When it pours

When you live in a cabanon and the weather starts its thing, after you turn over over all the chairs, if you can, you then grab the cloths from every table, the books if you were reading something, and thank your lucky whatever if you can find a place to place yourself inside -- although of course, you prefer always to be OUTSIDE. Yesterday a wonderful winding trip to Gordes and then to neighbors, and today, after the rain, the outside market and dinner iwht our friends up the hill, and tomorrow, the wonderful artist-poet Ruth Middleton to lunch, and our translator writer friends Anne Reynes and her husband Philippe and then Matthew and Theodore arrive, and so goes the week. After the rain, that is. 

French time

Incidents that make up life here in the cabanon.
Many friends coming to lunch-- first a glass of white (luckily, we had just gotten three bottles of Cassis at Leclerc--everyone's major shopping endeavouring place) upstairs in the field to see the sun on the  trees and get used to each other, then down around the other long table under the canopy (wearing out and will change it next summer)
Moment of Big Panic: forgot the bread and it is  12 and everything closes at 12 until 3...
But the WONDERFUL Carmona boulangerie  at thebottom ofthe hill closes at 1so  i phone and say please give my husband a baguette and a boule, and he does  and we have a joyful time.
Doesn't sound dramatic but at six when others go away it is all gratefulness...dm

Small things make up real life.
Tomorrow to Gordes, all those houses carved into the hill by the bories to see Maryse Conde snd Richard Philcox and back to drink with some winemaking neighbors and so on. Happiness.