Thank you, new journeys

Thanks to all of you who followed this blog, and thank you for your kind words about it, and about my writing, upon my return.

I didn’t realize how much I’d missed writing until working on this blog.

So, I have decided to continue with a new blog – this one more about the crazy, chaotic, full-to-the-brim life I lead here in Houston. I’ll include recipes and links, and I hope it will be interesting and a bit entertaining. What makes me think anybody would be remotely interested in reading about the life of a middle-aged, urban woman in one of the U.S.’s largest cities?This blog, after all, had a built-in fun factor: the journey through new and fascinating places.

At this point in the story, I could talk in platitudes about all of life being a journey, etc.

But the truth is … I just wanna write. And since I think I’ve gotten pretty positive reviews about my work as a writer, I’m going to go for it.

You all are welcome to go come along with me, to offer your own insights, to share recipes and jokes – whatever. To quote my older stepson, “It’s all good.”

Stay tuned in the next week for a link to the new site – and thanks again for following along in the journey!

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Nice

The thing I remember most about Nice was the unrelenting, brilliant Mediterranean sun. And that the day and night we spent there was our wedding anniversary.

As we had most of our trip to France, we spent the day walking – walking to the new town square, lined with upscale shops  and filled with tourists. Walking to Old Town Nice, lined with street vendors , cafes, and also filled with tourists. In the center of Old Town was an enormous flower market where Len bought me a bouquet of red roses.

The architecture of Nice reminded me a lot more of Italy than France – appropriate, as Nice had been part of Italy up until 150 years ago. (The day we were there, the Nicoise were readying a giant celebration in honor of the 150th anniversary of Nice becoming part of France.) The buildings are pastels of peach and gold and green. I remember sitting in one large, open-air cafe, drinking coffee, listening to the roar of the crowd as a goal was scored in whatever World Cup game was being televised. People spoke to each other in rapid French or Italian. Men smoked and relaxed back in their chairs and enjoyed the heat of a summer day.

Just across the street and a few hundred yards away, people sun bathed on the shore of what I can only describe as a truly glorious sea shore. The water was the bright, crystalline turquoise color of the Caribbean, and further away, the water was the dark color Homer described as “the wine-dark sea.”

Nice was hot, chaotic, crowded, beautiful. In the evening, we ate sea food and couscous, and later had drinks at the open-air bar atop the Meridien Hotel. Anniversaries come and go, but this one was particularly memorable, and sweet.

The next morning, we rose very early in our little hotel room, to begin the long journey back to the U.S., to the reality of our lives, to home.

We’ll go back to France someday – someday soon, I hope. Maybe by that time, my dear French teacher will have enabled me to speak to France a bit better. France will always speak to me.

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