Showing posts from June, 2018

That Boy in Bandol: My French Chapter

The Blue Sea by Helen Galloway McNicoll 1829-1915 The following is a collection of six memoir posts I wrote last year over the course of several weeks for Paulita Kincer's Dreaming of France   meme. I'm sharing them again for Dreaming of France , this time putting them all together. This is the first time I've put the pieces in order, documenting a trip my younger sister and I took to Paris and the South of France in the summer of 1973. The summer I was supposed to be backpacking around Europe with my boyfriend Derek, but we broke up when he decided to go with a friend instead. The louse! I know it's a lot to read all at once, maybe break it up, they way I did? Look for the ••••••••  If I ever do write a book, these posts would make up a big chunk of the French chapter.  "Pig Alley!" My sister, sitting on the wide windowsill of our hotel room in the Pigalle, was reading from the guidebook we'd consulted to find a cheap place to stay in Paris. We&

Garlic & Gauloise: More French Memories [Also on iTunes and SoundCloud]

Tristram & Islolde: N.C. Wyeth  I ’ve been taking you back to Bandol with me lately. First came The Walk , then came Le Kiss. Here’s the final part of the story. The whole story is now available here and on Soundcloud and iTunes so you can start at the beginning if you like. Garlic & Gauloises It felt like we’d left Bandol and the beach far behind us. We had to be very close now, close to this place out in the middle of nowhere where Michel was going to take me dancing. Finally I could hear voices, shouts and real laughter; a boy’s hoot, a girl’s bell-like tinkle. Someone called out Veronique, Veronique, Vero! There was an answering cackle and something else, something in French that I didn’t understand. Whole words, snatches of sentences, floated through the still night air, loud enough for me to hear except that they were in French, and so, much like the sea breeze on this hot summer night, they fluttered and fell away before I could grab hold of their meaning

#26: The sticky-hot days of summer ... [Memoir — listen on iTunes and SoundCloud]

#26: Gilmore Street, North Hollywood This story is #26 on the hit parade of places I've called home. I figure I've lived so many places, each house, each apartment has a story attached. I'm slowly unraveling them here on a blog I began years ago, and then let go by the wayside. I wonder, is that the story of my life?  Ben and I met when I was living with Ella on Bentley Avenue in West Los Angeles. Seven years, five apartments and a sad as-yet-untold story later, Ben's and my long and winding road ended up in a dead end. All those miles, gone to waste. That's a story for another time, here's where that road took me... The Sticky-hot Days of Summer When the dust settled from my breakup with Ben, I made my way across town and moved into the smallest bedroom in Candy and Tina's three bedroom apartment in North Hollywood. Candy and Tina were a couple of more experienced tour guides I met working at Universal Studios. Funny, isn't it? It was Ben wh