It's 5 am and she awakes to some French guy's
voice screaming from a little black box
about Sarkosy being spotted on the beach in
his speedo's. TMFI at 5 am.
Slowly, hugging the banister, she creeps down
from the 3rd etage at 32 Bis, counting the steps
as she descends and trying to avoid the squeaks
of the 19th century maison, as not to wake the
others. Creaks, pops and moans are common
sounds to her, but it is the "hisssssing" sound
that is music to her ears. Genevieve is making
Four kisses (they are soul sisters), alternating
cheeks, morning pleasantries exchanged, then
Genevieve performs an about-face. Gestapo
appears and shouts, "VITE, VITE, VITE!"
Thirty minutes later, her only contribution
to French fashion is a scarf. Genevieve
assures her she looks fine. Going to a
brocante market requires sifting through dirt.
As her eyes scan the stalls, the hunt evolves into
a dance with the partners being her eyes and feet. Trying to stay one step ahead of Mr. Vendu.
She relies on her BLINK to make buying decisions.
She applies her cost formula and decides she can sell the French iron daybeds for $699. With each French buying trip she knows they are becoming more scarce.
A wonderful petite oak vasselier from the early 1900's. That gets added to her stash. $2495 will be a deal for one of her clients.
Garden pieces and architectural fragments always fill her container. She needs to exercise discipline here or change the name of her shop to the European Garden Market.
And the accessories...that is just about the money, as they take no space on the container. The morning has passed quickly, but has been productive.
Slowing down a bit, she begins to take in her surroundings and her mind wanders. She is already planning the new layout of her store. Fretting over whether she can do the pieces justice. Not only does she want others to find the beauty in the French antiques, she wants them to share in the French experience.She looks quite giddy here and gazole has taken on a whole new meaning!
Did someone say they brought ham?
Maurice offers some wonderful olives he bought this morning at the marché.
" Pas problem," Lulu chimes in, "to whip up some pasta." It was turning in to one of those beautiful days. One of those days full of life. She learned some French songs, laughed until her jaws ached, and made new friends. Genevieve glanced her way and made a toast, "a la bonne franquette."
She scrambled digging in her sac for the small steno pad that held her scattered thoughts and French expressions. Directly under "Those that assemble, resemble," she scribbled...
A la bonne franquette...A simple, come as you are, food, wine, and song, often unplanned, gathering.
Some would say, the material surroundings would make no difference. She however, likens it to drinking a good vintage wine from a plastic cup.
Some things are just better, authentic.
French farm tables, friendships, and franquettes, just to name a few.
Sometimes, she thinks she philosophizes too much about life. Passing thoughts, those are.
How could she even begin to sit here and not
expound on the wonderful things in life.