Checking in

I had a roommate one summer while I was in graduate school who came from Madrid. She was the youngest child and only daughter in a wealthy Catholic olive oil company-owning family, and this was the first time that she'd ever been away from home. (She was 22.) One evening she went to San Francisco to have dinner with friends and she did not come home. It was not unheard of in my circles for people to sleep over with friends of all denominations, so I didn't worry. But the next morning, Mar called me. In her best English, she said: I am calling to tell you that I have not dead.

And I have not dead either. Life's just been coming at us fast since last we spoke: going away parties and dinners, and then the Tour de France came through our village on Sunday, and Monday morning we took the girls to the stable where they're spending the week riding horses through vineyards, eating cake for breakfast, and playing with the stable puppies and kittens. It's girl heaven. From the stables, C and I drove north to Moustiers-Sainte Marie (it's there, in the photo). We spent two nights enjoying the blessings of furniture, and two days hiking and picnicking and stocking up on all the faience that we didn't know we needed. I now have the luxury of being physically tired instead of emotionally fatigued.

We're home now: Saturday, when the girls come home, we'll decamp to a rented house in the village. Between now and then, we'll do laundry, put the air shipment together for Monday, and return borrowed bits and bobs. Plenty to do, but not too much. I'm planning to stay in touch with you all over the next week or so, so do check back.