The Little Words Mean the Most

Adrian Sargeant's antique radio collection (they all work!)

Adrian wasn't always the world's leading professor of fundraising principles and practice. He used to be a licensed electrician. His goal these days is to buy a broken old radio ... and repair whatever put it out of commission 40 or 70 years ago. The collection includes an motel bed radio (notice the dial is upside down so it could be tuned while you looked up from your pillow; it requires coins to operate); an original art deco Crosley Blue Bird; a radio distributed by the Nazi party to German households, with limited range so none could hear a different point of view from the BBC.

 

Democans and Republican'ts

What the SCUBA divers found around Agde

In prep for contractor work at the "new old," Simone covers the tapestry chairs, then herself

By the way, guests, this will be your guest bedroom. Minus the matched set of tapestry chairs. And Simone in a head sack.

For Joel: My new glasses from Carla's Eyeworks (Montpellier)

The camera adds 10 pounds to my nose.

Simone testing mattresses for the new house, at IKEA

Twice a year, Pézenas closes a mile of street to vehicles and opens it to antique and brocante dealers; we bought an armoire for new old

Boston Globe correspondent reports from Our House in France

Nice surprise: a writer who stayed in our Valros house wrote a lovely report on her experiences, published yesterday in a newspaper with a 300,000 circulation. Thank you, Nicole, for the heads up!!! BTW, we plan to sell this house in 2016, to move up the street to our "new" old house. If you're in the market for 15th-century medieval vaulted ceilings and such, at a good price ... well, get in touch!

The final oysters

Alas, Fab and Jean-Claude had to leave. We declared a last lunch in Bouzigues, a shell-fishing town on the Étang de Thau, about 20 minutes from our village. The oysters are farmed in sight of the restaurant; the farms are those dark frames crossing the middle of the photo. In my case, served gratineé. Beyond description. The crumb was superfine. The butter was magical. The oyster was self-sacrificing. The pearls were donated to an orphanage. The rosé flowed from a mystic rock face known only to locals. The conversation was brilliant and non-acidic. The air was a veil woven of flamingos still absorbing their pink-ness, a breeze that had nothing but kind thoughts on its mind, and a sun sparkle that bowed before the striped awning above us. Like this....