? She told me to soak it for a day or two, which I’m doing.

And then I’m going to plant it here – I already removed the rogue raspberries, and transplanted a fern. It’s just waiting for some more soil and some soaked ginger roots.

I’m just recording this picture (below), even though it’s not very interesting to look at. We can refer to it when I’ve tided it some more.

Along the trellis, I have jasmine growing. And this used to be a strawberry bed. Right now, I’ve planted a wild rose bush (which should get big) and a hydrangea. I’m planning to cover the whole thing with black tarp because it tends to get weedy, and cover that with bark. I may plant one more thing there as well. I’m a big fan of bark as a way of making a strip of earth look more cultivated, a tip I learned from my mom.

Last, but not least, is my apple tree, which is newly planted and seems to be doing fabulously. I swear it’s growing so fast. May its fruit be tasty. (I hope). I think they are braeburn apples. In any case, I’m going to be focusing more on my garden – on everything but the grass, which I can do nothing about until we’re done with construction.

And that’s it! A little glimpse of my corner of the world. I’m going to try this week to stay off the computer entirely because my carpal tunnel is so bad. (I don’t have any desk set up, and can’t until we’re done with construction). Also, I have insomnia for the first time in my life. Last night was the worst. I was awake from 2 to 6 am. So I’m going to try and focus on my garden and relaxing, and try to work out the plot of my next book (on paper) and pick up again next week.

Those of you who read my book, you will remember to leave an Amazon review, right? Even a one-line review is so, so helpful.

Thanks, always, for your support.

(an Amazon link to my book – you should be able to access the kindle version from this link as well).

The post The Winners, and Pictures from my Garden appeared first on A Lady In France.