The Little Words Mean the Most

Gratitude comes in small packets

I'm in France ... in my 2nd home, which is in France ... and what distracts me? The infinitesimal ants that found a crumb in our kitchen and turned it into a rollicking Love Boat. The spotty electricity. The dangerous vapors that arise from sewers built for a few medieval posteriors. The rain (a visit from a timid aunt). The overbearing sun (a visit from a loud uncle). The lack of true treasures at the yard sales (still: a vase from Paris).  And yet: I have 7 (true) farm-made cheeses in my fridge. I have exquisite local wine that has NEVER seen -- and WILL never see -- US shores. I have an entire language I do not comprehend (trust me: that's a great thing; imagine if the ads that batter you meant NOTHING).

In France: Pézenas brocante (used stuff) street fair, patterns edition

In France: Pézenas brocante (used stuff) street fair, faces edition

In France: Journeyed to a Saturday medieval faire...

...whaire knights in shining replica armor blustered. The bravest were tiny. The dragon ate her fill.

In France: We took a local 2-hour walk