Ten Years After (OK, really nine ...)
Been blogging here for a long time. Realized the other day that we started this blog nine years ago in February. Think I'm one of the first authors who was blogging regularly (and kept at it).
Thought it would be fun to take a look back at the very first blog. Anybody else been posting this long??? Give us a look at your first!


Provence Dispatch

Greetings from the South of France...okay, so I'm not in France. I'm in
frozen graysnow Chicago. But I'm thinking of the South of France. I'm
thinking about the window of our bedroom at the Auberge des Seguins (the
drawing above) and the overgrown pathways up the Roman cliffs above Buoux.
The scattered colors and chaos of the Saturday country market in Apt. The
mad Mediterranean in its shades of green and turquoise, the topless bathers of
Marseilles, and the sly octopi in the bayside crates of the fishermen,
reaching out through the slats and hissing, "Hey, Mon Ami! Let me out of

I remember the strange illuminated castlements on hilltops of the
Luberon--ancient towns and villes lit up in the dark, violet, blue, orange,
gold, red, seeming to drift above the woods and the plains like glowing
motherships, each small kingdom shining its own color. Gorde, like some hive
of angels designed by M.C. Escher, and Avignon, with its wonderful ice cream
cones and its palaces, its old walls and its hippies washing their underpants
in the ancient fountains.

After working on a novel for 20 years or so, I found a bedroom I couldn't
imagine on my own waiting for me in France. If the book is ever published,
you'll find a small Mexican room transported to Sonora from Provence, and the
low roof beams, you can rest assured, made resounding contact with my head on
several occasions. My Cinderella and I go back there often in our dreams,
and we eat the little blue quail eggs and hop the bullet train to Paris.
If this revamped website had been up and running then, I probably would
have written you a dispatch of our adventures.

But we did bring back a baby. Our madwoman Rosario, "La Chayo," now one
year old and bellowing her outrage over some slight or other in the living
room as I type this in the kitchen.
And now I'm going to go listen to Black Sabbath's first album. ("Ohhhh
nooooo, Please God Help Me!!!!!") I might be regressing.

Ever Yrs.,

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