Jennie Goutet's Blog: A Lady in France, page 21

The ABCs of Moi

Elaine’s Old School Blogging is back, this time hosted by both Elaine and Andrea. It’s a nod back to the days when bloggers didn’t worry about SEO terms or pinnable images. And they actually followed and commented on each other’s blogs! (gasp). And they answered silly questions just for fun.

Sometimes it’s cool to be old-school.

Et le voila … voici les ABC de moi!

A- Age: 45. For two more months.

B- Biggest Fear: Dying at the wrong time – before I can accomplish everything I have to accomplish (namely, raising my children). Losing my husband or children.

On a more prosaic level – having to go to the bathroom at an awkward moment (where there is none nearby).

C- Current Time: 9:27 AM on a Thursday morning

D- Drink you last had: Coffee. But if I had written the post yesterday afternoon when I intended to, it would have been Russian tea with bergamot. So much more elegant.

 

Oh friends, it’s pouring today and I’m feeling so tired and vulnerable. A Russian tea kind of day – you know what I mean? ☔️

Chez le Luthier

A very select few of you are looking at the title and saying, “Cool! Someone’s going to start playing the violin in the Goutet household!” (I’m looking at you Korinthia)!

The rest of you are saying, huh?!?!?

A luthier makes violins and violas and cellos and bases.

Which makes his workshop a very cool place to be.

With Juliet on piano and Gabriel on trumpet, the cello – because we (okay, I) chose cello for its rich, deep sound – the cello falls to William.

I love his teacher who reminds me of Sound of Music and Anne of Green Gables combined. (She’s Austrian, and has a crinkly lit up smile). She told us we’d have to confection this contraption for playing the cello, or buy it for quite a bit of money.

It loops around the stool chairs and holds the cello in place.

Cool huh? William was so excited to go to the rental place – the luthier – to pick up his cello.

But he’s only six, so he was even more excited about the cat.

Careful now. It’s not a sword.

Hold it like this. Gently.

Knees out and around the instrument.

I’m doing it! I’m doing it!

Not bad for a beginner. Nice and deep. I was so smart to steer clear from the violin, don’t you think? It may be a magnificent instrument for a pro, but there are a few years of torture that the parents have to endure before one gets there.

How to Help Syrian Refugees

One of my first questions, as soon as I was made aware of the magnitude of the crisis, was how to help the Syrian refugees?!

To my discredit, I remained largely in ignorance until the photo of Aylan Kurdi appeared. Regardless of your stance on the appropriateness of the photo, I am confident of your compassion for the victims. You may not be in a position to help right now, but would you kindly pin or share this post on Facebook for those who can?

     I think my favourite organisation in the refugee crisis is MOAS – Migrant Offshore Aid Station. They scour the Mediterranean Sea looking for refugees in distress who are trying to escape persecution by crossing the waters in unsafe vessels. There are 11,124 lives saved so far.

MOAS was founded in 2013 by the Malta-based Catrambrone family following the drownings of 400 refugees near the island of Lampedusa. In their words, they “hope that the humanitarian initiative will inspire others globally, and help dispel what Pope Francis calls the “globalisation of indifference”.

You can read all about their efforts – and donate – by clicking here.

     There is an influx of refugees in Calais, which is the French town bordering the English Channel. You might have heard about the incident last week where the Eurostar was held up for five hours – all the passengers stuck inside without air conditioning, lights, or communication – because  refugees were climbing on top of the Eurostar, hoping to break into the train wagons.

However, despite this incident and the mixed reactions it engendered, the majority of the local French people support the refugees camped in Calais in whatever way they can. If you can read French, they share about their efforts here.

Fortunately, you don’t need to read French to help the town of Calais with its influx of refugees. You can visit CalAid – a UK charity dedicated to helping the people of Calais – by clicking here.

CalAid gives you a chance to donate money, or to order specific items from Amazon and send them directly to Calais. You can use Amazon UK if you want to send things this way, but need an English interface. Please see the list of highly needed items below.

LE VESTIAIRE DES MIGRANTS’

2 Rue de Croy

62100 Calais

France 

Here’s what they said on their website. Keep in mind that the men outnumber women and children 10 to 1 at the moment so they are desperate for men’s items.

What we BADLY need:

SHOES: trainers or hiking shoes size 41-46

TENTS, COVERS, TARPAULIN

JACKETS: size SMALL and MEDIUM only

TRAVELLING BAGS

SOCKS

CANDLES or other lighting implements

BELTS

What we ALWAYS need:

Tracksuit trousers

Jeans size 28-32

Blankets

Sleeping bags

Soap

Shampoo

Toothbrushes

Toothpaste

Plastic bags

Woolly hats

Pants

Pots

Pans

What we DO NOT need:

WOMEN and CHILDREN’S CLOTHES or SHOES

Sheets

Pillows

Suits

Town Shoes

Jumpers

Wellingtons

     I’m not sure how many of my readers are located in France, but for those who are interested, you can house refugees for a period of time, which is determined by you – usually between two weeks and nine months. The organisation is called Singa, and the FAQ sheet (in French) will answer most of the questions you might have. It’s here. You can also make a donation and support them financially.

     If you prefer donating to large organisations, one NGO that’s dedicated to this crisis in particular is the UN Refugee agency: UNHCR. They are onsite with basic care and medical assistance, and you can read about what they do, and donate by clicking here.

     Finally, there is a huge resource in the Kos Kindness Facebook page, which you’ll find here. They are located in Greece, and are asking for donations to help the refugees, including – but not limited to – baby carriers that will allow parents to carry their children greater distances.

You can donate items directly to them, either through Amazon.co.uk, or by sending any items in your home that correspond to their “need” list (located on the page). They make it really easy by compiling a wishlist on Amazon right here!

This is their mailing address: (And for those not familiar with international addresses, the last line is a phone number and the 85300 is the zip.

Kos Kindness

Kerry Chorafiou

Pb 582

Konstantinoupoles

Zipari

Kos

85300

0030 6947983346

So. What have we, the Goutets, been doing?  

Well I’m mostly keeping all of that between me and God. But I will tell you of one thing. The Anglophone community in France has been amazing as both a wealth of knowledge and for continous, generous aid.

A brave woman named Linsey drove to my house, 35 weeks pregnant, to bring my donations to where a guy named Richard would store them in his garage. Tomorrow he’s going to drive them directly to Calais. So we were able to give very useful things, such as old sleeping bags, men’s clothes, soaps and medicines, and sundry items. My friend Céline brought some of her things over as well.

This was before I knew that the Calais camp was mostly men. She’s going to let me know if my baby stuff can be used elsewhere.

It’s amazing to be able to help. We count on our children receiving the bare minimum in life – safety, shelter, medical care, schooling …

No. I’d say we count on them receiving more than that. We want them to have everything! We want them to have creative expression,

love, friendship, and respect,

hope and a future.

The mothers and fathers who are fleeing the butchery in their homeland by any desperate measure that presents itself — they are hoping for a future too.

***

Thank you for reading and sharing. I also invite you to leave any further links or information in the comments that you think might be helpful. Hugs.

The post How to Help Syrian Refugees appeared first on A Lady In France.

Diary for a SAHM

The diary for a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) is a combination planner, journal, and dream-catcher, created by my very good friend Amina. I wanted to showcase it here because I am positive some of you will instinctively be drawn to its logic.

I also wanted to share it because Amina is my friend. And I love to see friends succeed. Will you pin this image and/or tweet, share on Facebook to give her more visibility? You can use the hashtag #SAHMDiary

The planner is available in French and in English. If you love France, and even if you don’t speak French that well, I can tell you right now what’s inside because you could totally buy the French version and add a little international flair to the sometimes mundane. The words and images are almost completely self-explanatory.

For Amina, the concept of the book sprung out of the desire to validate and honour what stay-at-home-moms do, and to remove some of the stigma attached to the role. She said:

This diary was especially created for you—the stay-at-home mom—so that you can run your life more flexibly without the pressure to accomplish goals set by someone else. A stay-at-home mom has the choice to spend her days energetically, or in a more zen-like state, according to what life happens to throw her way. As such, this diary is not dated.

You have ten months’ worth of weekly planners that are not dated because some weeks are busier than others and you might not wish to fill it out consecutively.

On the left hand side are the days of the week, and on the right side are creative little weekly “post-its” where you can write a) things to remember or organise, and people to e-mail or call, b) shopping list, c) things to pay, d) play dates for moms or kids, e) household projects.

Right after each weekly page is a mostly blank page, except for the little snakeskin design. This is where you can write down what’s preoccupying you that week. You can jot down school meeting notes, ideas for upcoming blog posts, ideas for your kid’s birthday party – you even have a space for your child to draw while you’re at the doctor’s office (and in desperate need of diversion)!

Once every four weeks, instead of a blank page, there will be a lined page and a helpful, validating reminder of exactly what a Stay-at-Home-Mom is. (She’s a teacher, a nurse, a chauffeur, a party-planner, a counselor–you get the idea).

You also have a space to write dreams, goals, projects, thoughts, etc. When you’re not in all-day meetings, your mind can jump from one thing to another in a rather artistic fashion that can’t be confined to a weekly, dated planner where every hour has a space to fill in. 

As you know, life is not always like that.

In the back, you have a space for birthdays, of course. Our friend Danila said this one is indispensable for her, so it became a must.

And a space for dinner ideas. Not necessarily the full recipe, but just ideas of different easy things you can make. Like … pasta with smoked salmon, sour cream and chives. You can add that one!

You’ve got your favourite websites and blogs (like A Lady in France),

What’s New Today?

Today is la rentrée in France — back to school! I thought our kids were the last ones yet to go, but I see on Facebook that some others started as late as yesterday.

The boys stay in elementary school. Gabriel is in CM1, which is the equivalent of 4th grade.

William is in CE1, which is the equivalent of 2nd grade.

And this one! This one!

Juliet is starting collège, which is junior high! She’s in 6ème, which is actually 6th grade, but the parallel ends there. Because, instead of continuing on with 7th, 8th, 9th, etc., the grades go backwards: 6ème, 5ème, etc. … ending with terminale. Which sounds sort of … terminale. But in a good way.

And Maman?

Maman went to Paris.

That’s what was new today.

_____

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

The post What’s New Today? appeared first on A Lady In France.

Gluten-Free Peach Tarte Tatin

Today I’m celebrating happiness – that, and gluten-free peach tarte tatin. There’s no real reason I should be happy since it’s been pouring rain all day, but there you have it. Some days are just like that. Some days are just peachy.

How to Run a Successful Bible Camp

I know there are tons of amazing Bible Camps out there and I’m glad. What a fun and nourishing experience for our kids, right? This “how-to” is not really coming from a voice of expertise, but only from what I observed volunteering for our own pre-teen camp in Switzerland this past week.

The camp we attend – held one week in August for the teens, followed by one week for the pre-teens – has been successfully run for the past ten years. Last year we sent Juliet, and the rest of us vacationed in the area. This year we sent both Juliet and Gabriel, and offered our services to boot. After surviving the week, I can tell you two things right now:

a) It was so much fun. I laughed and cried, and played games and cooked in mass quantities, and  taught (and learned) things about the heart and the Bible. And –

b) Physically, I’m a mess. There are muscles aching that I didn’t even know I had.

I was a little teary-eyed when we left. Despite being exhausted, I felt spiritually nourished. I was also grateful for the incredible chance our children have to experience this kind of environment – where they can thrive in a beautiful setting, but also where they can observe other kids, teenagers, and adults who are committed to loving God and loving one another. It’s a nice break from the customary playground warfare.

So here are some of the things I observed that I think contribute to the camp’s success:

1. Leaders with childlike hearts. Thierry – our minister for the Geneva church – is, like, five. I mean really he is is 47 and is full of wisdom and grace; but he has no problem putting all that to the side in order to engage in a fierce war of water guns and water balloon bombs. For that matter, neither did Stephane, Pierre-Louis, Georgio or Matthieu mind stooping to that level. (Not my Matthieu – he was happy to photograph the entire event). And honestly, there was something about watching the kids shriek as they ran from the line of fire (I mean, water), and daringly plonk a balloon bomb on someone twice their size. In this, all was fair in love and war.

I’m terrible at playing with my kids. I loved the chance for them to see that (some) adults can be kids too.

2. Diversity in fellowship. We’re lucky in our church that we already have the diversity of countries attending our pre-teen camp. We have kids from the churches in Paris, Lyon, Brussels, Geneva, Milan, Beirut, Nairobi, and even Northern Virginia! But we also have widespread ethnic groups representing Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Middle East. Throughout the week we heard Arabic, English, Italian, and French (and a spattering of Spanish and Chinese just for fun). There was plenty of diversity in the adults and teens who volunteered too.

What that meant was that children got used to being on the same team with children from other ethnicities, and bunking with them, and sharing their hearts with them, and playing with them. It’s like a little piece of heaven on earth. It truly is.

3. Good role models. For a pre-teen this means teens. Some of the adults gave short age-appropriate lessons, but you know who the kids really listened to? The teens! When the kids have a chance to listen to other kids, just a few years older, share about how they handled the pressures at school, sibling warfare, purity (discussed only with the older set of pre-teens), they sat up and listened.

Their small eyes missed nothing.  They saw how respectful, affectionate, and pure the teens were with one another – how much they put God first. They were just the type of role model you want for you kids. And when those same “cool kids” gave the younger ones a bit of attention, it made them sit up a bit, and feel worthy of notice. I was so touched because they even included William, who is only six, and was just along for the ride.

4. Local delicacies (and healthy menus). Because why not take advantage of your surroundings, particularly if it’s a place you’re not accustomed to visiting? We got our fresh milk straight from the cows every morning. Isn’t that so cool?!

And we sliced the huge baguettes for toast, and ate them with butter and jelly. Sometimes the most delicious fresh blueberry yoghurt I have ever tasted, straight from the farmer, was on the menu.

Marjo handled the menus and there was not a single meal without fresh fruit and vegetables. I was in charge of the food allergies and the birthdays and I helped peel the zucchinis. Yes, the kids clamoured for a chance to go to the “Coop” – which is pronounced cop and comes from co-op – where they would spend their life’s savings on candy (until we limited it to five Swiss Francs). But the rest of their meals were filled with healthy, well-balanced dishes. And I think that gave them just the energy they needed for all the play.

5. Beautiful scenery

Okay now you’re just bragging, Jennie.

I know. I KNOW. But I can’t help it. I was so thrilled to be in the Swiss Alps. It’s so beautiful and exotic there. But honestly? I don’t think the kids noticed how exotic it was. I think they were just intoxicated by the fresh air, the change of scenery, and the healthy outdoor activities that included water fights. And those are the kinds of thing you can get anywhere near you, no matter where you are.

6. A chance to talk. After the Bible lessons, the kids broke into small age-appropriate groups of boys and girls, each one led by an adult and a teen. They spoke about their hearts, their troubles at home, their troubles at school. Sometimes they learned how to handle them in a different way. Sometimes they just had someone to listen to them, which healed so much. Sometimes they cried. But it helped to assimilate the message they had just heard, and it helped them to feel less alone. All kids need that.

7. Physical activity

Look! Some more kids!

When I wasn’t on my feet cooking or serving food, I was hiking, or supervising the diving board at the pool, or getting sucked into an impromptu flash mob dance because the kids wanted to know what we the adults were doing for our talent show. Or I was pulling out my dusty salsa moves (Matthieu is really so much better at it than I am). Or I was learning to dance to Watch Me and Tsnuami. Or I was cleaning up in the wake of the army that had just passed through. I could barely walk by the time we were through – and I hadn’t even done the zip-lining or the Olympics or the water fights!

But the kids remember the fun. And they remember the sport. Some of them live in small apartments and rarely get a chance to move quite this much. This can be a very freeing thing.

8. Praise and worship. I can’t say our church is the best at praise and worship. Like people, churches can take on certain collective strengths and certain collective weaknesses. We’re good at Bible study and obedience to the scriptures, maybe less good at praise and worship (unless it’s a Sunday where the African sisters are pulling out their drums and leading a song or two – holla!)

But praise and worship is an essential part of … worshipping. Ours was held around the bonfire – after the barbecue dinner under the teepee, but before the marshmallow roast under the stars. The children gave songs, prayers, and testimony, which I’m certain produced a holy glow that burned much brighter than the bonfire, though we couldn’t physically see it.

9. No emotional conversions. I know. This is not something everyone is going to agree with. But we don’t baptise someone who is just coming for the first time. Any baptism that’s going to happen at the camp is more likely going to happen at the teen camp after the children have been coming to church for awhile, and have had a chance (a few months at least) to study the Bible and see what they’re getting into. This includes the children who were raised in Christian families. The conversions happen after the kids have had a chance to count the costs on what it means to be a disciple. There are lots of emotions, but no emotional conversions.

10. And, um – the Bible. Duh, right? There has to be that too, or else it’s not a Bible camp. One of my friend’s twin sons went over to his dad in the middle of the afternoon, after the camp was over, and said, “Hey Dad, have you seen my Bible?” As soon as he had it in hand, he lay down in his bed and started reading. His father, who had grown up in a very religious family, but who hadn’t put anything into practice until he was an adult, just whispered to himself. Wow.

* * *

Tell me, have you attended Bible camp, or do your kids attend? What are the essential aspects for you? What makes for a life-changing camp?

The post How to Run a Successful Bible Camp appeared first on A Lady In France.

How to Sort Legos

If you got here by google search, I may have lured you under false pretences because the full title of this post is actually, “How to sort legos (and lose your sanity in the process).”

I have an indifference-hate relationship with Legos. When they are directly in the path of my vacuum cleaner, they are sure to be sucked up without regards to whether they are a car axle, a lego man head, a filler 3-bit piece, or a bunch of bananas. They can hang with the dust and spiders until it’s time to empty the vacuum cleaner.

That’s the indifference part.

The hate part comes when I am sequestered into sorting them by axles, and heads, and bananas, and 2-bit/ 3-bit/ 4-bit/ 6-bit/ 8-bit/ 10-bit/ 12-bit — and then raised 2-bit/ 3-bit/ 4-bit/ 6-bit …

You get the picture.

Legos are gooood for them, says husband.

They’ll still be using them when they’re teenagers, says husband.

The pieces need to be organised so the kids can find what they need when they’re ready to build, says husband.

Then he sits down, and gleefully pulls open a mini drawer that contains only the 6-bits that have three extra holes in the middle. He extracts a red one.

Can we please stop, Mom? pleads Gabriel (the most industrious of the three kids).

We have each scooped an overflowing handful to put on the rug and sort so that we can chip away at the masses that still sit in the plastic tray just waiting to be brought home. But of course we can’t even manage to make our way through the handful because these pieces are weird and we don’t know where they’re supposed to go.

Didn’t you know that you can unmount these, honey? says husband.

Husband, of course, has to go to work and is not blessed with all the delightful hours we have to sort legos. I urge the kids to continue for five more minutes until we can at least sort what’s on the floor and clear a space to walk. Fifteen minutes later, there is no apparent dent made in the piles on the floor and I accidentally step on a tiny plastic drawer, flinging its contents across the floor.

It’s the one with all the itty, bitty, bitty, bitty, bitty, bitty pieces.

We put the larger boards and circle shapes in recycled plastic flowerpots.

The best of all is that it’s free!!! says husband.

We put the axles and wheels and wings in longer plastic drawers.

We are leaving for Switzerland tomorrow. I have packing to do. I don’t have time for this business of trawling the clanking lego pieces, searching for the L-shaped boards (in 8-bit and 4-bit) so that I can put them in the appropriate plastic flowerpot.

krwsh, krwsh, krwsh, krwsh, krwsh

Although, between you and me, it is a little soothing.

That is, until I see the floor and remember that I had planned on vacuuming all the rooms before we left so we could come back to a clean house. And then I just want to KonMari the heck out of those legos. (chews lip)

Oh look! A 6-bit L-shape piece!

* * * * * 

I’ll be Instagramming from the Alps next week but won’t be on the blog. We’re volunteering at the camp for 50 pre-teen kids so I’m not even going to fool myself into thinking there will be free time. Wish me luck!

The post How to Sort Legos appeared first on A Lady In France.

That Time I Didn’t Buy the Farm

My son recently reminded us of that time he wanted to buy a farm (and I didn’t). I remembered blogging about it, and found it as a guest post on my friend’s site. I decided to repost it here so that I’d have it in my own archives. This happened about three years ago.

“La ferme” has both a naughty meaning, which is, “Shut it!” or “Shut your mouth!” and a normal  meaning, which is “the farm”.  Today we’re here to talk about the farm because we don’t swear in our household.  In any language.

The day started out innocently enough.  We were met at the school bus stop with one of the other families who brought their dog along for the walk.  There were all sorts of squeals and other expressions of delight, very little of which I heeded because I was trying to ensure that William wouldn’t jump from in between my legs into oncoming traffic.

But the impression stuck.  That night over dinner, 6-year old Gabriel said that he would like to have a dog.  Juliet, knowing our reticence, qualified it with “just a little dog.”  A little dog that’s “nothing at all” (rien du tout)!

William declared he would like a cat, but his idea was immediately squashed with a “Bah non!” from his older siblings.  “Nina is allergic to cats and she wouldn’t be able to come visit.”  Nina is their grandmother.

And somehow the talk escalated – like, Cuban Missile Crisis-escalated.  We went from buying a dog to buying an entire farm in a matter of seconds.  I was soon to regret my quick retort that if Gabriel wanted a farm, he could get a taste of it by waking up at the crack of dawn to start doing chores.

Instead of deterring him, it prompted a reverent look as he said with determination, “I am not even going to sleep at all.  You’ll see.  You’ll all be in your bed and I will be outside working. With tools!”

Then he marched off without removing his dinner dishes from the table.

When I came downstairs to put them to bed, he said, “I know Mom.  We can get a rooster!  That way you won’t have to set your alarm (because you don’t like to get out of bed in the morning). The rooster will do it for us.  The rooster doesn’t even sleep, you know.”

“Sorry buddy,” I replied. “Daddy said no to the chickens. I already asked.”

“Well what about a pig?  Pigs don’t make any noise at all.”

Trying to contain my laughter, I said, “Honey, we don’t have enough room to have a farm in our backyard.  Farms take up a lot of space!  We have just enough room for us.”

“We don’t have to have a vegetable garden.  We could have a farm instead.”

“No.”

“Well then can we get rabbits?  They’re small and they don’t even make any noise.  They just eat carrots.”

“I don’t think so honey.”

His voice rose a pitch in desperation … “Can’t we at least get a cow?”

Later, from the warmth of his covers, he mumbled sleepily, “I’m going to pack my bags and leave here.  I’m going to go somewhere else and start a farm.”

“Darling,” I said coaxingly, “Don’t get all worked up before we talk things through with Daddy.  We can’t make any decisions without consulting him, you know.”

He covers his eyes with his forearm at the sign of relenting on my part and bursts into tears.  “And I never even got to ride a horse,” he sniffed.

“Aw honey, we’ll talk it through,” I said, “We’ll think of something.”

Suddenly he perks up, exclaiming, “I have a great idea.  We can build a barrier and put life-size fake animals in it.  It won’t be real so there won’t be any noise or any mess.  It will be fake.”

“Hon, a fake farm with real life-sized animals might cost a bit more than we have right now,” I answered gently.

“I know!” his eyes lighting up. “I will give you all my coins so that you can buy it.”

“It won’t be enough,” I replied, my heart filled simultaneously with laughter and ache.

“Eleven coins won’t be enough,” he said, his question pitching downwards with a note of reproval in his voice. “Oh wait …” he remembers, “we have to take out the three pieces of American money.”

Then he continues,  “Eight coins won’t be enough,” he says with a note of reproval in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I said shaking my head.

Somehow I console him enough to get him to sleep. Later on when Matthieu came home, I warned him that our Gabriel may bring up the subject of farming the next day and will need to be met with a straight face.

“He was so impassioned by his plea, he was crying over the injustice of what wasn’t going to have,” I said.  “So we need to be compassionate.  I hope he forgets, but he may not.”

Sure enough, the next morning the first words out of his mouth were about … la ferme.  And when he went upstairs to eat breakfast, he started drawing up plans for the layout of his farm.  “And I’ll need a hammer and some nails for the fence …”

And just when I thought we were out of danger from this becoming a permanent subject, he calls to me as he’s heading out the door, “We need to get a farm, you know, because I drew up three pages of plans for it and if we don’t get one I will have to throw all three pages in the garbage.”

“And that will be a waste!” he said emphatically.

“That’s enough!” I snap.  “La fer—!”

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

The post That Time I Didn’t Buy the Farm appeared first on A Lady In France.

Things That Make Me Happy

There are some things that never fail to make me happy if only I can slow down long enough to enjoy them.

This weekend I slowed down long enough.

I love freshly-laundered sheets, drying in the sun.

I love lavender. Did you know I love lavender?

It was time to harvest it, and I brought some of it in to refresh my little lavender hanger, which is attached to the stairwell. I cut some of it and lay it to dry in the sun because I’m going to start making soap.

Me! Making soap!

As for the rest, I decided to make lavender-infused vinegar for my homemade cleaning products. (Thanks to this website for the tip). I filled empty jam jars with blossoms and some leaves.

I got my faithful assistant to add the white vinegar. (Grandparents – doesn’t he look so big??)

I only have two regular purple lavender plants. Otherwise I have the English blue variety, which looks pretty but doesn’t smell as good so I didn’t use that. I also have white lavender. That smells great so I used those blossoms as well.

And look! Successful domestic industry makes me happy.

A neighbour gave us some figs, and Matthieu made jam so we’d have something to accompany our foie gras this Christmas. That’s my favourite way of eating both figs and foie gras. 

I was telling him how I’d like to replace our hazelnut tree with a fig tree. They’re both about the same size but the fig tree seems so much more lush. And our hazelnuts are too small to eat so the tree doesn’t serve a purpose other than shade and holding nests.

Well, lo and behold! We discovered a fig tree growing out of a crack in our wall! (At least we think it’s a fig tree).

Because who doesn’t have random fig trees growing out of cracks in their wall? We’ll have to cut the roots in order to remove it from the wall so I’m not sure if it will take. I went down the street and clipped some willow boughs to put in the water, hoping that would help the branch to root. 

Other growing things are making me happy. Our peach tree, which we planted to remember the baby we lost, is having a good year.

Little fuzzy peaces on the way.

The grapes climbing the swing set get better and better each year as the vine grows stronger.

And our kiwis are growing for the first time ever!

Fuzzy kiwis in time for the fall, just when we’ll need the vitamins.

Banana coconut (clean eating) muffins make me happy!

Recipe based on this one.

But the clincher? The clincher in overwhelming happiness? Homemade tomato sauce with ripe tomatoes from our garden! The last time we had enough tomatoes to do this was a couple of years ago and I almost cried from the joy of it.

Here’s the sauce as it begins to cook. It doesn’t look like much right now, but – as with many things in life – it just needs a little time to season. A good long simmer, a turn in the blender, a half a sugar cube later … Magic!

With all my wanderlust and thirst for adventure, I’m starting to think that maybe the things that make me the happiest are found right here in my home.

What make you happy?

The post Things That Make Me Happy appeared first on A Lady In France.