Random Black and White Photos of Paris

The top photo is a garden behind Musee Carnavalet. The middle photo is (I think) somewhere in the Latin Quarter while the bottom photo is my husband shooting the Opera Garnier. Can you tell what I am thinking of today?

Shutting out the Night

Blissfully we are having a mild spell in Wisconsin. Still the blinds in our south- and east-facing windows are opened early in the day to welcome the warmth of the sun.

We close them again around 5 p.m. as the sky begins to darken, shutting out the winter night as best we can up here where Canada is just a few hours away.

Drawing the blinds against the darkness is nothing like the ritual of closing the shutters at dusk in rural France. There we shut out the silence as well as the darkness, as I have found there is nothing as still as evening deep in the French countryside, especially as the year wanes. In spring, we were serenaded by an owl each night, but we found fall to be quiet.

Now as night draws in, we draw in as well, dimming the lights that go at twilight, and hunkering down in the snuggery in the center of the house. Behind us, there is one small light on in the kitchen, where supper is silently cooking.

This weekend I made this recipe, using Forelle Pears, which offer a crisp texture that holds up through cooking. Forelles are lovely to look at, and just as lovely to eat: sweet and strong with no hint of that metallic taste that turned me off pears as a child.

Although Forelle pears sound French, they are actually German, and their name means "trout" in German. It seemed right to pair (pun intended) this dish with a late-harvest Riesling.

How Can You Be Homesick for a Foreign Country?

Saturday was a magical day here, cold but full of small gifts. Sunshine and blue sky, the purchase of herbs at a winter farm market, a downy woodpecker in my cedar tree, a trio of pottery pieces at bargain prices at the antique shop, and a surprise gift in the mail.

Sunday was a day of dull gray sky and dissatisfaction. I found myself turning to photos of sunshine and southern France in my iPhoto files. I felt almost a physical craving to be there. Can you become homesick for a foreign country?

The photo above was taken on a sunny day in Caillac, on the north bank of the meandering Lot River. Isn't that a tidy looking building? Apparently is is a clinic for people with drinking problems.

I have long loved the sight of sun warming old red bricks. So of course I loved the sight of sun on terra cotta tiles along the road to Caillac. I would like to be those tiles, caressed by sun of the Midi-Pyrenees. It's not only cold here, but it just started to snow.


I recall being content making this salad dressing for our Sunday dinner. We spent the entire day lolling around the pool and patio, knowing we had two full weeks to explore the Lot Valley. Our dinner was chicken cooked with vegetables and wine wine of some sort. It was such a warm and pleasant day, much like the days of our first visit a few springs ago.

In winter I open the blinds early, light candles against the darkness and count the days until spring. The wait is a long one in Northern Wisconsin, and journeys through sunny photographs ease my mind and also fill me with discontent.

Fish on Fridays; Ice Fishing by the Dam

In winter I get up and night and dress by yellow candlelight/in summer quite the other way/I have to go to bed by day. (Robert Louis Stevenson)

It's light at 4:30 p.m. now, and that adds to the cheerful feeling we all get as we head for home in deepest winter. Of course, not all offices close that early. Some of us leave for work before daylight and return home at dusk. Some of my days are like that. But never Friday, although by the time my husband and I finished our errands it was indeed inky black outside.

As we drove over the West Bridge to River's Bend Road, we saw a half dozen or so ice fisherman huddle around a trio of shanties just below the dam. This is a prime spot for fishing, just north of the old mill. It almost looked like fun. I could see the fishermen moving about, toasting their hands above small heaters outside the shanties.

But we had broiled cod and roasted potatoes from the deli inside our grocery bags, the perfect Friday night meal for any time of year. Sometimes humble meals that someone else made are just the ticket after a long and cold week.

It was really wonderful, flaky and white and not overly fishy. The potatoes were gently browned and just a bit salty.

Eating fish on Friday, of course, always makes me think of the years of my life when I could think of eating nothing else on the last school day before the weekend. Fish sticks and French fries at noon, or salmon and peas. Lobster and shrimp dinners when the family sampled other restaurants on my father's night off. (He ordered steak, of course, but this was before I learned to love a good filet.)

At the moment, I am contemplating integrating fish-only Fridays into my life again, not for any religious reasons, mind you, but because it just plain tastes good and is good for you. There is something comforting about small pleasure like this.

Here's one of my favorite old posts on fish.

Savoring a Fresh Start

Yes, I make resolutions. I like fresh starts. And, once the celebratory noshing and imbibing are over, we have a perfect opportunity to start anew.

I won't bore you with the particulars, but of course, I resolve to eat better in 2010. I do this every year. One year I added more water to my diet. This year, I gave up most desserts, in part our of an allergic reaction to wheat, in part because for the most part desserts have lost their appeal. They will immediately regain their appeal the next time I visit Paris.

I have yet to find a way to give up potato chips. Why even try?

This is the year - 2010 is - that I eat lower on the food chain. I plan to eat more salads and more raw foods. Since I adore salads, that should be no problem.

This is also the year I take more time for myself. Allow me to explain: I simply find it hard to take a day off. I have to leave town to do so, and unless I am at least 150 miles from home, I am calling the office frequently.

This will be the year I will find time to savor more of those wonderful moments of enchantment. You know them when they happen: A flock of cedar waxwings in the flowering crab tree, an owl in the tree outside my window, a gaggle of geese along the shore or the pungent aroma of a smokehouse along a country road. I will stop and enjoy and breathe deeply of life.

I will start tomorrow morning with a visit to the winter farm market. I am on the lookout for herbs and whatever else might be on hand. More often than not, a visit to the farm market is sheer enchantment no matter what time of year.

The photo above was taken at the Saturday market in Cahors in September 2008. The morning was frosty, and as you can see the leaves had begun to fall.

What will you savor in 2010?