Little Red Lighthouse.

One of the best New York City spots. The last standing lighthouse, built in 1920 at the bedrock/skirt hem of the great George Washington Bridge. We read "The Little Red Lighthouse" about this very character on Friday night and Marguerite recounted how she actually went to visit him one time. It was true and when we told Colette the lighthouse lived here in her city, she opened her eyes wide. So, we decided to take a walk along the river and go.







Colette wanted to see the little lighthouse's light. She wanted the keeper with his keys to come and illuminate the beam. She was uneasy about the boats skimming by without guidance.

Gaza.

I am so sad about Gaza. Using indiscriminate and disproportionate force with total impunity is a crime. Israel pretending like they have no other choice than to kill in this fashion makes me feel sick.

By bulldozing civilians, Israel may be trying to turn the Gazan population against Hamas. However, if someone killed my children, I would hate that someone. With so many civilian deaths, Gaza is ripe with people who hate those who took the lives of their children and, consequently, have very little to lose. Is this not the antithesis of what Israel wants?

Sometimes the American media highlights this problem. In one of these articles I read:

One of the survivors, Bassam Abu Jameh, lay on a mat with a broken leg, his eyes rimmed with red. His wife, Yasmeen; two brothers; and three children, Batool, 5, Sohaila, 3, and Bassam, 1, had all been killed. “There is nothing left,” he said, pressing his hand to his eyes. “It is the end for us.”

He closed his eyes, lying still and letting his neighbors continue the account. After a while, he opened them again and announced, in a shaky voice: “I will marry again four times, and I will have 10 sons with each wife, and they will all be in the resistance.”

The cycle of violence will not end and is only made certain by Israel's response. With no end in sight, when will the international community step up and counter such violence?


Graphic from the Washington Post here

A window seat.

We had cushions sewn for the window seats in the parlor (went to the famous Mood Fabrics on 37th Street to choose the fabric). A perfect spot for sisters to cluster and whittle down a Friday afternoon.

Tu vs. Vous

No matter how long I've been speaking French, there are still moments where I am bamboozled. Tu or vous? It seems like it would be straightforward. But, alas, no. For goodness sake, my mother-in-law uses the vous with me and with Xavier's sister's husband while my father-in-law uses the tu with us. Xavier sent me this hilarious flow-chart he found - a guide for these puzzling pronoun situations. Click on the link to see the full chart.

Light, sand, water.

More from a great time at the end of Cape Cod.

Such a good spot to soak up lovely people.


Marguerite's twirls (the billow of that skirt would make me proud too).


Bare feet on a cool garden path.


Shreds of garden.


Arrivals from the ferry.


Bold greens, picked by an 8-year old.


Chris' pies (he packed them in) - beauties of precise, carefully milled perfectionism.


Romy looking like a grown-up human baby.


And perfect in this room.


Yoga poses with John in the morning and with everyone on the breakwater rocks.


Painting - sisters. Marguerite opened shop in front of John's house and sold some of her work - earning enough to buy a serious art kit to reinfuse value in her operation. Impressive. Colette sang along.


Marc lazing about.


Sleeping babes.

Wow.

Watching Colette's face was better than fireworks, even if they were pretty good and hanging just above the water in front of us in Provincetown.

Provincetown beaches.