Morning Ritual
Billy and I drink tea and coffee in bed every morning. We started this ritual back in January when I was teaching the 200hr teacher training intensive and didn’t have a lot of time (or energy) to talk. After a long day of holding space for others, all I wanted to do when I got home was retreat inward and be quiet. Since the training had rearranged our daily routine, we decided to make time in the morning to be together.
Marigolds and Memory
I went to the flower district after class today and bought a huge bunch of marigolds. I felt drawn to them and thought their bright orange color captured the golden light of fall. I scooped them up into my arms and took a full inhale and suddenly memories of my mother’s garden came rushing in — she always planted marigolds. I felt the crisp air of Heathen Hill up in the Catskills and could hear Lisa King’s voice as she demonstrated how to soak calendula in coconut oil to make her Heal-All Salve. I saw the flash of magenta, teal, and emerald green silk saris worn by the women at the ashram who were plucking out the orange pedals, amassing what seemed like a thousand pounds of marigolds for their puja. There I was, standing in a wholesale flower shop on 28th and 6th, and it was as if I had been transported into a completely different time in my life.
Croissants and Yoga
One of the highlights of my week in Paris was the croissant class I took at Le Foodist. This was my second class at Fred and Amanda’s English-speaking cooking school. I was so excited to learn the art of making croissants, especially since I’m already an expert at the art of eating them.
At Home In Provence
A few days ago, I had the great pleasure of meeting Rodolfe and Monique, family friends of Estelle’s and her parents. Rodolfe was the contractor who managed the redesign of Estelle’s flat, and Monique cleans and cares for the neighbors who live across the hall. A friendship sparked. Estelle told me that I simply had to meet them and that I would have a heart attack when I saw their house.
Keep It Simple
I’ve enjoyed some incredible meals on this vacation. There was the traditional bouillabaisse at Nounou, the beautiful dorado at Bistrot du Port, and the cod ravioli with ricotta and leeks at Le Comptoire de la Tourraque in Nice. But I have to say that the meals I enjoy the most are the ones we make at home.
Pretty In Pink
Today was such a good day. We decided to visit the Bonnard Museum in a little town in the hills above Cannes called Le Cannet. The museum was featuring the work of Henri Manguin, a French artist who painted alongside Matisse and Cezanne. They say that all the greats came to the South of France to paint because of the amazing pink light.
SHOP my style
Get Shopping
Beach Day
I bought a lemlem before I left on my trip thinking I would wear it as a beach coverup, but one of my friends pointed out that I probably wouldn’t want to wear it to walk through town and down to the beach because it’s completely see-through. I packed it anyway hoping that maybe I could wear it around Estelle’s apartment. Then I got here and showed it to Estelle, who shook her head and said, “Bah, oui! Mais bien sûr que tu peux le porter! This is France!” (By the way, this is how we speak to each other: half French, half English.) So I put on my chic little beach coverup and proceeded to walk by at least a half dozen topless women on the beach, and it became clear that I was sporting the most conservative look on the French Riviera.
Le Premier Jour
Je suis arrivée en France! It was an easy trip. Surprisingly, I was able to sleep on the plane and so thankfully I don’t feel the usual hard slap of jet lag. Estelle picked me up from the airport and we were so happy to see each other that we started jumping up and down, clapping (I’m realizing more and more that I clap when I’m happy; sometimes awareness makes your life more uncomfortable because you’re now cognizant of that fact that you’re standing in the middle of an airport, jumping up and down, clapping). But I didn’t care; we were both smiling from ear to ear! I will have to tell you more about Estelle and our friendship, but for now know that she is probably one of the few people on this earth who truly gets me. We are cut from the very same (French) cloth.
La Vie en Rosé
Today’s the day I leave for what I can only describe as the trip of a lifetime. I’m headed to France for three weeks of vacation. You heard me. Three whole weeks (I know)! I’ve been fantasizing about this trip for a long time. I’m spending the first two weeks in the south of France with one of my best friends, Estelle. We’ll be staying in a little town called Golfe-Juan (between Nice and Cannes) at what was once her grandmother’s apartment—the place she’s been visiting every summer since she was a child. We have no plans other than to sit on the beach and drink rosé. Don’t hate me, although if I were reading this, I’d probably hate me (to hell with Sutra 1.33—cultivating an attitude of friendliness towards the happy can be such a tough practice). I then fly to Paris for the last week of my trip where I’ll be taking some cooking classes and meeting up with Billy for a romantic rendez-vous in our favorite city.
