Christmas Time Memories

Christmas time is the favorite time of many people, and while I realize other faiths don't celebrate it, for me it is perhaps the most important time of the year.   Every year my family gets together and we share not only presents but the company of each other, as many families do.   For me, this was the best gift of all, over any toy or game or anything else.

I suppose this comes from the fact I was extremely lucky as a kid.  I had two grandparents, and so I got to go to two places for Christmas.  My Grandmother on my Mom's side was a very stoic and stern woman, but for her Christmas was very much about Christ.  My Grandmother on my Dad's side was much more Jolly.  I would dare to say she was Mrs. Clause, and she would decorate her house and everything was bright and jubilant.   It isn't hard to see which place I preferred as a kid, but looking back I realize how lucky I was to have both.

Both my grandmother's are gone now, and in their place is a void I can never fill.  They both loved me, and I would give a great deal to spend another Christmas dinner with both if I had the chance.  They are there in spirit, I know.  We talk about memories we have, little jokes, fond things and even the tough times.  In that way, the spirit of both lives on even as my family has shrunk a bit, we are no less content in our celebration.

Thinking about Christmas, I can recall only a few gifts I received, but I can close my eyes and pick several Christmas times from my memory.  I can picture us all together in the snows of Lake Tahoe, with drifts as high as the porch.  The air was so cold, the lake actually froze over, and we could walk out onto that ice.  That year there was skiing, sleigh rides, and the warmth of the fire.  In the cold, the mountains were clear gray against a sea of blue, set with white snow like something out of a fairy tale.

That to me is Christmas.  The memory, the conversations and the togetherness.  For many it is the same.  So this Christmas time I wish any who read this all the love in the world.  Whatever your faith, whatever your idea of this season, spend it making new memories for the next year.

A Writer's Soul

Now that my travelogue is complete, I return to what my passion is in creative writing.  As we speak, I am working on the follow-up book for Kitsune Matsuri and doing extensive editing for the first book.  There's a lot to be said for publishing as I did, and I still intend to send the book to agents and publishers in the hope it gets picked up.

In the meantime, I wanted to hearken back to something that so many writers seem to lose sight of, and so many lose heart.  In an age where social media connects us, and which the world is saturated by books and people writing them it can be easy to lose hope.  I know I am just one small blog writer with a little audience, but I hope that what I create pleases my readers.  I have always been of the opinion that if a writer touches one person he or she is a success.  No matter if you have sold one book or one million, this nature should be the same.

I know writers who despair, I visit their blogs, read their work.  I've seen one or two quit writing entirely.  The same can be said for artists who work so hard at a product or creation but they watch it languish.  I try to reach out when I can, support, comment and say I care, and it is my hope that this simple act bolsters some sense back to the creator.

A writer's soul is easy to lift when we reach out to one another.  So to my fellow writers, and to myself I remind us all to not despair.  Someone somewhere shares that soul you have expressed in your work.  Continue on, endure and someday more will do the same.

France, Part 28 - France Finale

The end of my journey through France felt like an anticlimax.  After so many wonderful experiences to describe the departure days would be an insult.  I have never been a fan of spending the last day at a hotel next to an airport when there is so much more that one can see and do before departing.

I will say I got to see Monet's garden one last time amid a drifting fog.  Though the place was crowded beyond reason, there was a mystic element to seeing the beautiful spaces and colors surrounded by this mist.  Even a walk through local streets once we got to the airport hotel was an opening.  I saw people going about their daily lives, playing chess at a cafe.  I saw kids going to school, an old couple jabbering away.  All this in the shadow of planes coming and going.  I suppose it was a lesson that life goes on even while tremendous events happen all around us.  

I will say I was never more happy to be home, but in a way I was also sad that I left so much behind.

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Looking back on France a year on, it is difficult for me to put into words everything that I experienced into one sufficient description.   So much happened between then and now that is terrible and tragic, and I think back to my first appraisals of Paris and such and think how shallow they were.

There are certain things that stand out:  The Mona Lisa, The Eiffel, Notre Dame and the many other cathedrals, the delicious food and kind hospitality at La Excuse, walking through history along Normandy and listening to Reggie talk about his father.  All these things I have spoken about at length in my previous blogs, but now that I come to the end I don't know how to conclude.   I suppose that is the allure of France, or travel in general; there is always more to see.   

Would I go back?  I wish I could, but I wonder and worry for France and for Europe.  My eyes look West rather than east.   

I have seen all the faces of the French and they are entirely a warm and kind people.  Despite my reservations of some things, France was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Paris was very overwhelming, and not all parts were great, but the French people have the power to change the problems I saw and I think they eventually will.

On the whole, France is an ancient country that has survived a turbulent revolution, two world wars and the rise of the European state.  While it suffers now from financial difficulties, it is rich with cultural treasures that I hope they will not sell to settle their debts.

France has seen kings and conquerors, people and peasants – and everyone has the power of that ancient blood.  There is a hope for their future generations, a spark of respect for the past and for the beauty of the present.  What happens next I cannot say.  As for me, I am content with my younger country and much older and wiser for my visiting there. 

Where will my travels take me next?  Well, in March I return to Japan, to that place that always calls to me.  I will always treasure what I experienced and wish to do it again.  Until I can...

Vive la France.

France, Part 27 - Giverny Part II "Heaven's Palette"

If there is a representation of the palette of heaven on earth, Monet created it in his gardens at Giverny.   These are two huge areas, occupying the space around the house and an area accessed from a tunnel beneath the road.  The first garden is what we traditionally think of, with flowers and vegetables arranged in neat rows along cobbled paths.  The other is the famous lily pond garden.  

The first garden by Monet's house is a cathedral of color.   All the flowers were in bloom here, and it presented an incredible feast for the senses.  Monet planted his garden as he would paint a painting, infusing it with an abundance of colors.  It is one case of man influencing nature so that it might influence him.  One can walk for hours, see the subtle play of light throughout the day over plants of every description.  

The water Lily garden is superb as well, though there were only a few lilies when we arrived.  Water flows from a canal diverted from a local river and streams into the lily pond itself.  Bamboo grows here in abundance and the whole garden has a distinct oriental feel with the green arching bridges. 

Perhaps the creation of this garden is owed to Monet's interest in Japanese things.   The twisting vine that hangs with purple flowers in the spring wasn't in bloom over the most famous of his bridges.  The lack of vibrant color did not detract from the mystique of this space.  

We were very lucky to explore with few crowds, enjoying a quiet space and peaceful time to enjoy ourselves.  I could picture Monet playing here with his many children, his big bushy beard standing out like a puff of smoke against his stocky frame. 

The gardeners of today maintain the quality Monet wanted in his space.  Everywhere there are splashes of color, light and shadow offset each other. 

Indeed, these gardens are Monet’s living masterpiece, a painting one can step into – resplendent with birds and bees and the gentle breeze.  It is a quality and quantity that words alone fail and pictures merely proxy.  I can see how these kinds of hues inspired his paintings.

We spent a good while there, taking it in before walking through to the town to his grave at the cathedral.  Here too flowers grow from the bed of his death.  It was life and beauty among the worn gray stones.   Dinner was simple but sublime at La Musandarie, a little inn at the edge of town.  Most of the other places in Giverny didn't appeal, and this one was our last attempt, well worth it.  I cannot recall all that we had, but I will let these wonderful images suffice.

We finished back at the pastoral farm to relax and ponder our journey to this point.  My parents were exhausted and I was equally as tired.  We had a nice meal a local hotel in Giverny though pickings for food in town were very slim.  Our food was absolutely delicious.  We then returned to the hotel to laze, pet Flobert and watch the sunset of our last full day in France.

France, Part 26 - Giverny Part I "A Town of Green Hills."

Look up Giverny in France, and the first thing you will see is Claude Monet, the incredible impressionist painter most well known for the art of his water lily garden.  The garden, Monet's house, and the land surrounding it, are a painting come to life.  It is a town of great hills that rise up into the mountains, and while it is only a short train ride from Paris, one can easily forget that the city is so close to the French Capital.

After the crowded streets of Paris, the rugged landscapes of Normandy, and the hectic life of driving from place to place, we were finally at the end of our journey. 

Giverny Streets

Entering Giverny, one finds narrow roads and small houses, fresh flowers were in bloom all around and the hills were so verdant that I thought the color green was invented there.  Our lodging was a lovely farmhouse hotel called Le Reserve.  It was neither fancy nor auspicious, but comfortable and warm and I preferred it to all the other chateaus and hotels save the one in Ambois. 

Le Reserve

The house was owned by the family for almost four years, and one of the staple features was a giant bear of a dog named “Flobert”.  This giant lump usually had a place right at the kitchen door but might occasionally lumber over to greet visitors.  The outside is his domain, encompassing a pasture for donkeys, apple orchards and a chicken coop.  The whole area is a working farm and inside the rooms are warm and small, possessing a distinct aspect of farm living, rustic and comfortable. 

Inside Le Reserve

Flobert, Chewbacca's cousin.

Our first stop was the muse Impressionists which had a lovely outside garden.  There were groups of schoolchildren, maybe first to third grade who were taking in the plants.  What a wonderful place to educate a child on the importance of art education, by taking them to see the masters.   The paintings here spanned many artists from more realistic, to softer, to blotch paintings that all make that unique impressionist look.  Thankfully, there were no cameras and for once, the guards here seemed vigilant to catch anyone so much as looking at a painting funny.

The paintings here were awe inspiring to me.  I am no artist, but I am a fond lover of impressionists, specifically Renoir and Monet.  Some of the paintings were profound, others simple and every single one was lovely.  We spent a good amount of time taking it all in.

Musee Garden

Claude Monet's house and his gardens sit almost in the center of this still eclectic artist community.  Most everything is in five minutes of each other from his house to the local museum to the cemetery where he and his family are buried.  It certainly is a tiny place, and quite removed from any sense of hustle and bustle the day we visited.    I apologize for a lack of pictures, but photographs inside the house are not allowed, so I have to use stock ones found on the net.

Outside Monet's House

From the outside it’s a walled compound of pink stucco with green shutters just like I’d read about as a kid.  Walking through the main hall, you step into a souvenir shop that once served as Monet’s studio for painting his water lily paintings.  The room is huge, with great glass ceiling that provides a tremendous amount of light. As a man who loved light, Monet prized such a space.

Beyond were the gardens, but before I get to that I should touch on the house.  There is, once again, no photography inside.  However, the walls everywhere are covered almost entirely with Japanese woodblock prints – mostly bought by Monet from traders who had just gained access to Meiji era Japan.  I found this profound, considering Monet gained such an influence studying Japanese masters like Hiroshige and Hokusai.  I recognized some of their most famous works.

Monet's Dining Room, notice the Ukioe prints on the walls

Monet's Kitchen

Monet's Studio

Monet’s private space and studio was covered in paintings and very small by comparison to the bigger space back in the shop but it was still a nice area.  The house itself is two stories, large and long for his rather large family but it is not grandiose.  The true star of the show, however are the two gardens.  

Garden, looking back at the house.