Singer Sewing Machine Ad From Another Time

In a very old Auvergne village,
On a weathered wood door
That no one has opened in years,
An old Singer Sewing Machine sign.

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Picture Of The Day: Sunset Through The Forest

photo by guest photographer Glenn Kelly

Sunset in the Auvergne as seen through a pine forest.
It is hard to imagine that after such a spectacular end of the day
The French weatherman is predicting severe thunderstorms for tomorrow.

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A Strong Sense Of Pride And History

Photos taken in Ambert, Auvergne

Not everything in the Auvergne is old. There are new houses on the outskirts of most little towns. However, in the center, history is ever present. Here a doorknob, there a gargoyle, over there a three hundred year-old house made of gray volcanic stone typical of the Auvergne, these are all traces of the past.
Here in France, it is self understood that old, crooked buildings are worth preserving for future generations.
There exists a strong pride of place here in France, a deep attachment to what came before.
Perhaps, dear Reader, back in Brooklyn, we could learn from the French?

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Rain And Sun At Once In The Center Of France

Photos By Guest Photographer Max Kelly


Strange weather patterns swirl over our mountaintop,
Deep in the heart of France.
Sunshine gives way to dark, menacing clouds.
Hail and rain beat down on the fields,
And then,
Just as the eye of the storm seems to be passing over us,
The sun peaks out again.

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A Moment In Time: Cows Grazing...

Yesterday, sheep grazing,
Today, cows doing the same.
Will you forgive me, dear Reader?
But, you see, I never tire of such scenes.
Sometimes, when I am in Brooklyn,
I try to remember how such a green field
smells after the rain, but I cannot.
I find it sad,
That most of the days of my life
Back home
Are spent so far from nature.

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A Trip To The Store In The Auvergne

Today, dear Friends, I am taking you shopping with me to one of my favorite stores in Issoire.
It is just a small place, but it sells some of the freshest produce, cheese and meat.
The food selection is amazing. Just look at the photo of the cheeses. That is just a very, very small sampling of Bleu D'Auvergne, a local blue cheese and of Saint Nectaire cheese.
And the fruit? How can I describe the taste of the strawberries and of the red currants? Simply heavenly!
With products like this, is it a surprise that cooking is a pleasure here?
Our first guests are arriving in just a few days. Then, I will have a reason to fill my shopping basket to the top with all these delectables.




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A Moment In Time: Sheep Grazing In The Auvergne

Can you imagine, dear Reader,
that such places still exist?
Time seems to stand still
Deep in the Auvergne.
1808?
1908?
2008?
It matters little here.

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Picture Of The Day: Waiting For New Owner

The landscape here in the Auvergne
Is full of these old farmhouses.
Slowly tilting with age,
This little beauty was built
At roughly the same time as some
Brownstones in Carroll Gardens.
The roof will need to be replaced,
But many a house such as this one
Has been lovingly restored.
You see, it's made of stone.
With some love and care,
It will stand for another hundred years.

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Stormy Night Over The Mountains

After a spectacularly clear and sunny day yesterday, a terrifying thunderstorm passed over our house. Thunder and lightning accompanied pounding wind and rain. A few times, the electricity went out. In the complete dark, we fumbled to find the candles and the flashlights.
In the future, we must remember to have them close at hand.

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How Does A Brooklyn Blogger Fill A Day In France?

How, dear Reader, do I fill my days here in the Auvergne?
Well, you see, part of it, much like back home in Brooklyn, is spent in the kitchen.
However, here, I look at a little bouquet of poppies collected in a cornfield by my husband.
When he came back with these delicate little beauties yesterday, my neighbor looked at him with the air of bemusement a country resident reserves for city people who venture into nature.
"But, poppies don't keep in a vase! " she told me. " They will be dead by tonight."
Dutifully I translated what she had said into English.
"Oh, I don't think so....they will last longer than that." Mr. Pardon Me said with certainty. Defyingly, he walked into the house, found an earthenware vase and arranged the poppies in it.
Almost immediately, the flowers drooped their heads. But to our surprise, after a while,they perked up a bit. You see them on the first photo?
And do you also see the big "couronne" or bread "crown" in the big basket?
It is baked every day by the local baker in the village at the bottom of the hill.
And I am ashamed to say, after a meal, there isn't much left over.




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Picture Of The Day: It's Sunflower Season In the Auvergne

The sunflowers are in full bloom,
In the Auvergne,
Dear reader,
And I envy the farmer who has
The glorious job of tending such a field.

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Hello, Brooklyn! All Is Fine Here In France...

From the traffic nightmare around Paris to this:

Dear Reader,
This jet-lagged Blogger landed in Paris early on Friday morning, stored the suitcases in a rental car and headed for a little spot far away from her usual life in Brooklyn.
Four hours later, I finally reached my destination: the Middle of the Auvergne, one of the most beautiful and relatively untouched areas of France.
And it is glorious here. I had forgotten that there are places in this world where the sky stretches unobstructed forever, where one can see valleys and hills, and where it is possible to hear nothing else but the song of birds.
Here, in between the forests and the fields, I feel as much at home as in Brooklyn.
Not Court Street, but dirt paths that lead from one cluster of old stone houses to another.
No supermarket, but a friendly neighbor who gave me baby lettuce plants to put into the dirt so that I can have fresh salad every day. No nightlife, but a warm fire in the chimney, a good glass of wine in my hand and the absolute feeling of contentment.

May I say, dear reader, that our life in Brooklyn is way too hectic? If I could bottle this peace and quiet and send it to you, I really would.

I hope everything is well in Carroll Gardens. Is everyone happy with the down zoning?
I heard it is beastly hot. Is that true?
Please keep me informed, dear reader. Because, you see, though I am so happy to be here, I do miss our little nabe as well.

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The Story Of An Old Auvergnat Church And A Violin

A very old picture of Condat's main square.
The church is the building all the way to the back on the left.



Condat's Main Square 2007
If you take the car's away, not much has changed over the decades



First Posted In July 2007

An old church stands in Condat -lès-Montboissier's main square, its bell tower plainly visible from all corners of this little village. It is in a sad state. Held together with huge blocks of local stone, the structure is slowly falling apart. The Catholic Church long ago abandoned this and all the other tiny community churches here in the Auvergne by not replacing the local priests when those died.
So, after centuries of being the heart of the community of Condat, the church stays closed. No more service, no more marriages, a priest is only called for funerals. A sad state of affairs. I had not been inside in many, many years, so when the mayor invited us to a concert in the church last night, Husband and I jumped at the chance. "Le Syndicat D'Initiative" of Fournol, a neighboring village, had organized a series of baroque chamber music concerts in many of the abandoned churches .
Last night, the mayor opened Condat's house of worship with an eight inch cast iron key which weighed at least two pounds. I was shocked by the church's state of disrepair. The smell of humidity and mildew was intense as we found our place on one of the simple wooden pews. One glance at the ceiling confirmed my immediate fear that we were sitting right underneath big chunks of loose plaster. I am not a religious person, but I was so saddened and shocked that this little treasure of a church had fallen in such disrepair.
The concert was given by a trio that had come all the way from Germany. I wondered how a group of first class musicians had gotten an engagement to play in such a god-forsaken place as Condat. The trio consisted of a husband and wife team playing the trumpet and the violin respectively and a harpsichordist. Though the trumpet was a bit of an odd choice for a baroque trio, it filled the little church with beautiful sounds. I promised you a tale of an old violin as well as of an old church. Here it is:
As a young man, the grandfather of last night's trumpet player saw a violin in a music store in his native town in Germany. He passed the store many times before he had the courage to enter and to ask the shopkeeper the price. When he finally entered the store and asked, the elderly shopkeeper looked at the young man and declared: " My dear young man, you will never be able to buy it. It is a very expensive instrument." More determined than ever, the trumpeter's grandfather saved his money for many, many years and finally had enough to buy the violin. He loved and treasured it. Then the Great War of 1914 broke out. Afraid that something would happen to his violin, he carefully hid it under the straw stack of his farm loft. Four long years went by. The trumpet player's grandfather came back from the war and immediately took out the violin from its hiding place. It has survived the war unscathed. But when he tried to play it, he realized that his fingers were no longer subtle and agile enough to produce beautiful music on the instrument.
Broken-hearted, he wrapped a rope around its scroll and hung it from the rafters of his bedroom. When his grand-son seemed to have inherited his musical talent, he was overjoyed. But the grand-son had his own passion. He was only interested in the trumpet.
The violin stayed unplayed, suspended from the grand-father's ceiling until he died. But sometimes, life is full of little twists and turns...the trumpet-playing grandson fell in love with a violinist. He presented his wife with his ancestor's instrument, but by then, it had not been played for so many years, that its sound was uninspiring and flat. So the trumper-player and the violinist decided to sell the violin. They took it to a dealer of old violins. The expert looked at the instrument for a long, long time. Finally, he said: " I just bought a brand new Mercedes. Would you consider accepting it as a trade for the violin?" The instrument was from the 1700's, the time of Johann Sebastian Bach's life. Needless to say, the couple decided to keep the violin.
That was eight years ago. Since then, the violinist wife has played the instrument many times and having been played again, the instrument has regained its beautiful sound. It was played in Condat's little church last night. Its sound was magnificent. An old violin rich in history being played in a church of about the same age, equally full of history. It was a magical evening. So there you have it, my little story of the day. I hope it did not bore you too much.

P.S. The name of the trio was " Ensemble Entrada" the name of the trumpet player was Dominik Arz and that of his wife, Agnieska Sokol-Arz

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Pardon Me For Leaving...

....But This Blogger Is Going Rural

In France

Dear Reader,
This is the time of year, when Ms. Pardon Me slips into her other life, the summer life led during a few wonderful weeks in the center of France.
So starting on Monday, I will be blogging about my adventures in the Auvergne. I hope that you will continue to come and visit this site during that time.
You see, though I love France, I will miss Carroll Gardens.
So please stay in touch, leave your wonderful comments and more than anything, send me your tips and gossip from the neighborhood. Of course I will include
Brooklyn posts.

Give me a day or two and this blog will be off and running with an extra French twist.
In the meantime, I will repost one or two entries from 2007.
À Bientôt,

Ms. Pardon Me


Related Reading:
Pardonnez-Moi, Mais...This Brooklyn Blogger Is Off To France

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Pardonnez-Moi, Mais...This Brooklyn Blogger Is Off To France

By the time you read this today, I may already be on my way to the airport. Yes, I am leaving Brooklyn behind for exactly 5 weeks. I know! Isn't it decadent to take so much vacation? But you will never believe if I tell you the truth. I have to take a vacation in France. See! You don't believe me, right?
The reason for the trip is simple. Since 1971, my parents have owned a stone farmhouse right in the center of France, four hours south of Paris. Every year since, they spent four summer weeks there. That is until 2003, the year my mother became gravely ill en route to this, her favorite place on earth. She never saw her beloved house again. Four months and five operations later, she passed away in a French hospital. She was unconscious for most of those long months. One of the last sentences she whispered to my father was: " Take me to my house and I promise you, I will get better in a few days."
After she had passed, my father, sister and I scattered her ashes under her beloved linden tree in the courtyard of the house. Since then, my little family has made the trip to France every year determined to keep the place for future generations. We have started to make the place our own while keeping "Oma's" spirit alive. I think she would have been proud of us. And happy that we are keeping her memory alive for her grand-children.
Now do you understand why I have to go? The house is in one of the most beautiful areas of France. The area is called the Auvergne. Yes, the Bleu D'Auvergne, Michelin tires as well as Volvic water come from there. It is a rugged, volcanic area that is so lush that it resembles Ireland, except with better food and more spectacular mountains. The landscape is breathtaking. Curvy roads wind their way through beautiful valleys. They lead through small century old villages with beautiful stone houses, and right out again through fields of wheat and sunflowers. It is a magical place.
So by Friday morning, I will be in Paris and by nightfall, I will have reached my mother's house. I will continue to blog from there, posting about my summer life in the remotest of French villages. So, please, dear reader, keep on checking in. Pardon Me For Asking will just have a French twist for five weeks. And don't think for a minute that I will be forgetting Carroll Gardens. You can be assured that I will keep an eye on my adopted neighborhood. I may be far from the hood, but I have internet. So, leave a comment, email or send me your neighborhood gossip.


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Picture Of The Day: Summer Stoop Planters

I had already walked by this stoop,
But something made me backtrack
To take a photo of
These delicate blue plants
Against the ornate railing

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