Living in Provence

Chartering on the Riviera

Ever wanted to charter a crewed sailboat and live the life of luxury on the Riviera?  Really- great.  Then we are your best contacts.  We've started our yachting company again, this time in France.  A beautiful 74' sailing yacht is in our charter program.  She's getting a refit and will be in tip top shape for you by next summer's season.  Let us know if you're interested.  I'll be posting pictures of the drawings of her.

Imagine sailing from Monte Carlo to Nice to Cannes to St. Tropez- playing on the Riviera like the rich and famous!  Oh la la...

Sleeps 10 guests.  Captain, First Mate and Steward included.  3500 Euros a day.  Discounts for week or longer.  Ask us. 

Cannes you belive it?

Cannes

you believe it?  I’m Hot Stuff.   I got a job, or so it’s called, to work the American Pavilion at the Cannes Film Festival.  It really would be a dream job, IF I didn’t have a small child and IF I was independently wealthy.  They wanted me to be the Events Coordinator.  Sounds impressive, huh? It was for the entire show, the full two weeks, no breaks, morning to night.  But get this, for no pay.  And it seems they’re quite a racket because the kids that would have worked under me actually coughed up their own money to be there.   Really I’d be meeting all sorts of big shots and shots on their way to be big, which is a big incentive.  And I would have kept a copy of my scripts on hand and probably would have tried to have some shirts I could wear printed up with the Treatments typed on back.  Ya never know who’s watching your back…or reading it, right?   But I have to laugh.  I had to decline.  First of all, I can’t be without Haven for that long.  He’s only 3.  Second we need the money.  And this is the knee slapper, they thought I was bi-lingual.   

A sponsor, “Bonjour, cava?”

Me, « Oui.  Et Vous? »

The Sponsor again ‘ Bla bla et bla vley  vous vous bla bley oh la la say soire eh vous la ley bla bla key la la ?

Me, «  Um, oui ? «

The Sponsor, «  OUI !!!!  Tres Bien !!!! »

….and I’d have no clue what so ever to what I had just agreed.  Ha, for all I know it could have been like this….

Sponsor, “Hello, how are you?”

Me, “ Great, And you?”

Sponsor, “ I’d feel better if you slept with me and my big hairy son who has a salivating problem and gave us a 75% discount for our film screening.”

Me, “ Um, yes.”

And you can guess the rest.

So it’s a pretty good thing I didn’t take it.   What kind of an American Representative would I be here in

France

, not truly being bi-lingual?  HA, well it seems a mighty friendly one in that circumstance! Ha ha ha 

Best I finish my French courses and try again next year when Haven’s in school and I actually am Bi-lingual.

No, I didn’t mean I was hot stuff  earlier on this post because of my job, or title, or being at the

Cannes

film festival.  I have none of those. (Although I did pitch a screenplay I that I had written last year at the

Cannes

film festival, but that was in the British Pavilion….and nothing came of it )  No I meant Hot Stuff in the way that I am physically hot, and sweaty and sticky and well, sudsy, to be precise.  It’s May and feels like May now and we just finished scrubbing the deck wood on our terrace.  Not an easy chore, but it was fun.  And hearing the giggles coming from Haven with his little brush in hand and soap suds on his feet, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world.  I feel lucky.  Maybe I am Hot Stuff after all.

Grey in May but I still have hair!

First day of May and it's grey.  Just a tease though.  Didn't rain a drop.  And luckily, too, because I was out all day shivering and painting.  I was dressed as if it was May or something.  A normal day in May that is!  Felt like October here. Strange weather all week long.  It's certainly the "layers" fashion here, get up, put on as much as you feel at the moment in the chilly morning air and then as time goes by peel it, but don't fling it too far cause just when you're enjoying the massaging sun rays, Mr. Cloud is going to come for a visit and break up the fun- so stay near your layers.  The good thing is - the plants love it and so does my skin.  No need for lotion these days....or face soap.

For A YEAR.  One whole year folks!!!  I've been driving around slathering my hands in ...you guessed it, face soap.  So I couldn't understand the label.  It's very good that I'm in these French classes so it won't happen again or worse, hey I could be shampooing with a French Nair!  Whew.  So how did I finally find out?  Did I actually decide to read the bottle that's been so accesible to my "Mains" as I drove around the Riviera?  Nope.  I was actually giving a ride to my French Mother-in-law, called a "Belle Mere" over here, when she inquired why I was so keen to keep a clean face in the car.  When she told me what I had been using I just about broke my theigh doing the lap slap as I laughed so hard.  I thought it was a crappy lotion.  Ignorance is not bliss.  HA, but a good sense of humor is!

No Surprise: A new BLOG!

Ah the wonderful world of Blogging.  I still love to say that word.  IT’s so new that when I type it that word comes up as a typo.  Imagine that.  Something so worldly yet so new.  It should be no surprise to you fans of my blog, that I have yes, another blog.  It’s true.  As much as I love to write screenplays and short films and children’s stories, I also love a good thunderstorm or a sunny day with rain.  So it should be no surprise, no surprises here folks, that I’ve teamed up with Wunderground.com blogging on a daily basis, or when possible, letting the whole world, or well, those reading the wunderblogs,  know about the weather here in

Fayence

,

France

.  As you must know wunderground is the hippest place to find your weather, no matter what crazy neck of the woods you’re from.  Very exciting stuff I must say.  No, not surprising, just very exciting. 

What’s that you ask?  The url?  Very good, another common anachronism, probably considered a word to many, URL, that shows up on my computer as a typo. Ok, so the URL you’re on the edges of your seat for is this, ah hem, it should be no surprise…..logically it’s

http://www.wunderground.com/blog/Fromfrance/show.html.  

Well ok, that little “show” in there could throw somebody for a loop, but hey, knowing me, like you all do so well, show is a very good choice of words to be put in my url for wunderblogs, don’t you think?  Of course.

Now I must get going and keep this short because my mind is slowly being eaten by my stomach so I must stop this nonsense and save what’s left.  Where’s that left over cous-cous?  Ah there you are!  (and funny enough- when I typed cous-cous it came up as a, no surprises here right?....a typo!!!)

Why Is That?

Why is it that when I’m lying in bed and my body is comfortably numb, that my mind gets wide awake and I create the most beautiful prose?  Of course you’ll have to just take my word for it.  I have no proof.  I did say that I was numb, right, as in can’t move a muscle.  And I don’t.  I just lay there totally impressed with what nobody else will ever hear or see.  My memory isn’t worth a dime.  Over time I’ve realized that.  Hey at least I can remember that I can’t remember so I don’t bother trying to remember when I’m being mesmerized by my other world’s self.  Is that me that I hear?  Sure I’d love to give myself the credit, but so often when I’m trying to retell a story I admit it’s not mine, that it just came to me during the night.  Little gifts.  Why is that?

And why is pain so loud?  I can be laying there (seems I do that a lot, huh?) finding myself so lucky to be in bed with my three year old son and my husband.  The joy I feel warms me.  Snuggling up to Haven is like being in a haven.  And then in a flash, it could be an elbow, a heel, a toe, a finger, a knee, coming right at my eye the speed of light and it’s stars I see.  Bright white stars in the dark of the night are never alone, they come with the loudest silent shriek I’ve ever heard.  And then I lay there, wondering why I felt so lucky trying to actually sleep near a three year old boy.  And I wonder what will last longer, this pain in my eye or the memory of the sound of the pain in my eye.  But then I remember, I don’t remember that well, and it seems I end up just focusing on the pain in my eye, and then it seems I forget that too, and I feel very lucky to be laying near little Haven.  Why is that?

Why is that when I’m lying there, no just kidding, when I’m standing there, phone in hand, it could ring. And it will be the person I was going to call.  It happens to my sister and my mother- more frequently than one could say coincidence.  And I’ll call them and they’ll say the same thing.  Couldn’t we just save sooo much money if we could figure this out?  We don’t learn this in school.  What if we did?  Is the phone company behind this keeping us in the dark about our mind’s actual powers plan?  Can we really talk to each other mentally?  Why aren’t we taught to explore that range of our body – explore our minds, instead of harping on the constant memorizing of what has already happened, what about trying to find out what can happen?  But they don’t.  Why is that?

Why is it that when I say I’m going to go on a diet, I start to feel hungry?  I could be eating a pea a day and be fine, until I utter the word diet.  I’m not talking a little hunger, I’m talking major starvation.  And then on top of that, I feel tired.  I know it’s just psychological, but then knowing that, why does it still happen?  It’s like it’s really physiological!  Can a word have that much control?  Yikes.  So then I tell myself, ok, I’m not on a diet, actually you can eat anything you want. Go ahead, lay down, too, take a nap, it would be good for you.  And um, guess what I do?  I eat everything I want AND then I sleep, a lot.   No metabolism explosions this way, no cellulite going away parties.  Not a fair game.  And I’m the only one playing.  You’d think I’d find a way to win, even if it involved cheating, but nope, I can’t.  I just can’t diet.  Dieting makes me gain weight.  Why is that?

And last but not least, why is it that before I decided to write about Why is That that an invisible scroll of Why is Thats unrolled before me about a mile long and now that my fingers are available to work only 5 come to mind.  Oh yeah, I can count this one.  That makes five.  So I must ask….Why is that?

Painting in Provence

What makes painting so magical?  I go into a trance.  Setting it up gets me all excited.  Then time stands still.  The brushes seem to be just extensions of my hand.  The smell of the paint.  The first swirl.  The thick drips defying gravity - clinging to the edges.  So memorable.  And each time is a totally different experience.  When I look at the objects I've painted that I have scattered around our home here, I can instantly go right back to that moment- still time- creating color where before it didn't exsist.  It's like giving it a breath, a new life.

On Christmas Eve we were invited to a friend's house, actually the same people that came to our place for Thanksgiving on Friday.  There I met another lady who loves to paint.  We're no professionals.  But to say amatures might not be strong enough.  We found each other in a crowded room, standing shoulder to shoulder, happy as could be chatting away about the joys of painting.   I"m not alone!  Finding time to paint is her problem.  I should consider myself very lucky because I make the time.  Just before Christmas I painted 16 wine glasses with Christmas themes in pairs.   Fortunately my husband loved them.  That always makes me feel good.   It's like something I've painted has my blood running through it. 

One spring day, just after an art show where I had displayed my fish vase to find rave reviews and a couple surprising offers, I had it back in it's place on our marble top counter, when all of a sudden a Mistral Wind picked up and threw open the window, slamming open the door, creating a wind tunnel one would find hard to walk in, and in an instant- SMASH!  The vase was on the floor in pieces so tiny my husband couldn't even glue it together (and believe me that's tiny!).  I was in tears.  Well, not really.  I don't ever want to put that much weight on something tangible, but it was a very sad loss.  Ok, maybe my eyes did moisten a bit.  It was something I could never duplicate.  I painted it to be our very first decoration in our new house in FL.  It had just been a normal vase in the shape of a fish.  Um, are "normal" vases shaped like fish?  hum...

Yes, a bit of color, applied from the very fingers that are typing these words, (with the extensions of the brush) sure make something ordinary extraordinary! 

Back in Hull I had started a show called Alluring Artists- I"d like to start an Alluring Artists here in  Fayence.  So all of you paint lovers "come out come out wherever you are" and join me- let's get together and be Alluring Artists. 

Illustrator Wanted

Along with writing screenplays, I also write children's stories.    Actually when I lived in Hull, a little seaside community East of Boston, yes East, it's a penninsula that swings out mimicing the Cape, but much smaller, just 5 miles out from town, well when I lived there I produced a show called Snuggle Up With Me.  That was a children's tv show.  I wrote most of the stories, illustrated some, had some friends illlustrate the others.  It was fun.  At that time my little sister, Taylor, was in elementary school, 2nd and 3rd grade, and so we'd fill the studio with her friends and shoot, sometimes a couple a night.  They would dress in their PJ's.  I set the studio up to look like a bedroom.  There was a rocking chair that I would sit in, comfy in my giant teddy bear pajamas, where I would read the stories.  The children sat gathered together on the bed, stuffed animals in hand, posing sweetly for the cameras.  But maybe they really were interested in the stories.  I believe they had big potential.  Still do. 

Lately that had all been on the back burner.  I do do a little Story Time here in Fayence for the English speaking kiddos, but not to a great crowd and not using my original yarns.  What I"ve been focusing on mostly are the screenplays.  However, yesterday- this story just came to me, and funny enough, the sun was out.  So I took advantage of a good thing and of being awake, found something to write on which happened to be the back of a box top that my new red boots came in, grabbed a pen from my night stand drawer, and wrote like mad for a good 15 minutes till it was finished. 

I have roughly illustrated it, just freehand stuff.  And I would love to find a professional or a very good amature out here near Fayence that would  have fun illustrating my stories.  A fee would be paid when or rather if, the story sells.   So, what do you think?  It's called NEVER AGAIN ---

Never Again!

There was once a little boy.  A lovely little boy really.  But one day he started to change.   You see, it all began in the bathroom.  His mother was washing his hair when accidentally some shampoo got in his eyes.  Well you know how that stings.  He just sat there and said, “Never Again will I have my hair washed!”

And he didn’t.  So after that, his hair got mighty tangled, and dusty, and actually, bugs started to live in his hair!  But he didn’t care.

Soon after that that little boy was rushing for school when he remembered to brush his teeth.  Unfortunately though he remembered a bit late and since he was brushing his teeth, he missed the school bus and had to walk to school instead.  So as he walked he told himself, “I will Never Again brush my teeth”. 

And he didn’t.  His teeth went from white, to beige, to yellow to green- and then got fuzzy!  But he didn’t care.

During that time he had dinner over at his grandparent’s house.  He was using his best manners.  But when his grandmother asked if he was ready for dessert, and he smiled, nodded and said, “please”, she misunderstood him and gave him more PEAS!  And as he gagged down the huge pile of peas she gleefully placed on his plate, he mumbled, “I will Never Again say please.”   

And he didn’t.  So after that, everywhere he went everyone thought he was rude.  But he didn’t care.

A bit later on that little boy was playing in the park when a little stone got stuck in his shoe, and he walked on it for a while not wanting to stop.  Well you know how that can get annoying.  So he took off his shoe and felt much better, stood there and declared, “I will Never Again wear shoes”.   

And he didn’t.  So after that his socks got holes in them and his toes got dirty and his heels stuck out and got hard and scratchy and they even turned blue in the cold.  But he didn’t care.

Then his mother, who couldn’t see the little boy because when he was home he was in his room that was sooo messy it actually hid him, broke down in tears begging him to clean up.  He looked around and saw that mostly it was his dirty clothes that piled up and made his room look messy.  But instead of cleaning up his room, he decided to just not make it worse.  So do you know what he did?  He swore to himself he would Never Again change his clothes! 

And he didn’t.   And soon after that, the clothes he had on became very dirty and began to stink and stick to him.  But he didn’t care.

Now one day that same little boy over heard his playmates saying that they would Never Again play with the boy with bugs in hair, that boy with green fuzzy teeth, the one who is very rude never saying please, and who’s feet seem to have rotted off his shoes, and who’s clothes that never change seem to have a  life of their own now!

And he couldn’t imagine who they were talking about.  That boy sounded awful.  But just then- those playmates saw him, quit talking and just started pointing- right at him!  So he stood there, just frozen, realizing it was true!  Do you know what happened next?  He cared.

He started laughing and he ran home.   And so funny enough, just as it began in the bathroom one far day, it ended in the bathroom, too.  First, he brushed his teeth, then he asked his mother to “please” wash his hair, and when he got out of the tub he put on a fresh change of clothes…including his shoes.  But best of all, promised Never Again to say Never Again!

THE END

By  Randy Veraguas

Rats, Roaches and DOLLS

“Rats, Roaches and Dolls”  Rats, Roaches and D olls   …..   Rats ……roaches…….and …DOLLS” is what my husband was mumbling late last night after a long hard day of work as he was climbing into bed.  You see after we met, we moved in together on a boat in FL.   Now FL is known for rats if you’re living on the water, even nice neighborhoods like Hendrick’s Isle where we were, right off Las Olas Blvd. (may Jimmy rest in peace,  I know it’s misspelled, but every time I hear that Isle I think of him.)  So we had a rat problem.  How they got on the boat was beyond us- they’re so smart and agile though, gotta give em some credit.  So we had out our traps and the big plastic things on the ropes and fought like hell to win.  Then we moved.  We bought a house on land.  However, this house wasn’t on just any land.  It was a row miles long of houses that sat facing the

Indian River

with backyards up against a bird sanctuary.  Well, that bird sanctuary is a just a nice way of saying non-buildable swamp land.  Full of roaches (not to mention snakes- but they stayed outside so I won’t make a bigger deal out of them, although there was one day a copper head was right there at our front door. Chris bravely chopped his head off. Is using the adverb bravely a bit redundant?!  He chopped the head off a copperhead!)  So anyway, after we unpacked and settled in, we began receiving little brown presents… left everywhere.  We called in the exterminators and fought like hell to win.  Then we moved.  And it’s been two and half years of pure rat and roach free living.  No problems.   Till recently.  Dolls.  No no, it’s not some weird termite nickname, or a virus carried in the Mistrals, it’s just Dolls.  My husband stays up later than us watching the markets opening and shutting all over the world- that job is never the same, can be up, can be down, but never the same.  At night though, usually after the Japanese market has opened, he performs his ritual. He sneaks in, turns on the bathroom light, brushes his teeth, goes to the bathroom, checks to see where Haven is in our bed, yep, a good ol’ family bed, and maybe Haven will require a push or two towards me before he can fit in the bed, and then lights out.  Voila, simple and down pat.  Till recently.  You see we have a little boy turning three on the 22^nd of this month.  He’s into role playing now and his favorite character to be is, Papa.  This would be all swell and sweet, but it also means that during our bedtime ritual, we now have to include his babies.  And they have to be placed gently on Papa’s pillow, with the covers pulled up to their chins, and I have to hold up our story books higher than usual so his babies can see as well.  How can I tell him he has to stuff his babies into a dark box for the night, or put them alone in the other room?  What would be the point of having a family bed if it didn’t apply to his children?  What kind of father would he be?  Oh I’d be riddled with guilt.  The babies had to stay.

So now, when Chris comes to bed, he has to fight with the Dolls. Are there any hidden under the sheets?  Under the pillow?  Where to put them?  Oh one is talking now and how in the world did that happen?  This one better not peee.  UGH!!!! Rats Roaches and Dolls.  But really, having your bed infested with dolls isn’t that bad.  I just found his late new night mantra to be quite comical.  Hey it could be worse- Rats Roaches and Mumma’s new boyfriend! Ha ha ha  Totally kidding!

Learning English on the Riviera

Yes, I said English and not French.  Although my French stinks- that's another subject. We live in an area full of English speaking people from the UK.  And those people have become my friends.  Don't have any American buddies in this neck of the woods.   I"ve been in Provence now for over two and half years and I would have said before I moved here that I spoke English- but really, I speak American.  Oh yeah, it's a different language.  You don't think so?  Try living here and speaking the English you know.  Apparently I wore nappys for almost two years.  Nappys.  Ever of that and I'm not talking about the good old afternoon siesta.  They say Nappy for diaper.  Santa Claus is not nor has he ever visited any of Haven's little friends.  And they're good kids.  Nope, not once.  Guess who has.  Father Christmas.  That's who.  And I like to get together with my girlfiends for a good old chinwag.  Yeah, chinwaging is something I look forward to doing now.  It means chatting.  Man am I good at chinwaging!  Ah, during a chinwag, I learned that one of my girlfriend's father's actually was a tranlsator in the war - guess what he translated?  Go ahead.  Think long and hard.  Yep, he actually took written word from the English in GB and translated it into American English.  I'm not alone here- I'm not going crazy.  When I came here I couldn't even understand them- then once I did I still couldn't understand them- the words they chose, were all so new to ignorant little me.   Now I'm reading a book, and maybe that subconsciously motivated me to write this blog, from Bill Bryson called Made In America, and really words I use are not all words they use and for quite a variety of reasons I find very fascinating.  You'll have to read the book.  Good thing though is after all this time here, I do understand my friends during our chinwags.  (you have to admit it's fun to say.  chinwag, chinwag, chinwag)

My point is that even though I struggle with French,  I consider myself bilingual.  I speak American English and English- wait a minute- I can also speak Texan- hum, I"m trilingual!  That's got a good ring to it. 

And if you still need more to believe me, or need to brush up on your English, um, whichever English that may be, you can check out this web site I just found:  http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/English-American_Dictionary

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