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For who isn’t content to feel the sand’s support, even in the winter cold? Ben has been exploring the beaches of the Mediterranean since he was a wee pup.

And as for our rascal, Kipling? He is still uncertain of the waves and too tempted by the presence of other dogs to chase. So best then for him to remain attached to an old tripod, where he could calmly do what he loves best…to guard…

…both his loved ones and our equipment. Yes, for you see we came on a mission.

There is a photo that Remi has been wanting to shoot for ever so long. Just as I hear my stories, he often sees his photography before he picks up his camera. Yesterday, was the chosen day. Especially. And so we brought with us the broken top of a Roman amphora that had been borrowed for the occasion, along with the bells and whistles needed to make his imagined image into reality. 

But that didn’t mean that there was no time for frivolity…

…or gentle contemplation of what has passed and questions of where it might be wise to point towards next…

…as aren’t we are all searching for just the right angle, the good direction?

The waves advanced, the sun dipped down and still Remi did not have his photo. He put his tripod aside and took his camera in-hand, first sitting on his knees and then eventually lowering himself belly down into the surf until he was level with his subject. Soon, I was asked to join his side, where I stood above him holding a portable flash to add a slight push of suggestion as the light faded into night.

Finally, drenched and cold, he was satisfied, elated even. And so was I, having been stripped clean by the wind and sea, washing me down to ready. Because, without our even knowing it, we had already begun and the song was sung in beauty.

Happy New Year everyone!

It was interesting that the word that came to me this morning on my walk with the dogs was: “Freedom.” And so I wish you Freedom and Health (as they always say in France, “If you begin with Health the rest will follow”) but also Contentment and Adventure too.

With all of my Very best from Provence,

Heather

I couldn’t have guessed that so many people would turn out on a Sunday afternoon to hear four local youths play…the accordion…

…and yet every seat was taken. Our friends, the elegant Ms. L and Mr. W were surrounded when I arrived. Late-comers genuflected briefly before shuffling towards what space they could find. I took a seat – carved out of wood with a cane bottom and most certainly made in the area – at the very back of the chapel and listened to three elderly women as their voices overlapped with the gossip that each doled out with marked emphasis, as well as to the singsong hubbub of the crowd.

A giant crèche had been installed in one of the naves, clearly done with love and skill…

…and yet the well-worn hymnals would lie untouched in their alcoves. For the program, selected by the two young men and ladies forming the group, each seeming to be not more than eighteen, was not at all of a Christmasy nature.

Instead, they proposed a voyage around the world through famous songs and pieces, from Bach to Piazzolla, all played on the punch and roll of the accordion. I could practically hear the audience smiling with delight as the concert advanced and watched as a pair of pint-sized sparkly boots, dangling down from the mezzanine overhead, thumped in time.

The players were composed and deft. They knew, instinctively or not, what so many had truly gathered to hear and when one of the young women rose to sing Edith Piaf’s “Hymn à l’Amour,” we collectively held our breath as she reached out longingly towards monumental aspirations of love that she couldn’t possibly fully understand at the tender age of fifteen.

At the end of the final tango, the audience rose to their feet, applauding in time and then erupting in chants of “Edith Piaf! Edith Piaf!” until the quartet appeased their wishes with yet another song originated by La Môme. Arms were draped around shoulders of loved ones and soon the audience began to sway, then sing along, softly, reverently for a France that was and still is. Their voices echoed against the stones after the last note. My heart was brimming. “Je suis en Provence et je suis fiere d’y être.”

For this final post of the year, I leave you with a song, the very one which the lovely young woman to be sang with such simplicity during that Sunday concert in the countryside of Provence:

With all my Very Best to you as we bow out of 2014 with a regard of attentive hope towards the New Year,

Heather

PS. Remi kindly pointed out that I hadn’t included a photo with the musicians. That has been taken care of and hence the update…

…Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas! And a belated Happy Hanukkah too…

Our big evening was last night, as is traditional in France. Amazingly, for the first time in the thirteen years that we have lived together, we found a turkey, une dinde, for our Christmas dinner. Remi cooked it, in his own unique way. The stuffing had meat, chestnuts and grand marnier in it along with so many delicate spices…the same that he used to make a crunchy brown crust for the turkey skin. I didn’t have to do anything besides bougie patrol…and there were nearly thirty candles lit on the main floor alone. Instead of carols, we listened to Miles Davis and sipped white wine that we had bought earlier in the day from our favorite winery near Uzès. The Baccarat crystal goblets were clinked repeatedly and it was just the most lovely and love-filled evening.

That same spirit drifted into this morning, where bisous and wishes of Joyeux Noêl were exchanged just after having opened our eyes from slumber. We managed to surprise each other with our presents, a delight, as were those that came from family and friends. And then, pour se mettre en appétit, or to work up an appetite, we took a long walk with the dogs in the sun. Ben padded along at our side and Kipling ran amuk, as per usual. And it worked. We have popped a bottle of crémant and Remi is now  cooking again, a seafood cassoulet – one of his specialties – stuffed with crab, shrimp, petoncles (think tiny scallops) and cod all cooked in a creamy white wine sauce within their own individual pots. If we can, we will taste a bit more of the triple cream Brillat-Savarin with summer truffles then the buche de Noêl for dessert! While other families will go exploring this afternoon, we are planning to stay home, quiet and cozy and content. After what has been, at times, a challenging albeit fascinating year, it feels so incredibly wonderful just to be at peace. 

I hope that wherever you are that you are finally able to relax and take in the joy of the season. You all have been a wonderful gift to me this year and I am so grateful for your kindness, support and shared laughter…

Sending much Love and Good Will from Provence,

Heather

On my morning walks with the dogs, I would gather up stray pine cones and branches that had been knocked over by the Mistral gusts from the previous night. Each day, there would be a few more, so many that I could pick and choose à la Goldielocks.

As always, we are the only people in Provence not to build an elaborate crèche filled with santons depicting characters from traditional village life but rather we will stick to our nativity scene made out of banana bark and bought during a safari in Tanzania, which makes it all the more special to us.

Remi’s insistence on choosing the bright red cords for our light bulbs in the small salon seems especially fortuitous now, a festive touch for this time of year. 

Despite my glee in thinking, “Where can I put this?” I tried not to get too carried away and so the guest bedroom only has one woodsy garland on the old shutter headboard (I feared anything more might fall on the heads of our guests!)…

…and certainly, Mr. Zen Buddha in our bedroom is far too deep in his meditation to be concerned with such frippery…

…even if it is tempting to bebauble…

…and bedackle even le benitier in the bath!

But there is only so much austerity a girl can take at this time of year…come on, it is Christmas!

And so with trembly fingers I pulled out the crystals from their storage in a vintage glove box one by one. But rather than spend hours patiently affixing them to the tree as I usually do, I balanced on our ladder for a few minutes and attached a few to the iron chandelier in the entry to help welcome the winter light in. Et c’est très bien comme ça…

All in all, the house doesn’t look that much different really, which is what I love. Proud to the rafters, it is a house that retains its own character no matter what. I still feel so lucky to live here, I can’t quite believe it!

So tell me, do you find the happiness that I do in this one little act? Or has it become a chore? Are you already counting down to midnight on the 31st so you can breathe a sigh of relief for the arrival of the New Year? I know that for me, I feel a lot of freedom here in France in knowing that nothing has to be the “ultimate.” Not the gifts, not the tree. Hey, they don’t even grow perfectly shaped sapins here so there is no point in searching for one (although I have to admit that I am so excited to finally have room enough for a proper tree. Begone the Christmas Branch)… 

It doesn’t matter, not in the least. Not for Christmas at our house this year.

Now, is the time to turn on the lights – on the tree, inside your heart, on the roof if need be! – and let them glow.

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To see the Monster Tree from my first year of blogging when we lived in the amazing apartment, click here.

To read more about the differences between Christmas in the States and France, click here.

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I am actually planning on posting during the holidays, albeit on my currently scaled down “Shh, it is winter” schedule. For those of you that are in the midst of an especially hectic and tiring time (like my my wonderful Mom and her Husband, Leonard, who are working so hard right now – I love you both!), please know that there is a redhead in Provence who is sending you good energy filled with calmness, strength and joy…

So much gold shining bright…

…mixed with wondrous sapphire skies keeping the Christmas star well-hidden until the night of the 24th.

There is peace here…

…within a quiet so profound that my footsteps, my breathing feels muffled, scarf-covered and warm.

Or maybe that is just how it is for me in this little corner of Provence.

I am thinking of you all and that it has been over four years for me of writing at Lost in Arles. I have seen so much beautiful spirit in the blogging community recently and not only because of the time of year. I find it incredibly inspiring and hope that you do as well. May we all continue to be night lights for each other in the dark.

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Camera update: These were taken with an SLR that Remi is lending me. Apparently, I don’t know as much about working in manual as I thought that I did. But I will get there and it still felt wonderful to head out with a camera in hand just because I could. Thanks for staying with me during this bumpy time. And if your eyes are left lacking, there is always the archives to dig into. 😉