A typical day at the farm...
















A typical day at the farm. I usually wake up early. Open my emails, but of course what else? Then coffee and start cleaning around the farm. Mostly picking up garbage and loading it in the car for the dump, nothing exciting. Today was a little more exciting. I cut down a tree. The most horrible tree I have ever seen. Ugly; and the flowers are so tiny they attract dust, and they fly all over, and land on the furniture.

Comments

  1. LebogeorgesMay 22, 2011 at 8:59 PM

    * Et bien moi personnellement, je trouve que tu utilises les 86.400 unités de ton capital temps quotidien de belle façon, même si on ne sait pas à quel moment tu vas aux chiottes.
    * J'aime bien te lire, c'est sain, simple et riche à la fois.
    * Je n'ai pas exploré à fond tous tes textes encore, aussi tu voudras bien m'excuser si ma question est bête mais, explique-tu quelque part de quelle façon tu as cut down a tree ?...
    * Cet article date du 06 juin 2010, il a presque 1 an puisque nous sommes aujourd'hui (déjà pour nous froggies) le mardi 23 mai 2011 (il est 05H59, in the morning); au jour d'aujourd'hui donc, nous savons précisément à quel moment tu vas aux chiottes, à moins que ce ne soit "faire ta toilette" que tu voulais exprimer dans ce terme entre crochets !([terme])
    * (extrait) :
    Moi, je me lève le matin, je prends mon café d’abord, [toilette] après et voilà, la belle journée commence même si je ne fais rien de spécial, la vie est spéciale. La vie est courte, la vie est belle. La vie n’est pas compliquée, on se la complique. J’aime mon monde. J’aime la vie et je suis contente que vous soyez dans ma vie Christine et toi...
    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
    Pour tout ça, et + encore, merci Laure !

    ReplyDelete
  2. MomoMay 23, 2011 at 4:08 AM

    C'est mignon ça!! C'est une bonne idée Laure que je reçois tes notification du blog!! bises

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A night in a French Gendarmerie’s Prison Cell!

Image
The old Gendarmerie in Montauban It was a dark and stormy night… Quit that and get to the story...  A long, very long time ago when I was a young, very young woman, my sisters and I used to spend our summers in Southern France doing what we did best in those days, party.  In the summer, most French villages down south have block parties.  Their block parties consisted of the entire village participating.  Sometimes, they managed to get some famous singers to perform.  Between block parties, discotheques, getting up late in the morning, sunbathing in the afternoon, we had a great life; a shallow life one would say, but we were young.  We had an apartment in one of those converted townhouses, with only one main entrance.  The old man living in the apartment facing us didn’t like us at all.  Actually, he didn’t like Asians, and he didn’t like noisy girls.  We came home late, and according to him, we were not nice.  One night he decided...
Read more

Places!

Image
Haiti, a country I learned to love.  I was not sure what to make of Port-au-Prince when I first arrived  (this will have to be in my next posting) ; then Barnett forwarded an email about participating in a Progressive Dinner.  I've always liked Progressive Dinners, and we did a lot of that in the Foreign Service.  I called the person responsible for coordinating the event and asked if we might end the evening at my house with desserts and coffee.  The answer was "yes."  That was my introduction to Robin.  It was a successful event, everyone went out of his/her way to make all of us newbies welcome.  I made lots and lots of Lao and Thai desserts using the mangoes and coconuts I found in Petionville. In a corner of my living room, I had a comfortable arm chair, a lamp, and a small table covered with books that I would pick up and read every morning while sipping coffee.  In particular, I like the Daily Spiritual Reading.  Robin actu...
Read more

Coquelicot...

Image
For years now, I keep on saying that I am a potted plant because I have been wandering around the world since the age of five. I have no roots, I have never had a steady place to call my own, and now I do not want to own one. My base is myself, and I am content. It has come to a point that moving is not only part of my life, but it is my life; a life instilled into my body and soul so deep that not moving is not an option. I tried hard to stay put, to stay in one place; and I realized that I am not happy that way. My spirit is gloomy, and my soul has difficulty enduring the confinement of staying put. I believe that I am more of a poppy than a potted plant. I adapt easily to my environment, wherever that happens to be.  Poppies come in different colors, they are resilient. Each generates a distinct aroma. Poppies grow everywhere, From the mountains of Himalaya To the plains of California. They grow in Iceland And they travel to Thailand. They can be found in Spain, And the...
Read more