Does it matter?

Family, Chia pudding
Posted on 10 Comments on Does it matter?

Most of us have heard the proverbial phrase, “We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us.” Which I take to mean that those who came before us, teachers, parents, ancestors, historical figures, learned and discovered multitudes of things that help us move forward. We don’t have to re-invent the wheel, as is also said.

Meeting my cousins recently, separated by a couple generations and a few thousand miles, has continued to resonate within me. Does meeting them matter? Absolutely. Not only are they wonderful people, they are family. How does it matter? That I am still pondering about. When will I see them again? Will my children and grandchildren meet them? Qui sait?

Charles Dessein

My mother’s grandfather was Charles Dessein. I had no idea who his parents were, nor did I give it any thought until I was at the family crypt near Langres recently. His parents were my great-great grandfather, Alexander Dessein and great-great grandmother, Marie Billant. How does that matter now? Obviously, I would not be here without them, nor would a lot of other people! Do I stand on their shoulders?

famille crypt

What legacy, shoulders to stand on, do I leave for my grandchildren? For great-grandchildren I may or may not be here to meet?

Maybe this is as much or more about being present in the moment, being conscious of my choices, being aware of what I have learned in the last twenty years so I can make wiser choices now.

Chia seeds are reportedly healthy for you on many levels. I made some pumpkin chia pudding this afternoon. Sounds a little dicey to you? I’ll try it and let you know. Pondering takes nourishment.

Thanks for reading!

So … where is Home?

Authenticity, France
Posted on 18 Comments on So … where is Home?

Bon jour.
Having traveled a bit over the years, lived a few months in Italy in my early twenties, and lived most of my life in the Pacific Northwest, it is an interesting question for me now. Where is home? My adult children have lives and families far from me. I live in a comfortable home with a nice view. Is this my forever home? A new thought for me.

My recent trip to France was wondrous in every way. Paris is beautiful, historic and has endless things to do. Including sitting at an outside bistro enjoying watching the world of people bustling past, cars, and busses on their journeys. The Louvre, the metro, the Orsay, the Eiffel Tower, the crepes!

This cruise on the Seine river was fantastic. Another opportuinity for me to learn to be present and not rant about the unexpected obstacles. We got lost in Paris, missed our connection to enter the Eiffel Tower, and so were a couple hours late. If we had not been late, we would have completed our Seine cruise during the afternoon and missed the stunning sunset on the river.

The Apollo Gallery at the Louvre. Oh yeah, pretty impressive. It was the model for the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, which was completed in 1684. Versailles and the Louvre have been home for scads of people over the centuries. Things are still being discovered. Walls of the original medieval fortress were found under the Louvre as they excavated for the glass Pyramid in 1985.

Have you ever, or how many times, have you asked Where is my home? Is where I am now my forever home?

In Langres, the ancient town of my maternal ancestors, the question arose for me in a new and vibrant way. I re-connected with all four of my third cousins, and their families, after twenty-five years. Third cousins as our grandmothers were sisters. Rich, wonderful experience. Their children and grand-children are my fourth and fifth cousins! Yes, it matters. Family matters. Finding where we belong matters. Right?

Here is my new favorite refrigerator magnet: my four cousins and I at the Langres train station as I head back to Paris.

Am I going back to Langres? You bet!
Am I finishing my novel set in Langres? Oh yeah! Watch for it to be out early next year~

Thank you for reading my blog.
Merci d’avoir lu mon blog.

Flying Backwards in Time

Belonging, Joie de vivre, Light
Posted on 16 Comments on Flying Backwards in Time

Flying from Paris to Seattle means going back in time nine hours, as noon in Seattle is 9 p.m. in Paris. We left Paris in the afternoon, the sun never went down, it simply got more brilliant. Wish I could say that about myself.
Nor did I get any younger traveling backward in time. Perhaps a good thing.

As I gazed out the window at the endless expanse of white cumulus clouds, the wonder of it brought a peacefulness to surround me. The ice crystals on the window were exquisite. They glittered delicately as the air rushed around the plane.

Nutella, the chocolate hazelnut cream, is very popular in Paris. I sure get that, I don’t keep it my house as a jar is gone in a day. I had not seen Nutella B-ready treats before. O la la! A crunchy delight. I munched on a couple of them as I gazed blissfully through the ice crystals at the soft white expanse.

As the plane shifted direction a bit, the sun moved a tad more to the other side of the plane. In watching the ice crystals, I noticed the wing of the plane looked like a shark. A shark in the sky. Stay with me here.
What do you think?

Time on the plane with no responsibilities other than staying in my seat. My mind drifted, dozed, wondered, and remembered all the wonders of France. Of Paris. Of Chartres. Of Langres. Of reconnecting with my French cousins. Gathering all I could about Denis Diderot, my grandparents, the American soldiers in the Haute-Marne district during WWI (thanks to an amazing, dedicated man, Franck Besch, who has gathered so much information, artifacts and memorabilia for the museum he created and maintains in Marac, ‘Le Petit Musee du Doughboy’), and the ramparts around Langres.

Sparkling ice flakes, a shark, peace, connection to my family. What more could I ask?

Thanks for reading!
Yes, you can follow me on Instagram, LinkedIn, and f/b. My novel-in-progress is set in Langres. O la la, I am planning the next trip.

Diamonds on the Water

Trees
Posted on 10 Comments on Diamonds on the Water

Indeed, the late afternoon sun is glinting off the waves of Admiralty Bay. Each wave sparkles separately, like an aquatic diamond.
I have gotten back from a 16 day venture to help my family make a major move. It was originally scheduled to be 6 days. So blessed that I have the latitude to be flexible. Yes, the venture involved goats, several dogs, cats, septic system pipes, real estate brokers, and 98 degree weather.
On some of the stops we made in the multiple round trips to and from the new home, there were rocks by the side of the road or parking area that seemed to call out to me, “You need to take me home.” A couple were flat slabs of about a foot square, others were large chunks of holey volcanic rock, a couple were rusty red volcanic rock. Yes, you’re right, they are now here at home, finding places in my gardens.

“I Talk to the trees but they don’t listen to me.” The lyrics written by Alan Jay Lerner from the movie, Paint Your Wagon. Now Alan was married 8 times, perhaps the trees doubted his credibility. At least I listen to the rocks.

Driving home on I-5 north, I passed by Kalama, Oregon. The gigantic sign in bright yellow letters that said RESTAURANT, was still there. Fifty years ago, that same sign was there as I was driving home to Seattle with my Uncle Jerry. It was late at night, I was a kid, and he was driving. I was the only other one awake in the car with five people. The first ‘A’ in the sign was out as we drove by, so the sign said REST URANT. We had great fun laughing about resting our rants. Rants about late night driving, soggy French fries, and my cousin snoring.

This stunning view is going up Ochoco Pass in Oregon on one of the moving trips. So much beautiful scenery in the high desert, so much geologic amazement to see: basalt cliffs, deep gorges, mesas.

As I neared home and pulled up to the ferry, I saw there was still room on board the boat. Yay! Then I was miffed as the staff person put an orange barrier in front of me, walked around a minute or two, then closed the gate to the ferry.
I only had to wait about 20 minutes until the next one, yet I was still a bit cranky. Then, then, I was the first car to board the next boat. First. Which meant I was front and center with the wide open view in front of me of the sunset. The Universe had a plan for me, I just needed to be there.
Gorgeous orange and pink sky, waves swishing up against the boat. And diamonds on the water.

Art is a lie?

Choices, Jodi Picoult, truth
Posted on 6 Comments on Art is a lie?

“Art is a lie that illuminates the truth.”
This tidbit is attributed to Pablo Picasso, Jacques Cocteau, and Albert Camus, among others.
Another interesting take on it, “Art is the lie that allows us to approach the truth.”


My interest was captured by this as I saw art as the truth, be it via Picasso, Georgia O’Keefe, Edward Curtis, Derek B. Miller, Jodi Picoult, Virginia Wolf, or Jackson Pollock. There is some aspect of truth, enlightenment, or expanded vision in art. It was not necessary for me to like the art, just see it and learn something.


As I have gotten older, and recognized that just because something is a documented fact, such as landing on the moon or the Holocaust, there are people who don’t believe those things happened.


In getting older, I have come to see more truths about myself. Yup. A recent lightbulb was “Yes, Mary, you are valuable and worthy.” Somewhere deeply embedded in my psyche was the belief I was not good enough. Wow.


A lesson learned that still makes me smile is “I tell the truth so I don’t have to remember what I said.”
Perhaps I relate to that, as there were some big lessons for me with the choice of telling the truth or dodging it with half-truths, clouding the issue, or a flat-out lie in order to avoid a consequence for some action of mine.

Another ‘Yup.’ This really is an organ-grinder and yes, he has a real monkey on top of it. This was from my last trip to Paris, about ten years ago. What does this have to do with truth and art and lies? Reasonable question. Maybe because I think it is time for me to head to France again. My next book is a novel set in eastern France. Truth in the novel? Quite a bit. Art in the novel? Oh yeah!

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