a lone rower

And then there are the evening walks

Brisk evening walks in chilly but bright weather, and a gift, light, colors and more. Nearly alone (but for the lone runner, dashing away quickly from Filou's protective barking and, ahem, tendency to chase them) I take it in. Beyond meditative, it's spiritual.

A foggy morning in Avignon

As Leo worked on his book summary for school Jonas and I headed out for a bit of shopping. The boys are back with me after a week at their father's, and the cupboard, if not bare, is pretty empty. I can survive on whatever's here (rice, lentils, green tomatoes from the garden, some snippets of mâche from the garden, an apple or two gleaned from the neighbor's orchards...) but they need their milk, eggs, cereal, ham. The basics if you will. I can only serve them pasta and sauce so many days a week...

As we drove out the world was in a fog. Mist lay upon the Rhône, clothing all in gray, moist dropplets, darkening the trees. We just had to stop the car and get out to photograph this mysterious world. We shared the camera back and forth. I photographed the barge, barely visible through the trees.

Jonas photographed the seaweed moving languidly in the water, a few leaves swirling on the surface above.

We both photographed the Pont d'Avignon, with and without a foreground of fall leaves.

my shot with foreground.

Jonas quite impressed me. He was seeing, attentively, looking at this world with eyes of wonder alongside his mum. Be it himself, or the Waldorf school education, he is extremely sensitive to the physical world. He is also a gifted sculptor of clay and beeswax. Okay, I'm a proud mom, but I think also one that sees clearly.

I'll be printing out some enlargements for him to bring to school and hang in his room.
Jonas' photo of the bridge

Meantime, Leo did some beautiful writing back at the house. Somehow, somewhere, a floodgate has been opened. Is it the new teacher? A new confidence in himself? I adore that the teacher encourages poetry and somehow has communicated to him (I think it is he) a pleasure in playing with language. As Leo described an evil character in his book, he used a phrase unique to himself (I do believe) 'du miel empoisonné', poisoned honey. Fascinating... I don't know that he intellectually gets all that he has communicated, but the phrase was absolutely 'juste' for the character in question. An evil woman who hides behind a slippery, sweet-voiced exterior... hm.

T'was a fruitful and artistic morning.

A Walk in March

Sometimes it's rather nice having a little boy home sick. He can accompany you on walks that way.

A Misty Moisty Morning...

Somedays, it is simply a religious experience to walk by the side of a River...

Fall Foliage takes my breath away

Driving home after dropping the kids off at school I simply had to park the car just off the bridge and photograph. It was just too stunning, and yes, too amazing that I live in such a beautiful place. The fall foliage has come in, the sun was shining, the Rhône was calm and reflecting all those glorious colors. And there was the Pope's Palace, majestic on its rock above the city.

Just extraordinary.

A walk in the early morning

Inspired by my walks with my Scottish friend, and just because I do live in a beautiful place, and because I needed to do something with my thought-swirling, early-rising self, I set out for a long walk along the dirt paths at the edge of the Rhône, right beside my house. I walked slowly, savouring the mist on the water, the awakening world. As I progressed, many a morning jogger crossed my path -- a commonplace sight now in Avignon, and in France in general, compared to when I came to France at the age of sixteen. Filou and I met many dogs, most of whom were un-leashed like Filou. They did their moments of sniffing and getting to know each other, and then Filou trotted after me.


The only awkward moments are when Filou gets it in his head to bark at and follow a jogger. As one might imagine, no one enjoys this, and though he wouldn't hurt a flea, I do need to call him back and reprimand him. Hoping also, that the more he sees these people, the more accustomed he'll get, and then I hope, he'll stop this most anti-social behavior.

I tried to do some centering exercises that my Scottish friend showed me, holding my hands on my belly and back, feeling my body walk, sensing the shock under my feet, reaching up through my stomach and lower back. I straightened my shoulders, took in deep breaths, occasionally closed me eyes. I'm taking each day as it comes, and doing what I can for my wiggy brain and aching heart. Appreciating the beauty right beside me, contemplating what I have here, what is good in my life, is all part of it.

This summer, and much of this year, I've been wavering, and wondering. Where do I belong? Certainly, being out of my coupledom is unrooting me. But, then, why would I flee? And where to? I'm not a deeply rooted person. But I have some very dear friends, two in particular, to whom I can turn. My kids are doing well. This is a mantra I repeat often. And in their school, they've friends who are marvelous, from families I respect, who have outward-looking philosophies. Would I do better for them in the US? They will always have the choice of continuing their studies in the US, if they feel adventuresome.

I am seeking inside myself, what do I truly and veritably want? To write, to raise my boys, and yes, to love. Financially, I'm not there yet, but that could come and I think will. Amongst my moves this week is to receive most of Arles' real estate agents at the b&b to push the sale of said building. Yes, it won't sell at a top price due to the current economy, but, it's insane for me to be struggling so when there are funds there that are mine and which could help me get over this hump.


I've many pots on the burners: hiking and biking programs in Provence for next year, the two books (Provence teen cook book and my foodie memoir), potential collaborations with organic wine importers to the States, teaching English, I hope future translations. I'm getting good feedback from numerous directions, which has not yet translated into income, but I think with time it will.


I remember how it was building the original business with Erick. I would distribute flyers to the hotels, and we'd hear nothing, but the next year, a dozen people would come because they'd picked them up and brought them home. I'd go to the International Associaition of Culinary Professionals' conference, and there, I'd speak, chat, meet, and exchange and in the immediate future, I'd have new friends, but over the long period, many colleagues came and brought clients to us. Each and every effort bore fruit, if not immediately.

Even for JP's wine, Domaine Cabanis (see the website on the side bar). I've gotten it into the hands of Canadian importers, and it looks like things will come through there. And though it is not yet being imported to the States, I've increased his name recognition, shown his style and skills through my posts on this blog, shared the virtues of organic wine in general, and just possibly, all this "soft" marketing will pay off this year. Who knows?


Each act is a step in the right direction, and it all takes time and patience. So, if I can only get that b&b sold this year, recoup much of what I put into it, and thus have the flexibility and funds to go forth less stressfully... in any case, this is what I'm working to put into motion, one step at a time.

Back at my house, I sat down to meditate. I sat down to say thank you and to connect. I found the Anyusara mantra in my copy of Yoga Journal, and then, continued with Ahs, sitting before my window facing East, slowly teaching myself to seek calm and balance. It will be a long haul, but, at least this morning, I felt it.

Avignon Across the Bridge

Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel

I now bicycle into Avignon. The good weather (plus potential scratches on the car, nightmarish parking, etc.,) has encouraged this new tact. I used to adore biking, and lived on my bike in Seattle. It's been awhile though, so I'm still getting back into it. I also need to invest in a very secure bike lock.



My ride takes me along the Rhône, by the small ferry which does regular service back and forth now that the 1st of April has come and passed. I see the visitors on the Pont d'Avignon, the gold-leafed Madonna atop the Pope's palace, the ramparts in all their splendor, and high above, the gardens of the Pope.



Meantime, down at river level dogs are being walked, many joggers are out, and school kids are enjoying picnics. In fewer than 15 minutes, I'm over the bridge, and entering the city.