Not! I looked at my own life and decided to make it into my living news column. I have adequate stores of vignettes that could titillate and excite anyone and me, of all people, because I'm biased. We love to read the tabloids for the latest celebrity gossips, we ignore our own lives. Our own lives becomes boring because we ignore it. We need to give it the attention it so deserves and make it into the masterpiece it should be. If it is not up to snuff, make it so. I guess, it is easier to read the tabloids and watch too much TV instead on working on ourselves.
It is Sunday again, I walked to our corner farmers' market for supplies for breakfast and lunch, came back, got the food ready. I'm happy to be having petit dejeuner at home. The weather here in this corner of the earth is incredible even in the height of summer. My house is sited in such a way that trees shield it from the morning and evening sun, making the inside of the house nice and cool and absolutely pleasant. I love this house. I love the honey colored hardwood floors. It's packed with my books. I can't live without my books. In the garage/office, books lay on the carpet, begging for space on the crowded shelves. I need to buy more book shelves, it's never enough.
Home is where the heart is and my heart is here.
The tomatoes from the seeds I brought back from Sicily is growing nicely. Pretty soon I'll be picking tomatoes from them. I can't wait. I remember eating in a restaurant in Palermo. I had Spaghetti al pomodoro, I squeezed some of the tomato seeds onto a napkin with the intention of drying the seeds and bringing them home to plant. I soon abandoned the idea when I saw a feed and seed store. I went in and bought a packet of tomato seeds. If these seeds pan out, I'm going to bring home some courgette seeds the next trip to Italy. Soon I'll a potted vegetable garden in my backyard.
Included in this collection of photographs is a photograph of a poster depicting an outdoor Paris cafe scene. I bought this poster 7 years ago during my first trip to Paris. All these years it sat all rolled up somewhere among my things. I, finally unrolled it and hung it up. That is my ode to Paris breakfasts.