The Little Words Mean the Most

Working on our London show for IoF

A bottle a day keeps the doctor away

Waited out the rain; hiked the Cirque de Mourèze

Between these towns. In this direction. On the one-hour yellow trail, for our daily exercise.

It's one of the things you do in the annual "spring cleaning" visit

Arrange the clothespins by height and Myers-Briggs type.

"Our Town" translated to the French

CLICK AN IMAGE TO ENLARGE IT AND REGRET THE POPPIES. We live in the small, wine-making town of Valros, in the Languedoc region. Provence is northeast up the road, about an hour away. On a clear day, you can see the Pyrenees to our south; today it rained off and on, so the border with Spain was veiled. That's town hall. We took our walk, this time to the town's excavated and restored medieval tower, which has a second signal tower tucked inside from the 1830s. The ruins stand on the crest of the town's true foundation, an ancient volcano. En route, we courteously greeted other residents gathering wild iris blooms and thyme. Curious where we exactly live? In the overview photo, our house is a few yards walk from the church. The tall roof to the left of the church steeple is our adjoining neighbor, a doctor and her husband. This Sunday they're hosting a children's party. Sunday is family day. It's my favorite day of the week here. It fills the town's veins with life.

In France: Airport Charles de Gaulle

Our 1st flowers! so of course I cut off their heads for my own sick pleasure

Casting off the chains (again) of PC thinking, when selling charity to arts patrons

 

SUPPORT US

which always begs the question, "Why?"

 

DONATE

same question

 

DONATE

BECAUSE YOU MAKE THESE ARTS POSSIBLE FOR...

same request, with a hint of exclusivity and privilege; emotionally superior

I declare the nano-audience

writing books for an audience of one, someone in your past or future or today

liberating idea for me I'm finding

His Pomposity Said, Sanctioned by the State, "I look and sound the humanist

But there's a robot under my skin, fingering its abacus

Diane knows what I mean

Truth was a type of god it was sublime