How not to think about packing…

Where’s Scotty when I need him? As the days count down and I’m surrounded by packing boxes, I desperately want to be beamed up to my new home. The best way to distract myself while I’m resting on the couch with various sore muscles being chilled under ice packs is to think back to some of my lovely trips to France. And look forward to another journey to my favorite French destinations next summer.

And, you MUST scroll to the bottom of the photos to see my the abode which I will share with my daughter and her husband and my two delightful granddaughters, ages 3 and 5. I know I’ll enjoy the fabulous view of the entire San Francisco bay from my little private patio. And what better than having two little people prying your eyelids open in the morning, whispering, “Are you awake, Mimi?”


Paris in winter


Eze during the Christmas holiday


Spectacular Bonifacio where my love of Corsica and my novel MOTHER TONGUE began


The gargoyles of Notre Dame in sight of our apartment a block away


Honfleur–the harbor master’s where my great-grandfather did business on his clipper ship the Llewellyn J Morse


The cottage at Chenonceau at the height of the wisteria season


The harbor at Cassis–gateway to the Calanques


Opera Garnier for the ballet–red velvet heaven

Dinner on the beach

Dinner on the beach at L’Ile Rousse in Corsica

Chagall museum Nice

The fabulous Chagall museum


Visiting 113 rooms at Chambord


The Paris Opera costume exhibit at Chambord

Serenity Bonifacio

Serenity…the harbor at Bonifacio

Hameau Stair House Oil

The Petite Hameau of Marie Antoinette at Verseilles


A stunning view of Mont Saint Michel

Oakland 1

A cozy view of my new home at night. That’s my special space on the bottom right behind the wrought iron fencing.

Oakland 2

The back patios.


The double terraced yard.


My little private patio with views of San Francisco bay


A view of San Francisco bay from the main level

A icy 2002 winter in France


This gallery contains 21 photos.


A magical photo of Eze leads to a poem

EzeVillageStarStreetI took this photo during a chilly evening walk in Eze. I couldn’t roust my fellow travelers from the warmth of the restaurant for the trek up the steep hill into the medieval town. So, I found myself alone with the magic and the Christmas star. On my return home, I wrote a poem entitled Dreaming into the New Year.

Winding down,
new memories as yet unborn,
asleep before the celebration arrives.

Drifting through dreams.
Slivers of imagination
fluttering in secret nooks.

Walking through midnight spaces
that hibernate
until eyelids close and my mind dissolves,
then burst into exotic avenues
brimming with intrigue.

Dreams conjured
by a capricious master,
Liquid dreams,
wild with passion.
Desperate flights
on wingless arms.

By act of will,
demons are banished
on this eve.

Dreamless sleep
as old as childhood,
as fresh as the next breath,

Sanctuary found
in unconscious grottoes
shimmering with pools of blessings.

Energy harvested like golden sheaves
to feed a year of tomorrows.