Sunday, June 9, 2013

Bordeaux: it's all Sharks and Roses and Cabbages!

This past week has been emotionally gruelling, but Paul's father was buried yesterday, and now we will begin to move forward. I've just erased a paragraph in which I tried to explain our decision not to be there and the hurt inflicted by the family's failure to understand, if not support, that decision. But really, the deed is done, the ship is sailed. My husband is a good man who loved his father very much but who felt I really needed this time together, away, after a very tough spring. And while I absolutely would have accepted him staying behind, the difficulty I've had processing the family's response has revealed that I'm still more fragile than I want to be.

So.
Really pleased and proud that all four of our adult children and their partners and their children represented us at the funeral, even getting up to offer some of their Dad's stories about their grandfather, so that Paul could be included that way.
And, having just erased another few sentences that might have signalled some bitterness, let's move onto some happy, shall we?

I took some photos of these sharks at Bordeaux's Marché aux Capucines because Paul thought our son, daughter, and their families might not have gotten to see all the cool foodie possibilities when they spent a week together here last month. Otherwise, I've been leaving my Canon in my bag more often, wanting to blend in a bit more perhaps, wanting also to draw on other faculties a bit more. . .
Still, I couldn't resist trying to capture the sumptuous blue of these cabbages at the weekly (dimanche) market at the Promenade Fluviale this morning.

And I hauled the camera out when I fell in love with a new rose in the Jardin Public. Richly fragrant in the warm sun, these are simple blossoms, somewhat like a complicata, but presenting in large clusters, their golden stamens a brilliant punctuation of the creamy blossoms collecting a sweet pink in buds and at the heart of each individual blossom
If any of my gardening readers recognize this rose, I'd love to know its name. I'll have to prowl through Beale's when I get back home to see if I can make this one mine. .
I'll be back soon to recount adventures with oysters, bikes, and Noah's Ark ( okay, not really the latter, but I have a pair of shoes, stuffed with paper, that have been drying for two days and are still not wearable). Right now, though, Pater is doing something promising with fresh figs, heat, and a bottle of Crème de Cassis. You must agree that deserves my solemn attention . . .

21 comments:

  1. Wishing you bon courage, dry shoes and more sun and roses.

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    1. Thanks, Duchesse -- one must never take dry shoes for granted!

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  2. Like Duchesse, I wish you warmth, and consolation.

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  3. Your Pater is a wonderful man who put you first. You know what a lucky woman you are, and I'm sorry the family is not understanding.
    The baggage that comes to the surface for family members during times of stress like this, can be rather shocking. Seeing a persons true colours and peeking at their agenda can be disappointing.
    Bathe in the warm glow of the sun and smell all the roses you can find. I'll hoist a glass of Chardonnay here for you on the island.
    Best,
    Jennifer

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    1. Thanks, Jennifer. I do know that he is a very good man, and that I am very lucky. It's a tough time for the family, and more is revealed than I'd imagined possible. But time, I hope, will heal, and sun and roses. . . . and that glass of Chardonnay, thank you!

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  4. Cabbages and roses. Both wonderful.

    Enjoy your peaceful time together, hopefully under a warm healing sun.

    Lilibet

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    1. They each have their own beauty, don't they?
      thank you!

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  5. Wonderful, supportive comments here - I can only echo them. Take care.

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    1. thank you, Patricia. the echo helps swell the good wishes into a chorus, a healing one.

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  6. Now that your father-in-law is buried, the family rift will probably heal. I love to look at all those different foods at the market. Hope you get dry weather and sunshine.

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    1. My eyes are always so much bigger than my stomach at the market. But we do our best. . .

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    2. Mine too! I especially like the Lebanese food.

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  7. Hope the sun is shining for you today in Bordeaux! Sending abrazos from Madrid.

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    1. The sun is being rather coy here, but we are trying to believe its fleeting promises. Gracias for the abrazos!

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  8. The sun makes everything better; may it pour down on you and Pater.

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    1. Oh, I love that image! Sun pouring down like rain!

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  9. As you've been in Europe, part of you wings over the Atlantic and the continent to think about home. Now that Paul's father has been laid to rest, I hope that your thoughts will settle and that you will bask in the sun and the delights of Bordeaux (including those figs and cassis.)

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    1. Funny, Lorrie, I was just remarking the same thing to Pater. Generally, I do a better job of forgetting what time it is back home, but this trip, part of me is there all the time. A small price to pay, and probably as it should be, but as you say, now that my father-in-law is at rest, we will focus more, I hope, on each other, in this place, in these moments. Figs and cassis included!

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  10. Tough decisions but you had to make a call. So many difficult feelings surface during bereavement and you have had your fill of it lately. I hope things settle down and you can all find peace. Enjoy France and sunshine

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    1. Thanks, Marianne. We do seem to be moving forward into happier times. . . sunshine helps!

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