girl at large

where's Kevin Bacon in all this?

Bjorn, a retired chief of police from Norway, currently working part-time for a publishing company specializing in true crime stories, has a brother whose son is attending university, studying music, in Lincoln, Nebraska, where my father attended college not too far from his own home town of Edgar, Nebraska. Bjorn's favorite true crime story of the evening involved a Danish airstewardess who was murdered and then dismembered in a wood chipper by her American husband, much the same as the victim in the movie Fargo from the Coen brothers, originally from Minnesota, my home state's northwesterly neighbor, and home of the camp where I first learned French. Bjorn's best friend's wife is an artist, a painter. Bjorn's friend looks just like my father, though my dad never sported quite that elegant a moustache. My father's side of the family is Danish (hence Mikkelsen and not Mickelson, which would make us Swedish, possibly German or just poor spellers). Bjorn, here on vacation every August for the past four years, works with a Danish man who has also brought his family on vacation here in Antibes this week. Bjorn and his wife spent a three week vacation in the States, visiting places such as Chicago, Los Angeles, and of course, Fargo, where they were greeted like family when every third person they met shared their last name. They also went to....Portland. Did I mention Bjorn and his wife bought one of my paintings last night?

the more you know, the more you wonder

The City of Roses, City of bridges, whatever you call it, Portland, beyond the outdoor beauty and organic produce, has a wacky side: Admire chess sets and mannequins at the Maryhill Museum (or get a used mannequin of your own, or rent Mannequin, the greatest movie ever!). A writer's hotel. Everyone, even marauding Santas and paranormal investigators, needs an island getaway. I'm loving this book, Fugitives and Refugees, A Walk in Portland, Oregon by Chuck Palahniuk. As well as a weekly dose of these Portland stories. Thanks again to H for the suggestion.

I can't possibly be this short of reading material, can I?

I was just thinking...(clearest warning of bad idea, second only to "Well, I was drinking...") ....do you remember when some types of sugar packets were printed with little educational ditties? From when I was a little girl having dinner with the family at the Captain's Steak Joint, I remember a series of packets with illustrations and definitions of the different types of boats, sailing vessels through the ages....are they still around? It occurred to me that tampon wrappers could use the same treatment. Who wouldn't want to learn a little something new in the bathroom? Or maybe a one or two line message like fortune cookies?

Oh!Photo!

Voila! Here's Mike and Matt's complete online photo album of their visit to Paris and Antibes---some great shots, those boys are so damn cute. Has it been nearly a week since they left already? Miss 'em so.

blank

I've been trying to paint this week....emphasis on trying....Don't know what it is; summer lethargy or perhaps the stress of attempting to arrange this big move back to the States, but everything is turning out crap. I think my life is too disorganized and uncertain at the moment to allow my mind to make confidant decisions with a brush or pencil. It's hard to face a blank canvas when your entire LIFE is blank at the moment! I did manage to get some creativity going in the house though, little Miss Grace joined me for a morning of painting---she loved it. She has a technique of mashing the brush with such force and concentration that she vibrates bodily. Admirable dedication to the work little girl!

making me tick

After two extra-crispy tarts, one tray of char-nuggets and a half-dozen close calls, we finally got a new kitchen timer. I don't think Mom was expecting me to shreak with excitement when she brought it home. But how could I not? She got the classic minitimer (currently made by Italora). It was designed by Richard Sapper (of Tizio fame), one of my all-time-favorite industrial/product designers, back in '71- or '74, depending on who you ask. How I love being in the kitchen with Richard!

history down the street

Today is the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Antibes. We caught the reinactment parade after Bert alerted it to us this rainy morning---"It will bring a tear to your eye." Spirit of history aside, I think he was referring to the vintage motorcycles.

Bon Voyage!

Seeing Mike and Matt off on the train this morning.

Sante!

The only image I have of every evening's routine---wine, wine and more wine. And those funny, funny boys.

two friends, three days, a tower, three trains, one bus, a boat, a dozen cafes and goodness knows how many bottles of wine....

taking a tour of the harbor on Tishie Mae (that counts as 'sailing', right?), doing time in the cattle car, taking in the view, tripping down pictureseque lanes and having a hellava good time!

it's twins!

old habits die hard

Mike is here all of two hours, and what happens? I fall! Ankle kaput, Kate down. This only happens, ONLY, when Mike is around!!!!!! ouch. It's all purple and swollen, usually that's a good thing.....

Bert's perch

with the boat out in the harbor, Bert's been crashing here. On the balcony to be exact. Ruby loves it. She also digs the long 7am walks. Now she's gonna be all spoiled.

follow the little birdie

I had no idea. Watching the Olympic Games from a euro/brit point of view is enlightening. Did you know there was Olympic badminton? I played once, as a girl, at French camp in Hackensack, MN (yes, even I hate myself). But any Olympic dreams were dashed by an overwhelming fear of small, fast-moving objects. We fenced too. That ended in disaster when two older girls in my cabin used the foils to intimidate me into giving up my beloved Esprit shirt. Pre-teen tragedy.

unbelievable

Tonight's ITV news story re: Hurricane Charley included a clip of G.W.B., and I quote, "...people's lives are turned upside down...". The man is standing in front of an overturned mobile home.

We were promised teleportation by now. What happened to that?

Job hunting sucks. Apartment hunting sucks. Doing it all from a zillion miles away? Ugh. Thank god for H. and wine. lots of wine.

it's the going back that's hard

ohmygod. i'm moving to Portland in a month. i've never even been there. i don't have a job. all my stuff is in Savannah. my furniture is rented to someone else until January. i don't have an apartment. i don't have a job. i have to transport the dog with me. i will arrive with only two suitcases. i can't sleep on handbags and shoes. i don't know anyone there. i don't have a job. i won't have a computer. or towels. or silverware. or a bed. but i will have those Italian handbags. freak out time.

quite a feat

I didn't think it was humanly, nor, mathematically possible for Mom and I to spend more time together. But, this past week in Italy, we did. And no one is dead. I've gained a post-skirmish-guilt handbag (the best kind), but no one is dead. Success! Bert had to take the boat out into the harbor the day we left and has had it there since; all the berths in Port Vaubon are taken for the month of August. So, it's a row in and out for Bert each day, and sleeping on the balcony here at night. Remember sleeping porches? In this heat and humidity, it would be a nice thing, Bert's the lucky one tonight.

la dolce vita

A quick trip over the border: Based in the lively working city of La Spezia, on the large Golfo dei Poeti, we spent an afternoon in the nearby fishing village of La Grazie, another day in beautiful and popular Porto Venere, a long day enjoying the charms of Cinque Terre from land and sea (by ferry boat), and a last, quiet stop in the family-holiday seaside town of Loano. quick thoughts on Italian life: The people watching is outstanding: love seeing the genes go by as families stroll together in the evenings--Mom, Pop, Grandparents and bambinis. Sightings of grandfathers with grandchildren on bicycles too numerous to recall precisely. Food, food and more food. If it's not a mini-meal of munchies served with every cocktail or glass of wine at a cafe, it's the gelato. Or the classic two plates plus an antipasti plus dessert (often gelato). We're still digesting. You can never have too many different floral patterned textiles in a hotel room, that's just a given. And that strange scrambling, scratching noise last night? We're pretending we didn't hear it. Large rat dreams aside, it could have been anything, really. Probably just our imagination. It's so nice to see smiles. And friendly faces unwary of strangers. And to hear the occasionally, proudly pronounced, "thank you" in English. Also "pleasethankyougoodbyehello" makes a fine greeting. One good thing about excessive speed (oh, how the Italians love it): No time to even bother getting seasick on ferry rides. Note to traveling Americans: Please, please, please use your "indoor" voice. They can hear you coming, trust me. Maritime Museums (see second photo of Mom with Huge Anchor): Highly recommended, especially for the "Wall of Knots". On Bert's recommendation, we visited, and could just imagine him spending an hour studying that wall. Does he know how closely it resembles Macrame?

Baby Booty

We managed to keep it a surprise, just barely! The shower was a big hit today, the baby is sussed for clothing and more practical goodies (bath supplies, carrier, bibs and onesies, blankets, etc) for at least the first year. There were a few confusing moments: Ruby thought the Sophie giraffe squeak toy (a French childhood classic) might be for her, Peg thought the hat I crocheted might be for herself (see third photo---what a peanut of a head!), and just how does that baby carrier go on? (Maria, seasoned baby-pro, did the honors). The card from the Door County gang (and the phone calls!) were tear-makers, well done! Mom's knitted receiving blanket, the first completed knitting project in who knows how long, turned out gorgeous. With three blankets, a number of sweaters and countless knit underthings, the kid should survive London's winters in blessed comfort. And come spring time, that fancy-schmancy, frilly French number Aunt Peg picked out will be darling. Little Peg's only question, frequently repeated: "Will it be this big when it's born? Or this big? It won't be THIS big will it?" I never knew how scary size 12-month clothing can be to the uninitiated.