Thank you, all of you, who sent me kind commiserations on the theft of my tapestry. I continue to have many 'issues' with the theft, but I will spare you, and myself, from dwelling on it.
Today, as I continue to clean up the mess I've been creating in my studio by closet cleaning and stuff sorting, I am mentally taking myself to the south of France (where I have yet to be, physically). There I am, sitting at a street cafe, sketching like Sara Midda,
or Laura Stoddart (two of my favorites).
The cafe'au lait is getting cold as I sketch, but I will order more. The day is warm, not hot, not cold. I am wearing a red beret (naturally!). The waiter says something to me - probably that I have been at the table long enough and it's time to move on, but since I don't understand french, I just smile enigmatically and keep sketching. I am far from piles of stuff that I don't know what to do with. Far from undone laundry. Far from having to thaw something for dinner. And my thick new leather sketchbook has many blank pages to fill.
A lovely fantasy to take me away...
Listening to Edith Piaf keeps me there.
(I bought this lovely little photo at a yardsale, in a stack of old photos from someone's travels to France.)