Precious Cargo

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Coquelicot...

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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...
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Places!

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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...
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A night in a French Gendarmerie’s Prison Cell!

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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...
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