Routine

It’s settling in that I’m settling in. 

I’ve gotten a relaxed routine down...  Wake up (without an alarm). Coffee. Walk Mr. Cash. Prepare a delicious lunch for Francois and I. Eat lunch. Siesta. Coffee. Practice until 7. Go for a run. Salad, cheese, and wine. Chillax. Bed.

Can’t complain. And practice has been great lately- no distractions. Not to mention that there is a new harp in the house! I’ve started the adoption process; I hope that in a few months, she’ll be mine to keep! She belonged first to a lady in Florida, then the lady’s daughter in Washington, and then to a friend of mine from California who moved to France. It’s been a few years since I’ve had my own pedal harp, and it’s been a few years since this harp has been played. We are having a good time together. The more I play, the more her voice opens up.

There’s something exciting about the idea of owning a harp that is older than I am. She was born in the 1960s- a Lyon and Healy Style 15. We are working on a project together (more later).

The weather has been great for afternoon runs. There is a road that winds its way down into Grasse and overlooks the sea. Pine trees. Smells. A few in particular- there is a lady’s garden that is SO fragrant that it’s like she spilled a perfume bottle around its perimeter. The first time I passed it, I thought it was a fluke. But it hits me every time, and I can’t tell exactly which flowers are the ones responsible. It’s got to be the combination of all of them together- delightful. Less delightful is the guy raising chickens and goats.

I’ve begun a new “diminished usage of chicken and beef” mission in the kitchen. Something I’ve noticed in France is that people eat a wide variety of meat- rabbit, fish, lamb, snails, duck, random birds. You name it. It’s foreign to me, the American, and I’ve decided to acquaint myself with cooking unfamiliar dishes. The plan is: one new meat a week. Figure it out. Find it. Serve it. Good times. Last week was lamb. 

Don’t forget the homemade bread. 

And the language. French is, for the first time, actually fun. My forehead doesn’t wrinkle when I search for the right words to use. I find myself talking to myself in French- weird. Sometimes I would freeze up around strangers when I had to speak to them (even a kind waitress). It’s lessening. This is a good thing.

Alright. Enough babbling. Passez une bonne journée!