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And the rain, it cometh down. Throughout the region, storms have been heaving down more of it than we have seen in months. And so the Rhone has risen. In Arles, we received between 100-120 millimetres of precipitation on Friday and another 115 are predicted for today. It is also estimated that the river will flow at a rate of 7100 meters cubed per second by 3pm today. I am not even entirely sure what that means but it sounds forceful doesn’t it?

Ben and I walked took our morning stroll down to the quay as usual. I sucked in my breath when I saw how much the river had swollen over night. A group of onlookers had gathered. All were silent, just watching the might of the current. Roiling. Massive tree trunks whisked away like feathers on air. How tiny we are in the face of all of this. 

I can’t help but share Erwan’s sentiment each time I stroll through Aix. And strolling is certainly what is required. It is impossible not to take one’s time, looking up at hovering stone cherubs and down at potentially treacherous cobblestones. Venetian shutters clank in the breeze and everywhere, the quiet plup-plup of the fountains that have cemented Aix’s reputation as the most elegant city in Provence.

So yes, I love everything, from the clock tower hovering over town hall, to shops tempting with Hermès bags or foie gras and truffle macaroons (!). The discovery of a tiny shaded square hidden behind a large hôtel particulier. A vivacious café cultured dominated by the well-heeled. So gorgeous as to be just slightly beyond everyday reality, yet bursting with the jubilant energy of over 40,000 étudiants. 

We lunched outside on the Place des Cardeurs, grateful for what very well may have been the last opportunity to do so until next spring. And then we continued on our adventure with me falling behind as usual to take and take and take photos. Thank goodness our wonderful friends are used to it by now! 

I watched two couples sitting directly across from me at different tables while dining out in Aix. The first was quite young, very hip. Each held their Blackberry in hand and texted away while waiting for their food to come, at times giggling separately over some funny exchange they were having. The other couple, perhaps in their forties with a young baby in a stroller at their side, sat staring off in to space, the man with a slight lift to his chin as if to say that he was literally above it all, the woman slightly slumped and gazing at a far away point on the cobblestones. “They must be fighting, “I thought to myself. But no, I realized as the meal progressed, that was just how they behaved together as when they did speak they were quite amiable. Two couples, both together and yet completely disconnected. 

Is it just a symptom of our current culture? To be connected virtually en permanence (and by that I mean cell phones, the internet, the whole shebang) as well in the life where we live and breathe. We are carrying around two worlds on our shoulders and even Atlas would have had to struggle under the weight. 

How many blogs do we follow? How many comments do we leave? How do I feel about the activity or lack of it on my own blog? These are certainly questions that I never thought about until a year ago and as I actually have the luxury of time at this phase in my life they are not usually pressing ones. But I wonder for others, are choices made? It is certainly simpler, more accessible to keep up our online friendships. I am frequently delightfully surprised by the generosity of spirit that I see on blogs, including on my own. Is it becoming easier for us, in this day and age, to open ourselves up to people that aren’t actually there in front of us? Not that my sentiments aren’t genuine in the virtual world (far from it) but I do rush the process of getting to know someone (assumptions abound and I have found myself guilty of making them as well). I can run leaping with open arms in a manner that would be impossible in face to face time.

Conversely, I feel that the traditional idea of friendship is pulling back on itself, like the exposed belly of a snail that has been touched by a pinkie finger. Granted that could just be my age. In France, couples in their forties tend to get together only with other couples who have children the same age, which seems less about friendship and more a communal baby-sitting. Again, a matter of convenience. I have come to see that what can pass for friendship today is at times an extended, more sociable form of acquaintance. 

If you give of yourself, you give freely but it currently seems that often, not always, the receiver of those affections, efforts, what have you, no longer feels the need or impetus to return said energy even in the smallest way. It is now socially acceptable just to take and I can’t help but think it is linked to the same disconnection mentioned earlier. Tightly wrapped, each in our own bubble. Do we value each other less now? And the importance of shared experience? I know that personally, my interactions as of late have left me disappointed and yet have increased my need to feel liked (my own juggernaut). Remi and I have had some good conversations about all of this and what we actually need from relationships at this point in our lives. Less is more and quality is the divider of the equation.

Does it just come down to time, finally? This shift? One of the many reasons that I cancelled my Facebook account was that I was tired of living off of the scraps of friend’s lives. Anecdotes do not a friendship make in my book. I see repeatedly on blogs throughout the internet that people feel like they are desperate for more time but where has their time gone? Is it just due to additional work hours? I am asking genuinely (so no attacking please), from the point of view of someone who has admitted to having time because I see that in France people do actually have free time but not necessarily the desire to share it. Either way, this vacuum has to have an effect on the definition or even the possibility of true friendships. Has technology filled the gap? Are we creating a virtual experience that is impossibly more appealing than reality?

I know that I am asking many questions but I have a few more: do you feel that you have as many close friends as you used to? Are you spending as much “face time” with them? For those of you that have teenage children, do you see them connecting with their peers and constructing lasting relationships? 

My Mom was having trouble with her phone the other day and despite repeated attempts, we soon understood that conversation that day would be impossible. She could hear me but I could not hear her and so I was left to tell her that I love her before saying, “Good-bye” in the void. She sent me an email a few minutes later, a quick reply to say that she loves me too.

We are out the door–a surprise invitation to spend the day with friends in Aix. Who doesn’t love spontaneous moments like this? It is so wonderful to be thought of, to be appreciated. An issue which I have been thinking too heavily on as of late so this is the Universe’s way of saying, “Oh be quiet, everything is fine you silly goose.” Speaking of, will you take a look at that regal fowl of an armrest? Ah, antiques such as these means one thing and one thing only–the Deballage, or unwrapping of Montpellier. Yes, I have already posted about it…somewhere but can’t find the link! Too prodigious, this one, eh? Why I love this event is that it is a gathering of hundreds of dealers from all over Europe, not to mention buyers from all over the world. The number of Russians was staggering and I can tell you, they weren’t looking at nicknacks, they were more in the market for the man-sized chandelier as seen below.

We, being of zero budget, mainly come to be inspired and dream. But were tempted by this gorgeous, if cracked altar piece. Insane patina.

I was frankly, scared by this ginormous cello case and had images of Houdini using it in a magic trick of some sorts. It looks like the sort of thing that if you stepped into, you could exit in another dimension.

The trend for this go round? Regency and especially anything with arrows. We took a gander at this inexpensive floor lamp from the 50s but found it a bit too…or not enough…

Look at these gorgeous girls waiting to find new lives. A bunch of maidens at a dance–pick me! Pick me! If I could afford to, I most certainly would have brought a pair home. But alas, we have other priorities right now…

…Which means finding a chandelier for the living room. Oh, my. And were there ever some beaut’s to choose from. Remi was taken with this baroque Catalonian one from a dealer out of Barcelona…

And me? Oooh, the Italians always have the best choices. We actually were seriously considering this rather traditional piece but all of the wiring had to be redone. Um, that just made the price go out of our reach. As we were pacing back and forth, trying to decide, trying to communicate in Italian with the dealers we spied…

…this gorgeous and very real, very antiquo, winner. Well, it might be a winner. We are still thinking about it but I think that it is love. We would have to drive to Lyon to pick it up in December but it could be worth the effort. I have seen so many reproductions of this type on the market but the genuine article? Nope. Not to mention one with the tiniest, most delicate beads…Sigh.  We shall see…

All of this dreaming makes one hungry! And truly, I swear that I go to the deballage for the one thing that I know that I will find at the end of the morning: lunch on a huge magret de canard sandwich with fries…and for once, just because I could, a glass of champagne!

On my morning walk with Ben, I was taking in the crunch of my feet on the leaves when I realized that I was hearing something else…floating notes of a disjointed tune and they were coming out of…me. It wasn’t even a song, something solid to identify with to place my mood here or there, “Stormy Weather” or “The Man I Love” but just pure, unadulterated randomness. How lovely to find myself whistling. That has to be an example of a simple joy if ever there was one.

My Mom likes to tell a story from when I was about three years old. She was out, a baby-sitter left in charge. Said young lady suddenly became terrified when she heard someone in the next room. She reached for a kitchen knife (ok, maybe I have made that part up in my memory) and burst in to find little curly topped me sitting on the floor, whistling away, totally lost in my music. 

Have you ever heard a sad whistler? A tragic one? I didn’t think so.

And as if this post isn’t random enough already, a teaspoon more of sugar to make the medicine go down. Further along on our walk, Ben decided that he had had enough. I did not agree and, ah-hem, being the supposed leader of the two, insisted he follow. He refused. I pulled. He pulled back. I finally pointed at him and said, “If you don’t get your act together mister, I am going to give you a kick in the pants!” His ears perked up. I added, “Ok, I know that you don’t actually wear pants but you know what I mean.” He considered for a moment and then kept walking. Yes, it is official then. I am the crazy lady who has conversations with her dog in public. Soon I will be making little outfits for him to wear. I think I need an intervention.