Countess Josephine

Parenting 101, 102, 103...

2011-04-07T20:38:00.000-04:00

Learning

Life Lessons

Over

FlatBreadPizza

Today was one of those days, when you wished Dr. Spock or some other fantastic parenting expert was living with you. I would even take one of those futuristic glasses with access to the Internet right on the lenses. That way I could look up a suitable answers to my daughter's constant quest for knowledge and permission.

Today it was permission. As we, my daughter and I, sat enjoying some Pierre Maitre "Tarte d'Alsace", (a delectable flat bread covered with ham, caramelized onions and Gruyere cheese); she threw one at me. Mom can I have the "King" to my house for a sleep over?
Well, I almost choked.
"Huh?!" I feigned hearing loss.

Some Background:

The "King" as we will call him for this story, is a six year old boy in my daughter's kindergarten class. They met during orientation night and ended up being in the same class together. Noraline announced after the first day in school that she would marry the "King". She is obsessed with him being on anything but Green in class and tells his Mother promptly if he was misbehaving in class that day or not. The "King" with his short mohawk hairstyle seems like a Rocker and Harley Davidson aficionado in the making. Oh Boy! and she thinks he is Prince Charming. That's it in a nutshell.

Meanwhile back at the dinner table:

"Noraline, please don't talk with food in your mouth", I said
and that silence lasted about 10 seconds.
"Can he come Mom, pleasssseeee?? It's just a sleepover." She had that look.
"Well", I started, "don't you think we should arrange a play date first before anything else?"
I could not come up with answers about why I wanted to yell, " no way, man".
In my head, I heard myself thinking quite loudly - "Hey! - at least you are teaching her to date first ..." knowing fully well that Dad won't allow any dating until she is Forty.

I was relieved when my 22 month old son starting rubbing his half eaten dinner across the placemat. Tending to him was a welcomed distraction and the discussion ended.

That night before bed, she did remind me to ask the "King's" Mom about getting together. "After all he is my best friend Mom." She was so matter of fact. I wonder if he even knows that the wedding china has already been picked out. To be continued...Smile!

What is Love?

2011-02-07T18:04:00.000-05:00

As we are now officially seven days away from Valentine's Day, I thought hmmmm (that's me thinking) - "What is Love" and what does it mean to me?

Love is Family.

Love is Respect.

Love is Beauty within.

Love is a kind Smile. Love is Unconditional.

Love is Caring. Love is a Merry-go-round. Love is Friendship. Love is Community.

Love is Trust. Love is Good. Love is a Natural occurrance. Love is Unexpected.

Love is just that Love.

Oh La Vache..what got into me??

2010-10-30T23:31:00.001-04:00

I really don't know what got into me today but I got up and started cooking like mad. After the regularly scheduled french toast round for breakfast...I decided to make the following for lunch, dinner and snack - maybe.

I made Vichyssoise, sweet onion and cheese tartlets along with a pot of Gumbo. I used the following recipes, with a few substitutions here and there and four hours later....hmmm hmmm good!

Here they are:

From allrecipes.com - Vichyssoise (not pictured)

Ingredients

2 leeks, chopped
1 onion, chopped
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 cup thinly sliced potatoes
2 1/3 cups chicken stock
salt to taste
ground black pepper to taste
1 1/8 cups heavy whipping cream
Directions
Gently sweat the chopped leeks and the chopped onion in butter or margarine until soft, about 8 minutes. Do NOT let them brown.
Add potatoes and stock to the saucepan. Salt and pepper to taste; do not overdo them! Bring to the boil, and simmer very gently for 30 minutes.
Puree in a blender or food processor until very smooth. Cool. Gently stir in the cream before serving.

From Sandra Lee Semi-homemade - Caramelized Onions and Goat Cheese Tarts

Ingredients

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 1/2 cups frozen chopped onions, thawed
1 tablespoon sugar
Kosher salt
4 ounces goat cheese, room temperature
1 large egg
2 tablespoons heavy cream
1 teaspoon freshly chopped thyme leaves
1 (14-ounce) box refrigerated pie crust
Special equipment: 1 (12-count) nonstick mini muffin tin

Directions

In a large heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat, add the oil and butter. When the butter is melted, add the onions, sugar, and salt, to taste. Cook until the onions begin to brown. Adjust the heat to low and cook slowly, turning often, until the onions are golden brown and caramelized, about 10 to 15 minutes. Remove the onions from the heat and set aside to cool.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

In a bowl combine the goat cheese, egg, cream, and thyme. Pour the mixture into a small resealable plastic food storage bag. Snip off a corner of the bag to use it for piping.

Lay the pie crusts out flat on a clean surface and with a 2 1/2-inch round cutter cut out 12 circles from each crust. Press them into the cups of the mini-muffin tin. Fill each cup 1/2 way with the cooled onions. Pipe the cheese mixture on top of the onions, filling the cups. Bake the tarts until the filling is set, about 15 to 20 minutes. Let the tarts cool slightly, and then remove them from the muffin tin and serve.

I ran out of goat cheese, so I used shredded mozzarella, Pillsbury's butter and honey biscuits instead of pie crusts and sweet Vivaldi onion confecture.

From Gumbo City - Chicken, Shrimp and Sausage Gumbo

Ingredients

1/3 cup + 1 Tablespoon vegetable oil
1/2 cup all purpose flour
2 celery stalks, chopped
2 garlic cloves, pressed
1 green pepper, chopped
1 medium sized onion, chopped
2 cans (14.5 oz.) chicken broth
1 can (14.5 oz) beef broth
1 lb. boneless,skinless chicken thighs
1/2 lb. chorizo sausage, cut into 1/4-inch rounds
1/2 cup loosely packed parsley leaves, chopped
1 Tablespoon minced fresh thyme
1 Tablespoon minced fresh sage leaves
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground pepper
1 lb. medium shrimp, shelled & deveined
1 cup long grain rice, cooked as directed on the package

Instructions:

In a large soup pot, heat oil over med-low heat. Gradually stir in flour, and cook, stirring, until mixture is dark brown ~ about 15 minutes.

Mix the broth in slowly and blend until smooth.

At the same time you start the roux start to cook the vegetables: In a non-stick skillet, over medium heat, add 1 tablespoon of oil and heat until hot.

Add celery, garlic, green pepper, and onion and cook until vegetables are tender, stirring occasionally.

To the roux-thickened broth add the stewed tomatoes, chicken, chorizo, herbs, salt, black pepper and the vegetables.

Add 4 cups of dark beer or water and heat to boiling. Reduce heat to low and simmer, uncovered for 40 minutes. Skim off any fat that comes to the surface.

Add the shrimp and cook, uncovered, for 5 minutes or until the shrimp turn opaque.

For additional flavor, I added pimentos peppers, okra and tomatillos to this recipe.

Kulfi means... It's Dessert Time

2010-10-30T22:42:00.000-04:00

A treat for Noraline Aubergine usually means I am in the kitchen making something that will expand my hips by just looking at it. Yes, a promise is a promise no matter how fattening - So we made homemade Kulfi.

Kulfi, an East Indian milk based dessert, is rich and creamy and unlike it's counterpart ice cream, has no air. It's what we call a whole lot of dense goodness. She was quite excited because we were watching Aartie Party the other day on tv and as the latest winner of the Next Food Network Star, Aartie made the quickest and most delicious looking Kulfi we have ever seen - literally.

As usual Noraline just had to have some... and of course, I just had to obliged. Any reason to get in the kitchen and experiment - right?! Besides the change in seasons had Noraline under the weather, so having a special dessert to look forward to was quite the reward.

It was very easy to make and funny enough we had all the ingredients at home. It tasted good, so sweetly good that we ate the first one that was frozen solid.

Even though Noraline was not feeling well, after having some Kulfi she had a marvelous and quick recovery.

Delish!!

Before the Food Network win and after... click here for the recipe.

French Macaron 101- Part Deux: What not to do?

2010-09-05T14:59:00.000-04:00

The French Macaron story continues. Wait, wait, what did I say - Story, no, I meant Saga.

I watched my much coveted Macarons sitting in a container on the counter. My girlfriend stops by and I asked her opinion. "They are goooood", she said with a mouthful of cookie. "I'll take some home with me." She did and the following day, posted on Facebook, that she was in church dreaming of them - well, that was trouble. I went to work the next day and everyone was looking for the dreamy macarons, the threats came one after the other and I felt it would not be safe walk home alone - smile.

Okay, okay, so I promised to make some more, after all it was an experiment in "can she do it". I tried and it resulted in what you see above. I still had no parchment paper and my spatula trick did not work this time - teflon or metal. I threw it out, all except the (made from scratch) buttercream...which came out delicious by the way. By Wednesday, too many requests came in for when the famous macarons were going to make it to my office. I sought the parchment paper and found a roll at Tarzian West. Guess what I was doing in between family obligations that night. Anyway, with all ingredients set, correct tools in hand and the oven warmed, I set out to create the perfect macarons.

My hopes were dashed, instead of beautiful coral colored cookies, I got almond thins. Everything went well, except the part where the macarons remained tall and soft on the inside. They fell flat like my esteem...argh!!! Something went wrong along the way and the only thing I can surmise is the following dos and don'ts:

Send kids and husband off to babysitter

Follow Recipe to the T

Do not use the easy version

Use all required ingredients and tools

Take your time

Have a beverage while you create

Kitchen must be cool to prevent melted whips

Have a back up plan, ie: know supplier of French Macarons to make purchase, when all doesn’t go well

Smile and...

Have family members or friends who will eat them anyway

Enjoy!

French Macarons 2.00 Euros each - Come and get 'em!!!

2010-08-15T20:55:00.000-04:00

If you ever hear anyone complaining about the price of a French Macaron, then they probably have never gone far enough to have one. In Europe, you can pay 2 euros, where as in New York, they are over 3 dollars - ah yes - for one.

I have been obsessed with French Macarons for the last month and half. I see them everywhere and crave them every time I have a cupper. Quite frankly, I believe it will be the new cup cake in that something old has been made new...modernized if you will.

Laduree and Pierre Hermes are famous for theirs and lately these sweet little treats have won over the hearts of brides again. New York City has one (cafe that is) ready to delight your palette or you can always get some at Saks Fifth Avenue. Obsession is a cruel thing and maybe I am exaggerating a bit, but, I had to make them. Of course knowing how special they were, I searched high and low for the perfect but easist recipe I could find. Eureka, when I landed on the Food Network's version of easy. I knew not to get it from Martha, because like me, she is a perfectionist and I probably would have had to be sent off to the looney bin if they didn't come out right.

Easy yes, degree of difficulty high. Hmmm....the first issue came when I read the second ingredient. Almond flour - of course it would be something not readily available in my neighborhood supermarket, but thank goodness for all the healthy co-ops and stores that did carry it, a couple of phone calls later, I was well on my way.

With apron tied and a little Charles Aznavour song in my head (Toi et Moi), I happily gathered everything together and eagerly jumped in. Sifting and sifting and sifting and sifting. Twenty minutes later, I was almost finished sifting. The confectioner's sugar and almond flour had to mix evenly or it was a done deal. Next whipping the egg white to a fluffy but stiff consistency. I think I under beat mine. The purple color I was going for was a bit off and then came the baking part.

Not having any parchment, I used my silicone baking mat. The first set came out to large and I also ruined them by not steaming then loose. Being a smarter baker than I thought, I realized that dipping the spatula in hot water allowed me to move the macarons from baking sheet to cooling rack with ease. Thank goodness. The next set came out better. I got the hang of making smaller disks and piping it so that they would cook a little higher. I didn't make my own buttercream which in hindsight I should have, because this treat is sweet on its own - very sweet. All in all, I appreciate them even more now; for the two and a half hours of work, for teaching me to always follow a recipe to the letter... and for the mini tea party I had with my daughter afterwards.

I came across a delightful blog, where the writer summed it up perfectly and posted a great recipe for it too. Here is the link to that and more:

http://designismine.blogspot.com

http://macaroncafe.com/

http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/

http://www.pixpatisserie.com

http://www.laduree.fr

http://www.pierreherme.com

A New Hobby...

2010-07-29T00:01:00.000-04:00

Inspired by all things Shabby Chic, my little darling Noraline Aubergine has been practicing her jewelry making skills. Her darling, Bear, is loving every minute of it and relishing in dress-up time.

The Vintage and ... Flower Collection

2010-06-04T22:51:00.000-04:00

Portrait of a Rose

2010-06-02T23:45:00.000-04:00

Hello, My Name Is Rose

I'm a Flower Model

Work It!!

That's it - Now gimme wilting, you're wilting...

Beautiful...more, more

Gorgeous Darlin' - Great Work

That's a wrap - People!

Muwah - Muwah

Stopping to smell the Roses

2010-05-14T18:28:00.000-04:00

by Luke Sherlock

I realize how lucky I am on days like last Sunday. Mother's Day, of course, always reminds me that I am lucky to have a mother who is still living. She turned 72 on the Friday before. I am lucky to be married to my best friend and, am lucky to have some wonderful friends who happen to be mothers.

As part of the Mother's Day weekend, as my wife calls it, we visited with family on the Island and took walks in the local parks which reminded me of how lucky I am to live in New York. The neighborhoods are decent, by normal standards but nearby there are some truly beautiful parks which upgrade the surroundings exponentially.

We took a walk in the Bayard Cutting Arboretum, an old estate given by endowment to the State many years ago. The original family was quite wealthy and had a Tudor style mansion which is now a museum. The grounds, which border the Connetquot River, have every sort of plant and tree imaginable; thanks to the hobby of the original owner. The many paths take one through forests of rhododendrons and giant oaks; and such rare beauties as redwoods and Japanese yews.

In just a 3 mile loop we saw such wildlife as a blue heron hunting by the shore, geese and their new born goslings, a mallard and her 11 ducklings, two giant white swans, an old very large sapping turtle, circling starlings plucking flies out of the air and the famous osprey searching the park for food for their young.

Across the river is the Idle Hour section of Oakdale and the home of Dowling College, another former estate. Even with the high winds, the river was calm and we could see all the boat houses across the way where the rowing crew teams stow their skiffs.

Just north of the arboretum is Connectquot State Park, a vast tract of land with similar, if more numerous, vegetation and wildlife, The river flows to the great South Bay passing Hecksher State Park, another huge space filled with all manner of beast and fowl.

Sometimes we get caught up in our every day and we forget exactly what blessings there are, practically at our fingertips. It was a great reminder.

See you at the park!
Lucky Luke (not the cowboy)

Happy Mother's Day!!!

2010-05-09T08:30:00.001-04:00

Hooray for Moms, they help us bloom...

Mother ~ Mommy ~Mum ~ Mamman ~ Mutter ~ Mama ~ Madre ~Mere ~ Maji ~Ammee ~ Mom ~ Mummy ~ Mãe ~ Mëmë ~ Nënë ~ Burim ~ Kryemurgeshë ~ inahan ~ nanay ~ Majka ~ abatyse ~ Moeder ~ Ema ~ Emo Emä ~ Kantaäiti ~ Äiti ~ Màna ~ Makuahine ~ Anya ~ Fu ~ Iloy ~ Nanay ~ Nay ~ Induk ~ Ibu ~ Biang ~ Nyokap...Thank You!!

Take it Outside

2010-05-01T13:21:00.000-04:00

This week I am inspired by Kelly Deck, the Vancouver, BC designer who is wowing America with her hit show "Take it Outside". Her simplistic approach to designing for the home owner's lifestyle, bringing beauty and comfort is sheer genius.

The episode that really called out to me was not fancy and full of furniture but, a simple space makeover for a little girl who could not play in her over exposed backyard. It was elegant yet approachable especially for that of a toddler and really confirms this star in the making. Kelly built a beautiful cedar structure that, as the episode is title was a "cozy, comfortable day room". The Magis El Baul Toy Box seen here is just one of the unique items that Kelly brings to a makeover.

Hey happy homeowners plus aesthetically pleasing decor plus easy care essentials equals effortless success. She is a winner in my book. So to all you DIY fans out there, give her show a look. She will inspire the decorator in you. (No offense Jamie Durie - still love ya!)

Here are some links, she is on today at 2:00 pm:

http://www.kellydeck.com/index.php

http://www.hgtv.com/take-it-outside/show/index.html

www.modernkid.com

http://www.babygeared.com/elbaul.html

http://www.hgtv.ca/ontv/titledetails.aspx?titleid=104529

http://www.hgtv.ca/ontv/titledetails.aspx?titleid=97047

http://www.bebeonline.com.au/shop/nursery/lighting-dcor/El-Baul-Toy-Box/

PS: For those who are interested, Divine Design's Candace Olsen, Pure Design's Samantha Pynn are two other very (very) inspiring designers hailing from Canada. More about them later.

London Calling!!

2010-04-29T14:12:00.001-04:00

Yes, London is calling and I hear the voices everywhere. But how does a Francophile living in the United States find everything she loves lately is more of a hail to Britannia than ode to our sister city in lights. This month, I found myself drawn to all things chintz.

It started last week with a trip to Target for a humidifier filter of all things. I walked, unfamiliar with this location, to pass the lingerie isle filled with everything from small flowers sporadically strewn to busy patterns in every color imaginable. Then, came the home basics department where there was a special display on Rachel Ashwell's Shabby Chic. Everything piece was delicate and soft. I thought how in the world would I keep these beautiful linens clean with an active one year old.

Then finally the shoe section, my eyes fell on some rain boots. They were navy blue with light blue whales on them. Well, one of my favorite colors next to woad (for another story) is Navy and I couldn't resist having a look see. I had just thrown our my much loved black and red Wellies and hadn't replaced them since. So the whales were enticing, but as I moved closer, I noticed another boot; girlie pink and full of flowers.

Well, what a heaven sent, I thought. I cannot leave this place with out these boots. (They are shown here in deep contrast to the dirty train floor.) "Please have my size, please have my size, if they have them in my size it was meant to be"...I was praying and looking - none in my size. I tried a pair in a half size smaller and wouldn't you know it. They run big. It was my size - "Eureka!!" Yes, I screamed in the store - out loud - throwing them in the cart, I forgot about my filter and ran to the register before anyone else could sneeze at them. I look inside to see who they were made by and who knew, it was Liberty of London. Maybe all the other flowers just brainwashed me in a slow subliminal way. Better than junk food, I suppose.

My next encounter was a movie. Mrs. Pettigrew lives for a day. A fantastic tale of life-is-too-short-to-spend-it-holding-on-to-out-dated-ideals. Our main character threw hers out the window for one day, lived a little and found her soulmate. I cried. A sweet movie indeed.

Then off I was again, this time catching up with my piles of beautifully stacked magazines. Across the pages was an offering of everything Spring. Every piece of china, curtains, pillows and wallpaper that graced those glorious pages were of a floral motif, not one modern pattern. With all the slathering of things Shabby/Country Chic I started to believe that maybe just maybe I am more of an English Tea Rose than a soothing French Lavender.

Then of course there is my love for all things Nigella - help! Well anyway I am off now to have a cupper That reminds me, I think I will have to make some scones this weekend and will let you know how that turns out if I do, especially since I am taking care of the little one, who is now rising and shining from a nappy.

At the writing of this, the television in the background was just showing a segment of Travel with Val. She gave a tour of Vanderbilt Hall of all places, very English. Links included.

Cheers Love!
CJ

PS: I had to go back for the filter and what a waste of time - they were all out - darn Murphy!

Fancy a quickie?

2010-04-28T18:33:00.000-04:00

One thing is for sure about living in NYC. There is usually a convenience store, a dollar store, a liquor store, a Chinese restaurant, a laundromat and a grocery or vegetable store in close proximity to where you live. Oh yes and a pharmacy, how could I forget that one! This is one of the shameless reasons people don't move - convenience. It does comes in handy though when you have a situation like mine.

My kids are not feeling well, so everything I needed to do in the house had to be quick. Looking through the cupboards and fridge, I realized the leftovers were not going to be enough for diner and I would have to cook again tomorrow. "Well that's never going to happen," I thought. For all those moms out there shaking their heads up and down, you know what I mean. Sick kids just want their Mommies - period -the end. They don't care about dinner, even if they felt up to eating. So, here is what I came up with.

I DVRed my weekly Nigella Express episodes - you know, because sometimes it takes three hours to watch a half hour segment. But I remembered that she had a quicker way to make lamb stew. One of my favorites, I normally make the Greek version; hers was an easy slow cook Moroccan recipe and just what the Doctor ordered. I combined all the ingredients in an oven safe pot at 300 degrees and two hours later, dinner was ready (with plenty of left overs). Nigella you rock. The rest was even easier.

Soaking string beans in olive oil and sea salt over night - created crisp beans with a burst of healthy flavor.

Next I boiled corn on the cob - they were so fresh I didn't add anything to the water.

I found small red and white potatoes packaged by color and size in the food store. When I saw them, a light bulb went off in my head. These are a little like fingerlings and the store or produce manager must have been so excited to have come up with this fun marketing idea. They were the perfect size for kids and for throwing into a stew and such. Well that's what I did, my vegetable scrubber got a work out and into a covered dish they went. Adding sea salt, black pepper, a little olive oil, a whole head of garlic (not even peeled) and viola, she sat in the oven with the stew and steamed away.

Here is the link to the Moroccan Lamb, Olive and Onion Tagine courtesy of Nigella Lawson.

B & W Butterfly Notes

2010-04-21T22:25:00.001-04:00

As a busy mom, I sometimes have to shop online or from a catalog. I know, I know - what is she thinking? Well even though, I am unable to feel the fabric or smell the perfume or test out a lipstick, I can certainly visualize the product through it's description. And some of those descriptions are better than the product. (Those marketing writers are good.) Well, I must confess, I still love the trek to the store where I peruse and peruse and peruse until I find the most perfect, i-am-not-leaving-the-store-without-this item. Then there are the i-am-in-desperate-need-for-a-gift-and-can't-get-to-the-store moment. Ha! I said it. Anyway, as an old fashioned kinda girl, I love stationery and I came across the loveliest box of such old follies.

Yes, drooling complete, I fell in love with Cambria Cove's exclusive black and white butterfly notecards. The simplicity of the black and white floral details that cover each card and then dotted with a beautiful colored butterfly just screamed buy me now. The only hard decision I find myself facing, is who shall I write my special sentiments to.

feeling nostalgic,
CJ

Here is the link

I love dinner parties

2010-04-21T22:00:00.001-04:00

I love dinner parties and when this little beauty (see below) showed up in my in box, I was ecstatic. Pottery Barn describes it as Table Topics or conversation starters. Of course I am never lost for words but I thought my guests may run out of things to talk about and well who wants uncomfortable silence. Be warned, lively debates and heated no passionate exchanges may come about from these little diddies and your guest may not want to eat, but one would have to admit, that lively interaction makes for a great party.

So in my humble opinion, this is the perfect hostess gift, simply thoughtful and unexpected. Do remember that everyone brings wine these days, we are looking for originality, n'est pas? Sure way to be invited again. WINK!

Here is the link where you can pick these up.

Superwoman no more

2010-04-17T23:45:00.001-04:00

I used to count myself a superwoman. I did everything for my family - my husband, my daughter, my in-laws who lived separately and myself of course. I also held a full time job. Incidentally, my boss once asked me "how I did it?". He mentioned that his wife ran his household and raised the kids and further that it was no easy task. I said "I just do". My daughter was still quite young, so I managed to stay on top of things for a while. Only one little one to clean up after. My day would begin early and end late.

Now I have another child and chores fall by the way side. There is not enough time in the day or night and I usually have to leave in the middle of a project to tend to one or the other. For someone who is a perfectionist, it was difficult to let things be. My memory is starting to fail now as I have one more person to remember things for. The little bit of sleep I used to live on is no longer enough. That me slowly packed her bags and flew out the window.

I woke up one day and just realized, I just cannot do it all and if something doesn't get done, like making the bed or putting away the laundry, it's okay. I am only one person and I am where I am suppose to be. My life is what it is and whether or not the silver was polished this month is irrelevant as life goes on. The globe keeps on spinning so to speak. It doesn't make me a procrastinator nor does it make me a bad person. I hope. I couldn't even convince myself. I vented to my hubby that things were just not getting done and I was up to here and there. He told me to stop worrying about nonsensical things. I got annoyed.

One day, while chatting with some co-workers, I ask then how they did it. "What work and raised a family?" they asked, "Oh not me I stayed home!" "Oh you stayed home" I repeated, "and you too?" "Yes, I couldn't work and bring up my kids" the other one agreed. In my head, I am screaming. "Then what the heck am I doing." It hit me, I get them ready at the crack of dawn to be in school all in time for me to get to work on time. Lunches are prepared, school clothes are always ready. I drag them and their gear to and fro all the while, I am always well coiffed and always on time. Hmmming I think I am doing more than I thought. So no more worrying about dishes and laundry and nails not being done; I no longer wear color on my nails as their is just not time for maintenance. With all that in mind I retain some even if it is ten minutes of time for myself. Hooray, that's when I blog.

By the way, I wish I could say it was a thankless job, just so I could have something to complain about. But my daughter and husband say thank you all the time as I am sure my son will one day; they tell me that they love me all the time too. I am truly blessed and eternally grateful.

Que sera sera,
Bisou
Josephine

petits oiseaux dans un lit

2010-03-23T21:27:00.000-04:00

Another Inspiring Obsession:

Dwell Studio Chinoiserie

oh so inspiring

2010-03-19T06:34:00.001-04:00

I had to re-post these photos from www.remodelista.com and www.countryliving.com - Going green slowly by reusing items that otherwise seemed useless after it's initial lifespan. The pendant light fixture although probably new reminded me of a vase or bottle recycled. Please peruse:

Barbara Bestor Red Barn Door

industrial chic

Feldman Architects Glass Pendant Light

The Victorians in Egypt

2010-03-18T16:38:00.002-04:00

I time travelled today.

To a place unknown to most.

To a place of long forgotten things.

Treasured only by a select few.

The love of all things old but new again.

The love of items with a heavy past,

shrouded in mystery of days gone by.

I fell into a time,

comforted by it's familiarity -

feeling the smooth edge of more.

Time traveling, the clocks surrounded me.

Everywhere, I turned - the tick and tock struck.

Heavy was the weight in gold,

my eyes gleamed with awe.

I was struck, stuck in a spot of delight.

I felt at home, warm and cozy.

Intellectually connected.

Graced

A gentleman's welcome home.

Nigella's Chocolate Pear Pudding

2010-03-16T10:17:00.002-04:00

So I fancy myself a cook. I used to watch Martha Stewart religiously, loving the clean, crisp look and elegant living. Her magazines photos were flawless and her knowledge unbeatable, quite honestly, she never printed anything unless the research was done - and what was printed was accurate. Her company encompassed perfection and the taste level was impeccable.

While I am still an avid fan of MSLO, I found Nigella Lawson’s easy style of cooking and her whimsical nature to be more generous. A breath of fresh air so to speak and more like my own personality. By the way they are both labeled as Goddesses, the first is coined 'the Domestic Goddess' and the latter wrote a book on “how to be a Domestic Goddess”.

So my daughter and I had a great evening on Sunday watching "Nigella Express" as she whipped up some fun food for last minute guests. These days, my daughter fancies herself a pastry chef. She will see something on the telly or in a magazine and (always with an excited look on her face) squeal “Mummy can we make that?”…hmmm. So of course, today we made Nigella’s Chocolate Pear Pudding, which my daughter kept calling Peach pudding.

It was deliciously rich even without the chocolate sauce. Here is the link for the recipe.

http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/nigella-express/chocolate-pear-pudding-recipe/index.html

PS: This took ten minutes to put together and thirty minutes to bake……..yum!!

http://www.nigella.com/

Spring and Sprigs - PHCB

2010-03-13T13:11:00.009-05:00

Well you are all aware of my love for the Japanese Cherry Blossom. But I also have a great love for Peonies and Hydrangea. They are flowering trees or bushes that fill the air with subtle sweet fragrances and a wide variety of color. But, I wondered what theses flowers had in common that would draw me to them all the time. Here's what I found.

Delicate but hardy, their background stories are rich and diverse. Reading about them today, I found their history and existence to be as fascinating as their multi-cultural beauty. Let me introduce, Peony, Hydrangea and Cherry Blossom.

All photos courtesy of http://www.sxc.hu/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peony

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hydrangea

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherry_blossom

http://www.gardenguides.com/97411-common-garden-flowers-china.html

French Toast - aus Deutschland kommt?

2010-03-07T16:17:00.002-05:00

I love French Toast and so does my daughter. If she is not ordering pancakes for breakfast, it is French Toast. So I of course, indulge her every whim by firing up the skillet in our kitchen known as Joe's Cafe.

Today she wanted just syrup. "WHAT?!? Pardon en moi? No Strawberries, no Bananas, no whipped cream." I quickly questioned. "Oh yes whipped cream" she replied, "but only in my hot chocolate!" Yes, there are demanding little people in my household, and yes, I smarten up and started buying the canned whipped cream instead of whipping it myself.

Anyway, I try to turn every request into an opportunity to learn. Where does French Toast come from and why? It turns out it can be traced back to the Romans and maybe even further. But what was is most interesting is that for most of the time, Americans called it German toast. It was only changed after the war when anything German was frowned upon.

After relaying so much of this interesting information to my daughter, she looked at me and said, "Mom, this tastes really good! Thanks for making it for me." Of course, all of the relevant information was quite pointless in her mind, but I certainly felt better having imparted it.

Well off I go, lots of dishes to wash since the busboy quit last week!
Cheers!!

Check out the "wiki" entry below that gives a brief history on the famous eggy toast:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_toast

Wine, Vino, Vin - Tasting 101

2010-02-21T18:39:00.000-05:00

It is widely accepted that good wine comes from all over the world now, not just Europe. But there was a time when everyone believed that if someone brought a French or Italian wine to your home, it must be good, it must be parfait and they must be the best guest ever.

I was taken back to my childhood recently, by a friend who happens to be a winemaker on the side. He lives in New York and does not have a vinyard. Surprised? You shouldn't be. For many years people all over the US and elsewhere, made their drink of choice in their back yards and or basements. As a teenager, my Uncle Bubba used to let my brother and I crush the grapes. We had these huge barrels in the basement where the whole process took place. One day my curiosity got the better of me and I opened a very large bottle sitting on the buffet. You know the one that is so heavy it sits on a swing to allow the user to pour a drink without lifting it. Little did I know there was a pressure problem. As sneaky as I thought I was, it would be a memorable day. I opened the bottle and whoosh - wine went flying everywhere. My mother, in her usual "oh well you'll learn the hard way" just simply handed me a straw and told me to clean it up. I didn't drink it off the curtains but I never tried to sneak a drink ever again.

Anyway back to 101 and wine tasting. My friend gave me a bottle of his Beaujolais. I consider it a table wine, because while living in France, there always seemed to be a bottle of it open during dinner and lunch - but not breakfast - smile. I told him it would be my pleasure to sample his vino but three weeks passed and I could not get a moment's peace to sit and swish. Then the opportunity arose. I dashed off to grab my rabbit cork screw only to remember I gave it away last year. I dug around for an opener and found a lady shaped one sitting in a draw. I screwed it in, broke the cork into pieces and screamed in my head. Don't mess it up, don't mess it up. I push the arms down which should in turn pull the cork out, but of course not, the cork screw broke into three. Urgh, I thought, I am never going to sample this wine at the rate I am going.

I found a simple one, screw in pull out. The shaft was so big that it broke the cork up even more. Oh no, my mind is saying leave it lady. But I am relentless when I want to do something, so I carried on. I pulled and twisted oh so slowly, until - easy, easy - it released - and wouldn't you know, wine went flying everywhere. Flashback, but no straws available!

Finally I poured a glass and swirled, snifted, swished and swallowed. The color was a perfect, a vampish burgundy and cloudless. Fruity and woody at the same time, I unfortunately could not detect the underlying flavor. The finish lingered for a few seconds, it was really a nice bottle of wine, full bodied as they say and delicious. I thought wow he doesn't even have a vineyard, but maybe he should retire from his day job.

Merci mon ami!

New York has several wine regions. Check out the informative and helpful links below:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beaujolais_(wine)

http://www.liwines.com/

http://www.uncorknewyork.com/Home/index.ashx

The Actress

2010-01-12T10:25:00.005-05:00

By Epiphany

I sit and wait
Where it is cold and dark
But I know my fate
Without me she feels stark

I have flowers and feathers and jewels too
and a bit of tulle which hides the view
The lid opens, she gasps and coos
I live up high a top and slightly askew

With mystery and intrigue
Carried to and fro
No one's in my league
I'm a snob, I know

It time to go out
finally on display
I want shout
Horay hooray

C’est la vie
and a great one at that
darling you'll love me
I am an evening hat

Madeleines - Ne Me Quitte Pas

2010-01-10T22:56:00.010-05:00

Oh Madeleine, why do you elude me so...Madeleines, Madeleines everywhere. I haven't made any of these delicious mini cakes in ages, cause let's just say I have been busy with the kinder if you can imagine. But I have been feeling for them, so I baked and they didn't come out. Quite honestly, I used an old tried and true recipe but no go and I am not even sure why it didn't work. Ok maybe it was the fact that I didn't have enough superfine sugar and used a substitute. Shortly before the sugar thing, I had to separate four egg whites . Number 4 was bloody and I had to throw it out and start over again, then the sugar incident. I carried on but to add insult to injury, they came out too sweet, too dense and almost burnt.

I thought to myself I will try again tomorrow. I started over and got interrupted as usual by the kids/life and pushed it aside.

Later, I started again with another Madeleine recipe to experiment with ('cause one can never have to many). This time I used whole eggs and #3 was bloody. Blimey, bullocks, bloody hell was this a sign to get out the kitchen and stop fancying myself a Chef? I mean extra effort was taken to go to the store and purchase a fresh new carton of eggs and further effort to break each one separately in a bowl, before adding it to the mix. HUMPF!?

I started over again. This time late into the night while the kids slept and dreamt of Madeleines what else! It didn't take long to get into the swing. I hummed along to Simone, Breul and anyone who did a version of "ne me quitte pas"as I whipped and twirled till the batter was a perfect texture. Lovingly pouring the batter into the signature shell shape molds I started to dream of the perfect cup of coffee to go with the my petite galettes. Somewhere in the distance a record scratched bringing me back to reality. I poured too much and it was over flowing. Oh well I said to them, you will just have to be giant Madelienes.

I WAITED IMPATIENTLY...no patiently for them to come out of the oven - I kept looking at them, checking them, they kept growing; then ding - finally - finished.

Wouldn't you know it, the overflow was stuck to the pan and they wouldn't come out and when they did they no longer looked like a Madeleine. Argh!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Thoughts are Winged...
Toujours,

ps: my family still thought them to be delicious...go figure us perfectionists!

Cherry Blossom & Cotton Candy Dreaming

2010-01-03T23:16:00.005-05:00

My very own Japanese Cherry Blossom

By Epiphany

It’s January and a brand new year. I decided that this year there would be more splurging than usual. So my twin sister and I went shopping. It was bitterly cold but warm and toasty inside as we perused the racks. Somehow we keep walking around and buying nothing. So much for splurging. Well I thought, its only the third day of the new year, so I suppose there would plenty of time to spend later. We shop hopped and found our way to B&BW (I am sure you will guess the name later). I intended to buy a little something, anything - and wouldn’t you know it my eyes fell straight on the new line of lotions and shower gels. It was there for all to see. I looked around suspiciously wondering if my sister was playing a trick on me. But she was happily smelling another item behind me. I picked up the beautiful red bottle; it described the scent as mysterious and seductive. I was hooked again. I pushed back the cover and inhaled heaven, closing my eyes, I closed the cover and hugged only coolness. I dreamt of a time and place in which I have never been. It was easy to fill up my shopping bag with all the related products and sail up to the register. Just charge it, please!

I bought the Japanese Cherry Blossom shower gel and mousse, the body lotion and hand cream. It was simply divine. I couldn’t wait to go home and take a bath. I live in New York, so let’s say that it took a little longer to get home due to unforeseen distractions like dinner and all that.

Am I out of control? Every May when the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens has the Cherry Blossom Festival, I am first in line. Ready to squeal with delight as the petals fall one by one like snow flakes; seemingly one of a kind yet all looking alike. I am hooked on Cherry Blossoms and the love they evoke. Here is an excerpt from my story “Kaleidoscope: Adventures with OMNI’S Twins”. The scene is picturesque as only a blanket of blossoms can be:

“Much later ...

The cherry blossoms were everywhere, the color of cotton candy mixed with happiness, an incredible aroma that made everyone smile. This creation was made on the planet Earth in the country of Japan and brought back as a gift from the Emperor as thanks for the wisdom imparted to him by Eleven’s Kingdom Leader Sook. The orchard was unmistakably one of the most beautiful sights from earth’s nature; of course they are gifts from the Creator after all. With a light breeze in the air, the small delicate petals lovingly floated around Eilidh as she waited for her friend Doll to appear. Today they would discuss traveling throughout the Fourth Dimension.

“Here she comes”, Bambeen said in not so many words and there she was. He always announced anyone’s arrival before they actually appeared, the statuesque warrior approached and just as she greeted Eilidh, something glinted behind her. “

ps: I must have showered for hours.....ahhhhhhh!

Coney Island - 1890

2009-08-16T21:36:00.018-04:00

June 9, 1890

Brooklyn, NY

Dearest Diary,

I know I haven’t written in a couple of days but, I had the most exciting day of my 19 years. Today was the most pleasurable, most enjoyable and best of all - the most forbidden. Father was very agitated, no angry with me when I returned home, but I didn't care. Nothing could remove me from this state of nirvana and well, it was certainly worthy of the punishment he has prepared. After all who needs new dresses from Madame Buzenet of Paris anyway. Except maybe my younger twin sisters Theodora and Octavia. When we lived in London, they would never tire of the most mundane trips to Paris for latest in silk evening toilettes. I suppose it is only natural for them since the ball invitations have started arriving and New York City has so many possibilities for shopping. I absolutely have no mind for it right now.

So as I recall, a couple of days ago, I mentioned to Father of the CI&B's (Coney Island & Brooklyn Railroad) plans to electrified the horsecar using trolley wire sometime this week. It sounded most exciting and adventurous. Announced in all the newspapers, the Brooklyn Eagle, the New York Evening Post and the Times, I merely suggested that we aught to witness this semi-inaugural event. But Father just peered up and over his tortoise rim glasses and from his dutiful labor at of the household accounting and made it quite clear that this mishmash was absolutely no concern of mine. It was unheard of and his face told me he was thinking that coming to America caused his children to go mad.

Being a young lady and all, I should be concentrating on my lessons, especially since it was costing him a fortune. How else will you retain the eye of your bethrode, he pointed out. He is of a prominent French family living in your beloved London and a proper gentleman, he went on, and I know he would not stand for all this nonsense of you reading newspapers and the like as well as traipsing around town alone. He then sent me off to practice my flower arranging. Really despicable, in my head I was screaming "I’m not just a girl, I have a brain too!" He continued to mumble under his breath something about being able to converse in a manner of utmost appropriateness.

As I left the room, I could hear him saying to Mother that I will embarrass him in front of the LeCaer family and Claude will mostly likely cancel the wedding. Mother must convince me to behave. He really does believe that I want to marry that awfully pompous cad. I mean honestly he and Mother selected this so called gentleman, whom by the way is always more interested in speaking with my sister Octavia. I am so uninterested and I hate being the oldest and having to set an example.

It is interesting though that Father had so much to say today, since he seldom does. Well today, I took the trolley from Prospect Park to Coney Island. Ohhh, what fun it was to feel liberated on the fast trolley car. Everyone stared at me with that "how indecent" look, but I didn't care. I felt, if I was old enough to marry I must be old enough to go out sans chaperon. I wore my favorite day dress; you know the one with the emerald silk ribbon laces, so avant-garde. Well, I went straight out to the carousel to have a ride, but had no money to purchase a ticket. Disappointed, I thought why waste a good day and headed towards the beach.

As I passed the carousel, the attendant showed me a small sign posted next to the ticket booth. It said, “catch the brass ring, win a free ride”. I missed. Disappointment again. The attendant shrugged his shoulders. A young man strode up next to me, tipped his hat and bought one ticket. With a sparkle in his hazel eyes, he handed it to me and walked away. Before I could respond to this kindness, the carousel operator motioned me to hurry for the next ride. I happily handed him my ticket and sat on the bench looking around. I really wanted to ride on one of the horses side saddle, but honestly I knew my bustle would get in the way. Always a lady. The ride came to a dizzying end and I looked around for my benefactor. He was no where to be found. I asked the booth attendant if he knew who this gentleman was, but he just fained amnesia.

I took the trolley car back to Prospect Park never to say thank you for such an unselfish act. Upon returning home, as I mentioned, I listened to my Father and then my Mother chastise me sternly. They reminded me of my priorities and manners. But to tell the truth, I cannot remember anything but the guilty pleasures of today, my good fortune and those bright dancing eyes.

Lovingly yours and missing London,

Josephine Walpole Snow

The Exotic Pair: Rose Petal & Lotus Blossom

2009-08-06T15:30:00.027-04:00

By Epiphany

Well as you all know I am fascinated by anything French, a serious Francophile, but this week I was taken back to my Asian roots.

The last few days were spent in New York's Chinatown, bakery hopping with my cousin who was visiting from the Midwest. Amongst the throngs of shoppers, my cousin - let's call her Crystelle - and I savored pastries, cakes and teas as if all the shops had closed down and only bakeries existed.

Crystelle was in town and as we usually do when we get together, we chose a cuisine to taste test and a few recipes to experiment with. Unfortunately on this trip we never got to the cooking part. Smile!

However, we did get to taste test a number of incredibly rich fares (lets say I may have gain a couple of pounds) and sample teas and smoothies all "Chinese" style. One of the interesting items that we came upon was the "lotus seed cake". It was not so sweet and I suppose didn't taste at all different from anything we have had in a while; a flaky crust covered a brownish yellow paste that went well with the oolong, yet we could not identify what it reminded us of. This in turn brought up another discussion of exotic foods in which one can easily identify with but don't usually venture into having.

Crystelle knew exactly what I was speaking about; she remembered that during the pregnancy of my first child, I craved anything with rose petals in it. I was actually obsessed, and now my daughter, if I don't say so myself, is a beautiful rose.

As I was saying, it all started with my Asian roots. Commonly rose petals, rose water, rose essence and rose oils are used in many cosmetic items such as astringents, cold creams, bath products and miscellaneous items like potpourri but did you know that in Indian and Arabic cooking, rose water and powdered roses are used as a flavoring for meats, yogurts, sauces and desserts. It is delicious, believe me and you would never look at your cold cream the same again.

Anyway, here are a few links to different recipes that I have found on the internet, I hope you will try one and taste test the exotic. Please be reminded, that anything out of the ordinary can cause a reaction, dietary or otherwise, so do experiment with caution.

So from the test kitchen of Lotus Blossom and Rose Petal (wink wink), we bid you sweet smells and happy memories and next time, I will tell you all about our adventures with the beautiful Hibiscus.

à plus tard,

Josephine

Information on the Damascus Rose (lots of recipes at the end of this article)

Recipes:

Pistachio Cupcakes with Rose Petal Buttercream

Fresh Fruit in Rose Flavored Cream

Thai Rose Petal Salad

Rose Glazed Brie

Where to buy

Corn Dreaming, Corn Lover

2009-07-21T14:39:00.010-04:00

stalks, ears, silk and me

running free in the life fields

a maize harvest

CORN the most Versatile Vegetable:

corn on the cob, corn salsa, roasted corn, baby corn, corn muffins, corn bread, popped corn, corn meal, corn flakes, corn fritters, tamales, corn flour, corn syrup, corn starch, tacos, corn chips, dough balls fish bait, corn liquor, plastics, adhesives, fabrics, corn stoves, ethanol, smoking pipes, maize maze, fodder, corn futures, crop circles, corn palace, aspirin, antibiotics and so on.

The Day I Ran Away

2009-07-16T13:59:00.004-04:00

by Epiphany

When I was eight years old, I ran away from home. My brother and I lived with my grand parents and uncle at the time. We could not understand why we could not live with our parents. I wanted to take my little brother with me but after my uncle came in and caught us packing, my brother backed out of the plan. My uncle vowed to tell on us and that we would be in serious trouble when grandma came home. Big trouble.

So instead, I packed a small bag, gathered my favorite doll and snuck all the money from my grandmother’s secret hiding place, got dressed up as if I was going to church and off I went down the street to find a taxi. I knew how to catch a cab because I did it on a regular basis to go to school.

I hailed a cab and told the driver I wanted to go to the Hilton Hotel. Unconcerned, he dropped me off and I paid the fare. I entered the hotel and went up to the desk and asked for a room. The lady behind the counter leaned over, looked at me and told me that I couldn’t possibly afford a room and I had to wait for my parents. I told her my Dad worked for the Hilton Hotel and it would be okay to give me a room that I could most certainly pay for a room and showed her my envelope of cash.

She smiled at me and said that I was their special guest would not need any money. I was a V.I.P. (a very important person) and they would take care of me in the back. The nice lady with the pretty smile led me into the big office behind the counter and told me to wait. I could hear her behind the door explaining the situation to her boss and I decided in my mind that they were not going to be helpful. When the new lady came into the room and asked me my name, I clammed up. They kept trying to find out where I was from and my name, but I would not talk.

An hour later, I asked if I could see my dad and they asked what his name was. I told them. They couldn’t figure out which department he worked in, I did not know either. Maybe someone at home could tell us which department he works in the boss suggested easily. I said maybe and they asked me for the number. I told them. I realized in the limo ride home, I had been duped but, I was tired anyway.

When we arrived, everyone who lived on our block was at my house. I was very scared. They were all so worried about me that my little adventure was quickly forgiven. My grandma kindly explained that my dad worked at the Hilton in another country and that is why I wouldn’t find him here. That same year, my brother and I were reunited with our parents and all was well again.

The Garden Lunch

2009-07-08T17:18:00.005-04:00

By Epiphany

I am obsessed with French/Italian outdoor eating, not Cafe style but at "Home" style. I know that sitting around an old and incredibly distressed farm table, on hard wrought iron chairs, under a tree of falling leaves may not be your idea of elegance, but I find it so relaxing, so comforting and oh so chic. The epitome of country eccentric.

Just think - what was considered a normal everyday occurrence like eating lunch al fresco, has become a sought after shabby chic lifestyle. We usually see these scenes in French and Italian movies and of course by visiting places like Tuscany and Provence. People have spent their vacations relaxing like this and return home hoping to recreate the beauty and peaceful joys of a two hour lunch among nature. Unfortunately it doesn't always happen. Don't get me wrong, you can do it. But the hunt for eclectic and vintage pieces is somewhat of a daunting and expensive task and not everyone is up to the challenge, nor do they have the time. Besides, that's why we take vacations, I suppose - to experience and renew. But every once in a while you see them popping up across the country and you know right away that some folks got it. They have realized the essential beauty of this age old and largely commonplace event. Why not have vacation everyday at home.

It is not necessarily the serenity that makes it so appealing but the miscellaneous things that you gained without knowingly trying very hard. For one, you actually recycle, a few things like - the table - probably in the family for years - the water bottle - using glass bottles to keep the flat water cool on table and table linens - instead of creating more trash with paper napkins. Likewise, you just end up spending quality time, breaking baguette (smile) with the family all while soaking up some much needed vitamin D and clean air.

Well call is bourgeois if you want, but to me it comfortable living, where my high blood pressure pills are never needed and my skin glows and dries in the breeze.

LoveJoy

2009-07-04T19:10:00.010-04:00

By Epiphany

I know the first thing that probably pops into your mind from reading this new title, Lovejoy, is of a charming antiques dealer, who goes about the English country side and who had a interestingly astute way of distinguishing fakes and forgies from the real thing; but no, this is all about the relationship or adventures of Nick and Norah not (Charles)...not the New York couple of the forties who went about solving crimes, but my beautiful children. I shall call them the new adventures even though there is a modern day Nick and Norah...and ahhh digressing.

Anyway, I have to say that life seems pretty complete now that I have two children. One boy and one girl. It is not the easiest task I might add to have a pair one after the other but, we did it and life is so different. There really is not enough hours in the day to run with them, to read to them, to cuddle with them.

There are more worries that ever, will they go to good schools, will we be good parents and will the good creator bless us with long life to see our grandchildren from this pair. Will everyone be healthy always starts from will they eat right when you are not around, will they become best friends and watch out for each other....more questions just come.

Why do most people make parenting look so easy, when it is the most difficult job of them all and it is 24/7 - 365 some years 366. There is no real manual and the advice you get works sometimes. Trial and error is probably the only sure bet along with heartaches.

I do remind myself that when all is said and done, the best part of being a parent is the love and joy you get when you look at their smiling faces or their peaceful slumber. When you hug them and they tell you that they love you and you know it is unconditional. I am sometimes overwhelmed by this great task of being their mother as I am overwhelmed with the feeling of perfection in having such an amazing blessing in two angels.

Thank you for the honor.

The Empty Mannequin

2009-06-30T09:38:00.011-04:00

by Epiphany

The Muse rambled on “I love fashion, I love inner beauty - two very different issues - melted together. Such a superficial business, not for the faint of heart - based on an illusion - most of the time - who can say what is real or who is true. Don’t get caught up - stay focused - be honest with yourself and enjoy the fantasy - call it balance of, image vs. reality - hmmm! Who am I again?”

I wrote these random thoughts some years ago (a very very long time ago, when I was younger) about my then feelings of the Fashion world. Having modeled for a while and worked (actually slaved) in every other position, I realized the shiny diamond was actually a cubic zirconia. Okay, I was a little bit more than annoyed. Eventually I let it go, (you know that old adage, set something free ...), but lately as I thumb through the countless number of magazines available I wonder if the business has evolved or just become more commercialized. It probably started with licensing; everyone has a line whether they have talent or not, if they have the backing, they find a following.

Fashion in it’s earliest form was about Art; clothing was about necessity. Over the years, some designers had done really well in melding the two together but today it seems that everything and anything goes. At one time you would see eccentric looking people walking down the street. He/she was uniquely dressed in things that didn’t quite go - but looked effortlessly chic. They were provided by exclusive designers for amounts no one discussed. Nowadays, it seems that everybody wants to look unique and designers wanting to capture the global markets are willing to forego the small clientele to rake in the numbers. The trends are no longer easy to define per season and now ‘different’ looks the same.

I wonder what will become of the business and that is the key word - business. The industry has become so saturated that designers with real talents are strewn into the mix of celebrity branding. Even discounts retailers have exclusive goods for the regular folk. Thanks but no thanks, and yes even in a recession.

Yes, these days everyone dresses however they feel to show their individuality. Meaning that appropriateness has gone out the window; It is sad really, that no one knows anymore how to dress for certain occasions. Society’s lack of respect is rearing it’s ugly head again, but that another blog entry.

Have designers become so desperate for money that they are willing to push aside their art to have high sales? Has the glamourous existence that can follow a success story clouded their judgement? I do know there are a few brands out there that are bringing back the old way of fashion - couture and exclusivity. But will it be enough to push out the riff-raff and bring back the art of it. I hope so.

Well I have expressed my annoyance enough, so do look around the next time you purchase something to wear and think to yourself - am I really that different after all?

auf wiedersehen,

Victoria Victoria, Welcome Back!!

2009-06-15T10:09:00.006-04:00

One of my favorite things in the world is to peruse a bookstore. I had been under the weather lately and unable to go out, but manage a trip to the local mall yesterday and Tah Dah went into the bookstore. I said to myself I will just have a look at the magazine shelf and then get back home.

Looking looking looking...what to read? My eye falls on a magazine that I don’t believe is there. It must be a mistake. I pull it out and to my delight it is. Victoria magazine, the a longtime cancelled publication - was back. I felt my life was back in full force. Can anyone love a magazine that much - I mean to their core. As silly as that seems, I cannot really explain it. Just as I picked up the thin lady like publication with it’s blue and white cover beckoning me to read further, my daughter ran up. She declared that she had found a book and it was a must have, with that demanding four year old stance. Who would believe it, it was the story of a dollhouse wedding in Victorian times...hmmmm. I relented and she got her way. Of course what mother in their right mind would denied their child a book.

Anyway, somehow I felt very victorious all of a sudden. I somehow put the magazine’s re-emergence and my recent birthday and major milestone into a bowl, mixed it thoroughly and came up with “this is my year”. I guess the Phoenix always rises again.

Musing from Chez Josephine,

Ciao

Links:

http://www.victoriamag.com/

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Enchanted-Dolls-House-Wedding-Flaps/dp/174178090X

Camping - Breton Style

2009-04-04T09:06:00.015-04:00

Many times over the years I have lived all over the world for one reason or another. Most of the times it was not for long, because like most social butterflies, I was bored quite easily.

This story stems from a decision made by Jean-Pierre, mon ex-mari while we were living in Perros-Guirec, Brittany. We had purchased a car and J-P worked a night gig, (he always had to show off his skills in the night club business), but needless to say we were having fun and J-P thought it would be fun and exciting to experience all things - adventurous. In his heart and mind he was at peace with the child within. Me on the other hand, did not like these childish whims.

I was use to the jet-set life and was quite put out by the entire experience. When faced with an issue, J-P decided, he would rather live in a tent than live with the annoying, opinionated landlord. It was a fast solution for us since searching for another apartment would take as long as we had plan to stay on in Brittany and it was not as expensive as staying in a hotel during peak season. So that was that. We went out, bought camping gear, sleeping bags, etc and off we went to enjoy one of France summer pastimes.

It was loads of fun at first, eating under the stars, picnic style, but the annoyances came and the fun diminished. Once I tried to wash my hair for the first time. Well, you put coins in to get water, but it's on a timer and you have to finish washing before the water runs out. The first time I didn't finish and with a line waiting, I had to be contented with the shampoo-filled look. At night I became unable to sleep, because of all the weird noises, especially knowing that I didn't speak French very well and if anyone realized that I was alone at night in this lonely area of the camp ground...well lets just say bad things came to mind. J-P told me I shouldn't worry and he came and went like life was good, but then, that was his nature. He could live in a tent with nothing or in the lap of luxury.

As I look back now, it was fun, adventurous and a humbling experience, even though I wouldn't do it again any time soon. I must say that camping under the stars was romantic, with no tv or radio we actually talked and learned to live life simply. Moreover, it was a great reminder of how to appreciate the little things in life, like toilet paper, a soft bed and the power of love and friendship.

I will not mention the name of the actual camp ground, but there is a link to the area facilities below.

Bisou,

Josephine

Links to Camping in Brittany:

http://www.eurocampings.co.uk/en/europe/france/brittany/cotes-d%27armor/

20 questions with Lovelace

2009-03-17T21:06:00.004-04:00

Ada?

Yes!?

Where have you been, Dear?

Oh just here and there?

Are you well?

Oh in splendid health, why?

I wondered where you had run off too. Well?

Well what?

Where did you go?

Why?

You seem to have so many secrets!?

Do I?

What ever gives you that impression?

You know

I assure you I don't?

Are you going to tell me what you found out?

Who says I found anything?

I know you have!

Well I have not an inkling to which you speak.

Please stop beating around the bush and tell me what he said?

Not much, what interest is it of yours?

I need to know!

You are quite the hound today, aren't you Dear?

I need to know, don't you think I should know?

I'm so sorry, your time is up!

Wake up....Wake Up!

Another Cafe Story...

2008-12-30T12:16:00.008-05:00

The Sidewalk Cafe
by Epiphany

I like to people watch, which I am sure you have gathered from my last post. I guess that makes me a voyeur - but in a nice way. Smile - no windows please!!

Sitting in a Cafe enjoying a cup of coffee, a salad or even some vino is really the best way to see people. The artists/actors on parade if you will, are on display but unaware. Okay maybe some are quite aware. Smile again...you know who you are. But no matter what I find it very entertaining. It doesn't matter where the sidewalk cafe is, it is always the same and I have lived in a few places with great sidewalk art like South Beach, Paris, New York, Long Beach to name drop just a few. Smile #3.

Anyway, I sometimes wonder if people realize how much their outer appearance says about them or even the looks on their faces. Some are beautiful, well coiffed and ever fashionable, some are bohemians without a care besides saving the Mother Earth, some drive fancy chick mobiles and more are just wannabees desparate for acceptance anywhere.

I love the little dogs with fancy outfits, the buff sun worshippers and the con artist lying in wait. You can almost breath in the richness of some and the "I hope I can pay my rent this week" of others and then, there are the others. The voyuers who also sit waiting to be watched, hiding behind their large sunglasses whether the sun is out or not hoping to catch a glimpse of their audience, enjoying the view reflected. While many are really there to enjoy their food or company, I find it fasinating, relaxing and full of talking points.

So next time you sit in a cafe, coffee shop, or sidewalk restaurant, look around, it is better than reality television.

Cheers,

The Bookstore's Cafe

2008-12-01T22:06:00.003-05:00

Ciao Parigi...

I sit looking

people watching

staring...but not seeing

lives exposed by signs

on the table

strangers pass by

they linger, they sit

passing the time

reading, talking, smiling

lives filled with important

things, non-sensical

things, hidden desires

and dreams

laptop screens burn bright

thoughts, emotions and ideas

recorded

shuffling by

politeness out the window

no chairs available

Books piled high

Lovers argue with their eyes

pleading for relief

I sit, see, read, but nothing

comes to me but

empty lives

begging to be filled

our people watcher

doomed by their sorrow

Mon Dieu, resisting the resistance?

2008-11-05T20:29:00.004-05:00

I am the leader of the resistance movement and I am unable to resist this man who may be a spy or even worse, an assassin. But he was so handsome and his face seemed so kind that I could not help but sigh at the mere and fleeting thought of love.

As the men brought the lanky lifeless body back to camp on a make shift stretcher, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing there lying among the poppies. But I would know soon enough. After what seemed like an endless patch job to clean any wounds and kill all infections, I fell asleep next to our mystery man. After a night of uninterrupted sleep, I awoke to find him staring at me.

"Are you the angel that carried me to heaven?" he whispered.
"No" I replied, "heaven has nicer accommodations".
He smiled and winced at the same time.
"You should try not to move, you were wounded pretty bad. By the way, what's your name and what were you doing our there in the middle of the poppy fields?" I was more curious than suspicious.
"My name is Edward and I was trying to desert my company; I just couldn't take the killing of all these innocent people." He winced again. "Noble" I thought.
"Then, I got caught in some overhead fire and well I just kept running", he continued in dry raspy tones. "I don't remember much after that."
"Well get your rest. You have much healing to do!" I said with much more authority than necessary.
As Edward closed his eyes I stood to leave. He grabbed my hand, "what is your name or should I just call you Angel?"
"My name is Sophie Laurent."
His grip lessened and he fell asleep again. I left the make shift room and summoned one of the best men in the camp to gather some intelligence on our visitor. By tonight the mystery would be solved.

(Photo from the RAF Regiment Museum)

An Ode to Frau Dora Hofer

2008-10-25T22:25:00.010-04:00

On my first trip to Wattens, a little town in the district of Innsbruck, in the state of Tyrol, in the country of Austria, I found a world I had never experienced. Wattens may not sound very familiar to you, but it is the home of Swarovski Kristallwelten. Swarovski, like Disney, employs many of the locals and subsidizes their expenses. Why they have even gone so far as to let retirees keep their subsidized apartments until they pass onto greener pastures. But my story is not about the world of crystal but the woman who introduced me to the most peaceful life a person could have.

Frau Hofer, was a little lady with short blond gray hair and piercing blue eyes. When she smiled her crows feet tickled the corners of her eyes. And they danced happily - always. When she spoke everyone listened attentively. She adopted me as a Tochter, even though I wreaked of “eau de foreigner” and I treated her as meine Mutter. An early riser, breakfast was always fresh from the Bäckerei. We ate and chatted. Meine Mutter, spoke slowly so that I could understand and learn. She used a lot of sign language and pointed to items, teaching me the German word for each, and I, in return taught her the English equivalent. We were such a great team.

Everyday, we explored a different town surrounding Innsbruck. But my favorite thing to do after lunch and maybe an afternoon nap, was to walk in the mountains. Our walks were long and I had many nosebleeds to go with the altitude changes. We picked wild strawberries and blueberries along the way, very delicious and always seemed to end our walk at a cafe that seemed to appear out of nowhere on the mountainside. We’d have a coffee and dessert or ice cream, which is very refreshing believe it or not after walking on a very cold day.

It was on one of our many walks that Frau Dora told me about her failed relationship with her son's father. He was an SS officer during the War and she fell in love immediately. As the story unfolded, through my translator, I could see the sadness in her eyes. Time had long passed and she had healed some of the wounds but not all. She was sad that her son did not have a great relationship with his father which made him a cynical loner. She was happy now though. Her companion of too many years to count was Hans. He adored her and was her second chance at love. During her late sixties, she had a stroke and had to learn to write all over again. Although it was quite frustrating, she had Hans to assist her and he was as patient as she was when teaching me.

At night, Frau Dora would tuck me in under many layers of down comforters as I was not used to cold weather and then she'd open the windows sligthly so that the heaters would not become overbearing. The large dark curtains were drawn to kill the bright light in the 10:00 pm sky. I was cozy, got eine große kuss and was off to dreamland.

My trips were a month long every time, five years in a row, and it was so easy to get lost in the easiness of Wattens, especially with such a gracious hostess. I will miss her very much and hope that she is happy in heaven sprinkling angel dust on the most deserving of human beings.

Vielen Dank für die Erinnerung!

The Joy of Madeleines

2008-10-17T06:15:00.009-04:00

One of my favorite things to do is eat. Not just eating non-stop to live but to savor life. I learned about eating from my former husband. He came from a family of French chefs and restauranteurs and had the unique ability to make any meal into a memorable experience. As a baker myself, I had some favorites. I enjoyed making brioche and madeleines among a few and relished in the fact that my ex, let’s call him Jean Pierre or JP, at the time enjoyed these fresh little treats too. He was a good judge when it came to cooking but the real test came when my belle-mère et beau-père came to visit our home for the very first time.

I was a nervous wreak because my mother in law was very hard to please. We had just returned from France to America and decided to spend a couple of months at our condo in the Bahamas. Of course I ran around like a crazy chicken without a head to ensure every detail was in place for their visit. My in laws were world travelers and believed in having their comfy French existence when and where ever they wanted and they spared no expense to have it. Needless to say I baked a lot and JP shopped a lot preparing for their arrival.

We were as ready as can be. All necessary ingredients were available and I baked bread like it was going out of style. They arrived late in the evening and after supper, we all crashed into bed. I had gotten up extra early to make the madeleines. I wanted them to be “parfait”.

As JP and I sat looking out at the water, watching the sun rise, my belle-mère came out onto the veranda with a cup of coffee in one hand and a half eaten madeleine in the other. She was speaking quickly and scowling. I sat there frozen, unsure that I understood her correctly. My French was okay but I still needed help with translations and she was making funny faces as she spoke. JP smiled and said reassuringly that she loved them. But how did he make them so much like his grandmother’s. JP explained that the madeleines were my specialty and he could take no credit whatsoever. She hugged me long, with only compliments of feeling so much at home and having such delicious treats that take her back to her maman’s kitchen. It was her favorite. Needless to say everything was smooth sailing after that; their first morning with us was perfect and if there were any doubts about my fitting into the family, they all went off into the sunshine.

Bon Apetit,
Josephine

Please see the link below for a great tried and true recipe for madeleines. The cook has an enduring story behind her love of this marvelous scalloped cookie.

http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/madeleines-recipe.html

Memories of Brittany

2008-09-24T02:43:00.017-04:00

Children’s sing:

“J’aime la galette, savez-vous comment ? Quand elle est bien faite, avec du beurre dedans.” (“I like galette, do you know how? When it is made well, with butter inside.”)

Bretagne and life as a Breton could only be described one way... peaceful. In my opinion, Brittany is one of the most picturesque places in France next to Provence. The fusion of Celtic and Cornish influences lends to it's charm and warmth. Most of the country is surrounded by water, so spending time by the seashore, sipping cider or munching on a freshly made galette is only natural.

I remember walking from our stone cottage with it's typical French blue shutters and hedges of hydrandrea to the Boulangerie every morning for fresh bread. It was my pleasure. Coffee, fresh pain du chocolat and the crisp morning air was all one needed to welcome the day. Sitting out in the shady orchard, I felt a deep quietness in my soul, one with nature, a belonging, a connection.

Aujourd'hui and in my mind, I will have lunch at a little cafe on the plage de Trestel, hopefully find some shells to add to my collection and then head to Quimper. I must find the perfect cafe au lait bowls. Then it will be back to Perros Guirec for dinner. Ah, the Côte de Granit Rose how I love it so.

Well now I am awake and back in New York City, where I am off to march with the masses, cram myself among the other sardines and enjoy the rat race.

Ciao for now,

The Legacy - Part 1

2008-09-15T19:57:00.013-04:00

by Epiphany

Count Basile De Le Caer stood tall on his stallion as he gazed across the vast land before him. Acquired generations ago by his great grand father, it was up to him to pass on this legacy to his children.

The lavender stalks stood tall and bright as the sun shone down on them. In the distance, he spotted someone walking near the lake. Digging his heels into the hind quarters of Belle started her into a gallop. Belle was the fastest horse in the region, challenged many times over, but unrelenting in her pace once in full swing. She liked nothing better than being out and about in the fresh air.

"Thanks girl", Basile whispered in her ear. Belle was a sweet horse, loyal, strong and true to her fiery color which became iridescent in the sunlight; She was his favorite.

As the Count drew closer, the gentleman turned around. It was then he noticed that the "he" was in fact a "she"; dressed like a man! He almost shouted it in his brain. But there she stood before him, a beauty beyond anything he had ever seen. And he had been around the world to see many faces.

Radiant, long flowing dark hair, bronze skin and shockingly beautiful eyes, this woman was as exotic and beautiful as the peacocks that grazed his land. She was a stranger to the Count, so he dismounted Belle and walked over to her.
"Are you lost?" he said.
"No" she replied in a strange French dialect and started away.

"Do you always dress like a man when you go for a walk" he replied.
The sun was high in the sky and glistening off of the still lake. She continued her stride towards the waters edge. He could not see her slender body through the layers of clothes she was wearing, but his imagination went wild filling his head with thoughts of a firm soft skin perfumed with peonies. His lustful thoughts blinded him and his attempt to follow her resulted in him tripping on Belle’s reins that had fallen to the side. She laughed and it was music to his ears. He smiled back and then starting laughing too, rolling onto his side he decided right then and there he had to make her his wife.

Her name was Constandena, she was a Greek. Her eyes the color of violet complimenting the Hydraendra she was admiring. Dena was speaking, but he could not hear.
" Are you okay?" she was saying. He suddenly jumped up ashamed that he was not presenting himself in a good light.
"Fine, fine" he said quickly dusting himself off and mounting Belle. Catching himself he says,
"You know you're trespassing on private property, but I will make an exception today and rode away".
He was certainly of odd character, riding around on his big horse, Dena thought and went about her musing among the flowers.
Basile rode Belle as fast as she would go, wanting to turn around and go back to the beauty that was just before him. Faster faster he said under his breath to Belle. She whinnied and gave him her best.

During tea that afternoon, discussions of the Manouche filled the air. The Manouche were a band of gypsies who pass through the countryside every year. Their caravans always look like little ants in the distance trailing one behind the other like soldiers walking to an unseen drum. One after the other they moved quietly towards the next town. Most people believed they were up to no good and were deathly afraid of them.

"Why do so many things go missing when they are in town," Madame Cuillery was saying to Madame De Le Caer.

"Am I late for tea, Maman?" Basile entered the parlour and kissed his mother gently on both cheeks. He was still getting used to the English custom of afternoon tea. A new routine his mother instituted after returning from England a few years ago.

plus à venir...

It's all in my head...Epiphany's thoughts

2008-09-09T21:20:00.010-04:00

Girl in an Interior, circa 1910

by Eduoard Vuillard

"Oh, I do hope Randall will like me."

"I am wearing my fanciest dress and my warmest smile."

"If I don't get married by my next birthday, I will be a nineteen year old spinster."

"Hopefully, he won't take notice of these worn chairs and the dreadful wall coverings." "Ohhh...we used to be so wealthy." - "Focus, focus...",

"Right I think I am ready, I collected the best tea cups, absolutely no cracks or chips and well the silver looks somewhat clean. Good, good!" "This is good."

"Even so, if I usher him straight into the parlour will he think me desperate?" "Well, that maybe better than letting him see the bare bones that was once this house. I am most certain that he wants to marry me regardless of my circumstances, but...ohhhh." Why am I so nervous?"

"This self inflicted torture is ridiculous, but I cannot stop myself. I need to constantly analyze and analyze."

"I must be nervous...yeah that’s it, it’s just nerves...argh!"

"The wait is killing me and I think I have already wrung the life out of this old handkerchief in my lap," "I think I will cancel our appointment and send him away."

"Oh dear, someone’s at the door, it must be him!" " I will have to go through with it now, blimey!"

"Better put on my best face and thank goodness that the lace on this old funeral dress is still in tact."

"Here we go...breathe, breathe..."

My Therapist was a Burmese Cat

2008-09-07T19:11:00.005-04:00

Coco was a sable Burmese cat suffering from old age and two very large and energetic dogs in the house. She lived in a cozy spot above the dryer in the laundry closet and was content to hideaway there on most days. Visitors barely even noticed there was a cat in the house. We met her by contract. She came with the house my husband and I were about to rent from a friend. As explained she was very old and a move might kill her, so we had to rent the property with her in it or not at all. (I had a cat once; she ran away after six months never to be found again.) We decided to take the place.

Shortly after moving in Coco realized the dogs were gone and she had run of the place once again. She slowly began exploring the house and grounds, every day venturing further away from the closet. I took care of her as if she were my own child. She began a new life and life was good. Coco explored the back yard, chasing lizards and butterflies. She ate heartily, played with her toys and slept on the computer when I used it. If I should sleep late, she would scratch on the bedroom door and meow until I got up. She would meow and lead me to her bowl or meow to lead me to the sliding door that led to the back yard. She became very vocal, letting me know her every wants and needs. I marveled at this old cat who seemed to be renewed in mind, body and spirit. The cat that hid in the laundry closet was gone and a new young and vibrant one was in her place.

While Coco’s life began again, mine started to fall apart. My husband and I began disagreeing about everything and anything. It was a major overseas move for us and while he thought that quitting his new job was not a big deal, I disagreed. We needed every penny. Suddenly our life was in disarray, bills started to fall behind, I was stressed out and my husband, well he lived as he always had, like a jet setter. His efforts to get another job became less and less every day. My mother-in-law tired of his antics, cut him off, but for my sake bought us groceries here and there. He was not pulling his weight and it was seriously affecting our marriage. I was very depressed and very annoyed that things were not going as well as expected. Feeling extremely alone in my new marriage and strangely detached from my surroundings, I took comfort in the daily love and attention Coco handed me on a silver platter.

I made sure her needs were met before mine and she appreciated it in special her way. I think most people think cats are selfish but not this beautiful sable Burmese. She handed me free therapy every day by waking me up to go outside with her or to feed her or to scratch her neck. She made me get out of bed and get dressed, she kept me busy so that I wouldn’t wallow in self pity and she loved me unconditionally.

April 1 was a beautiful day that year. I remember thinking this must be an April fool’s joke because my husband and I spent the day intensely arguing and slamming doors. He left to cool off and I retreated to the bedroom to drown myself in a box of tissue. One for getting married and two for losing control. I felt very stupid and used. Coco came into the room with that quiet smooth gait that cats are famous for and jumped up on the bed. She walked straight up to my chest, positioned herself with one paw on either side of my neck and snuggled. I hugged her back and cried and cried and poured all my sorrows out to her. When I finally let go, I thought she would run for dear life, but she didn’t. She sat next to me on the bed beckoning me to continue. Somehow, Coco sensed that I needed her and I needed to vent. She was willing to listen. Her eyes were like glass staring at me and I felt she could see into my soul. I was hypnotized by her. I just sat there talking and talking and talking.

I spoke about things that I had long held inside and she meowed in a melody I can only describe as comforting. She would pause as to let me absorb her guidance and then start meowing again. Careful not to interrupt me, she spoke only when I stopped speaking, each time touching my arm gently with her paw. I told her about the worries I had, the pain that I was suffering from and all the things that I was missing in life. I felt trapped in a bad dream with no way of escaping. I was a scared stranger in a foreign country and my life line with whom I pledged to honor and obey was not playing his role as a husband. To this day I am not sure if I understood what happened but with every meow, somehow, I understood what had to be done. The solution was clear. My burdens seemed to lift and float away as I came to the realization that I was holding on to a dream. I felt like a new person, enlighten so to speak. I left my husband two days later; smiling as I climbed over the rubble of the walls of my self-imposed prison of a marriage.

Arrangements were made for Coco to live at a friend’s house. She was not bothered by the move at all and lived there happily without looking back; so did I. That Spring, I learned a lot from Coco and her love was the best therapy a girl could ask for. Je t'aime, mon petit chat.

In My Past Life I was...Emilie du Chatelet

2008-09-02T20:13:00.027-04:00

Emilie - Part Deux: A Passionate Mind

My husband a military man, spoke of strategy and patriotism as if no other subject existed. He bored me to tears. Of course, I knew right away that we had nothing in common, but arranged marriages were the norm and we accepted our fate.

But, mon Dieu, when I think of how terrible life could have been without having an understanding partner, I just shake my head. I have seen many relationships go very bad and Florent and I agreed to live amicable. Thus I indulged whenever and where ever I saw fit. I sat among men albeit a small group, holding court and relished in the fact that not one of them could prove me unworthy to speak at their levels. It was exciting. Equally exciting was getting what I want and dressing like a man to be among them was no different. The passionate discussions or clever banter if you will was a high unlike anything I could get from drinking except maybe intellectual sex. It was my weakness, a serious vice that sometimes controlled me. I loved a great mind.

Duc de Richelieu (Richi as I affectionately called him) was one of them. He taught me many things and introduced me to a few great minds. Our relationship lasted a year plus 6 months when I was introduced to Francois Marie Voltaire in the Spring of 1733. I knew I had met my match and like Richi, I loved him with my mind and in my bed. They were longtime friends but Richi knew Francois and I were meant to come together. I asked him to live with me in Cirey and there we remained for 15 years writing, musing and what not.

I remember the day Francois and I got the telescope. Studying the stars regularly was something my husband would never have understood nor indulged. But, I enjoyed the way his words whispered across my shoulders as I peered through this powerful tool that brought heavenly bodies closer to earth.

Making love was poetry literally, with every line of poetry Francois recited, the strings loosened from my corset. He spoke of such profound things that each word caressed my body tingling my senses and my mind. I just couldn't get enough. Him dimpled chin and pointed nose were prominent and as they grazed my skin, I shuddered in delight. He didn't leave me even after I found a new poet to love. He just understood my passion of the mind.

Even though I was too naive to realize that none of the ladies wanted me at court because I caused a stir every time, I enjoyed my life immensely without regret. Maybe I didn't care. But I know one thing as I laid on my death bed. I love wholly. I love my parents, my children, my Francois and myself. I took a stand for what I knew was my birth right as a great mind.

votre amour toujours,

Chez Nous

2008-09-01T22:25:00.012-04:00

Welcome to our house...well it is not really our house, but I wouldn't mind if it was. Just imagine if you will, the worn tile floors, the layers of peeling wallpaper, the chipped paint and faded fabric covering most of the furniture... Oh so shabby chic, truly bourgeois and most comforting. Just the way I like it.

As I continue the tour in my mind, I see precious antiques lovingly passed down through the decades. Portraits of staunch family members hanging on the wall of the genealogy room and over sized fireplaces.

The wooden floors creak under my every step and the pitter patter of petite feet are heard echoing throughout our belle maison. As I peek pass the delicate lace of Brittany and satin of Lyon lining the windows, I see rustic wrought iron furniture sitting in the back yard beckoning for breakfast to be eaten under the morning sun. The coffee strong, the croissant fresh and the love everlasting. This picture although a duo tone is living a truly technicolor life in my mind. Toujours! Countess Josephine

In My Past Life I was...

2008-08-31T20:58:00.008-04:00

...famous for my strength and courage. I overcame great odds to help my fellow soldiers and fallen airmen. It was World War II and three-fifths of the country was under the control of Nazi Germany. We had to pay 6 francs to 1 duetschmark creating a serious crisis for the country without even trying.

Everyone worked where they could, food and materials were scarce. In the midst of all this chaos, I fell in love with an English airman. He was beautiful and from the moment we met, there were sparks. My name shall remain a secret to protect the children of family members that no longer belong to the same flag and of course his, because I swore, never to utter it in public. You see, he was unhappily married back home. A duke of some sort and we really had no time for romance. The country was crumbling around us and companionship got us through the bad times.

Anyway, I found him one day, laying among the poppies. He was unconscious and bleeding from a gunshot wound in the thigh. My men brought him back to our camp even though we could trust no one with it's location. But I looked at him and knew we had to help him.

As you may have guessed by now I was with the resistance. It was a long time ago, but I still remember it as if it was yesterday. The sound of planes over head, flying low and dropping bombs where ever there was life. Families displaced, hungry and unsure; their beloved France torn and tattered. We did what we could to ease the burden of many. I worked during the evenings as a cafe waitress and garnered as much information as I could to curtail the Germans efforts. Secret locations, stratagem and even routes through which many soldiers would pass.

It gnawed at me to be among them, but I did what was necessary to get the information, even pretending to love a high ranking SS officer. Times have changed and we are all friends now, but it is a life a past that will not easily be forgotten.

toujours la vie an rose,

In My Past Life I was...

2008-08-30T22:58:00.004-04:00

...a woman with a brilliant mind. I lived in a time of pomp and circumstance and married only because it was my duty to do so. I bore three children so no shame would be brought to my family, yet lived a separate life from that of my understanding husband. I yearned for more. I was indeed well-bred, well-read and ahead of my time. I understood the great sciences and mathmathics and I spoke five classic languages fluently. My thirst for knowledge was insatiable. As any self respecting woman and lady of the court I learn to fence, ride, act, play the harpsicord and sing opera. Since my marriage was arranged, my husband and I agreed to keep our liasions behind closed doors. I had a few affairs becoming quite bored with life easily.

I was born on December 17, 1706 and my name was Gabrielle Émilie Le Tonnelier de Breteuil. I became the Marquise du Châtelet (Voltaire later change the spelling of my last name) when I married the Marquis Florent-Claude du Chastellet. Today you know me as a French mathematician, physicist, and author, but in my time, a woman did no such thing as to think for herself especially not worldly important thoughts normally voiced by men. Unfortunately, I could debate the best of them under the table in subjects such as Philosophy or Literature and this made me all the more desirable to some. My affairs also afforded me friendships with people that thought like me and encouraged me to increase my knowledge in Geometry and Physics. I was very interested in Issac Newton and sought anyone recommended as a good tutor of such important matters. Many would deny my genius and some would love me for it. One person in particular was Voltaire whom I met after he returned from his exiled state. It was a magical ride in which we lived happily together studying Physics and Math, publishing papers and enjoying each other intellectual company. I was his muse and my ideas inspired his writings.

This was the age of Enlightenment but my affair with a poet would prove to be the last. I died on September 10, 1749, three days after giving birth to my fourth child. Voltaire, is quoted as writing in a letter that I was "a great man whose only fault was being a woman". Later many would consider me ahead of Einstein and leading the way for his discoveries...it is good to know that I will continue to be the muse for many as with knowledge comes a great responsibility to impart good information.

Toujours!!

Countess Josephine

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