Author: Ang Anderson

From Paris with Love

Posted on by Ang Anderson

A few years ago I had the pleasure of visiting France and fell in love with everything about it.  My dearest friend Mo and I had such a spectacular time.  This photo, taken in Paris inside the Musée d’Orsay, looks out on the Sacré-Cœur Basilica (to the left) and the Musée du Louvre (to the right).  The Grande Roue de Paris is at the very center. 

I love (love!!!) this picture.  The view is spectacular.  The memories even more so.

I thought it was a few years ago but after checking my records – it has been eight years.  (Eight?!?)

Oh how time flies! What better symbol of time flying than the view from this gorgeous clock?

I will also shamefully admit that I drafted the beginning of this post in March, at which time I crowned this photo as the reigning background on my laptop.

I received a bit of a nudge when Mo gave me a heads up yesterday.  She informed me that it was on this day eight years ago that we had visited the Musée d’Orsay.  So, I thought it only fitting and right that I share this photo with you today.

Ahh..Paris!!

The City of Light.

The City of Love.

It is a breathtaking city and the proof lies in this one simple photo which only showcases a portion of its beauty. (By the way, that is ‘Pa-Ree!!’ in case you are struggling to hear my best French accent. If you say ‘Pare-ISS’ it just sounds like you are from northern Minnesota and are dreadfully boring. If you say ‘Pa-REE’ it sounds like you are actually in Paris which involves Chocolate Pastry Bliss, café au lait and all things French. You can decide what you are hearing. I hear only ‘Pa-Ree’.)

If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend a visit. 

If you have ever dreamed of visiting, I highly recommend you make it happen.

For our adventure, the year was 2005 and it was our third trip overseas. Our first was to Australia and our second was to Ireland, with both countries speaking a form of English that we could easily wrap our heads around.  In France, our language skills proved sketchy at best.  Sure, we utilized the proverbial learning language CD’s and practiced our speaking skills for months while driving to and fro (lots of one hour car trips at that time for me as I commuted from my love to my job).  It was extremely important to be alone during those times. To repeat the French language.  (While there are certain noises my mouth and throat are not made to repeat in any language, I can tell you that singing and poorly speaking French both sound better when you are alone in your car, isolated from any other human ears.)  It is a shame neither Mo or I had taken one lick of French in high school or college.  We tried to speak French.  Really, we did.  Each time we would sit at a café to be served, we would honorably encourage the other person to show off her skills.  Sadly, we had none.  None.  While I can’t speak for Mo (in French or English), I know what I was really doing in these dreadful moments.  I sat, as if mute, as long as I possibly could, hoping, praying, willing through intense telepathy, that Mo would speak first and be the one to flail about hopelessly in front of the waiter.

Paris was tough for that reason but worth it in every way, despite our too-English mouthpieces.  Sadly, Parisians are not known for their incredible warmth and keen sense of knowing the exact moment a struggling American needs help with their tongue.  I realize French kisses may be another matter entirely.  In our experience, helping foreign visitors speak French or using their own (presumably affluent) English is simply not their strong suit.  So, we did our very best and miraculously, we managed to dine on amazing cuisine, enjoy delicious wine, and drink in the city in spite of our lack of language skills.  Oh, what we would have given for the technology available today!  My iPhone would have been a welcome assistant in every situation from French-English translation to maps.  Alas, we made our way without Siri because well…she wasn’t born yet. 

The food, drink, and city were a joy to partake in.  Most of the time I felt as if I were walking around about a foot above the ground.  Floating.  Dreaming.  Drunk on the city.  High on the culture.  Alive.  Enamored.  All the while waiting for someone to pinch me and for me to wake up and be forced to dust off the intoxication. 

As I write this, I realize that my love for Paris is even greater than I ever really knew.  So, it is with great pride and deep, heartfelt admiration for Paris that I share with you this photo. 

Bon nui mon chere!

Berry Legacy

Posted on by Ang Anderson

It is officially berry season in the great north woods and our family devotion to the raspberry in particular spans five generations.  It dates back to my great-grandmother Marie Congdon.  She had rows of raspberry brambles that she tended to each summer.  The mere smell of the berry patch brings me back to my six year old self, and I vividly recall the pints of berries resting in her front porch from a summer morning harvest. 

Today, my grandmother JoAnn carries on the tradition just next to where Marie’s berries grew so endlessly.  Each summer since I can remember, I have picked berries.  Now, my children accompany me and my grandma usually joins us to pick a few pints.  After we have thoroughly disengaged the patch from any ripe berries, we head in with our bounty.  Grandma bestows upon us a lovely luncheon feast served with a refreshing glass of iced tea as a reward for our toil in the July heat.  It is always a day I look forward to in our summer adventures. 

 

The fate of our berry harvest is a joy to behold. 

Berries with cream and sugar. 

Cakes. 

Pies. 

Pastries.

Jam. 

Always jam.  (This means that we can delight ourselves in berry goodness all throughout the year.)

I have proudly carried on the tradition in my own garden with seedlings from my grandmother’s patch.  They were transplanted last year and produced berries this year.  (This year!)  If you would have told me long ago that I would get excited about such things, I would have had trouble believing you.  Domesticity was not my strong suit.  I can’t declare with any level of certainty that it is currently my strong suit.  But with a family of my own, somehow these simple pleasures in life – sweet, easy, heirlooms that can be passed down from one generation to the next – have become extremely important. It is funny how drastically motherhood changes you.  It affects you in boundless, crazy, heart bursting ways that you could have never imagined.  It is as if the fate of the universe rests in these devout and delicious endeavors.

Of course, all aspects of the berry legacy were passed down to me and my sister by our own dear mother, which make the legacy that much sweeter.

And all of this takes place because someone simply decided to plant some raspberries. 

Thank you to my mom, grandma, and great-grandma for sharing the berry legacy with us.   

I hope that you are enjoying summer and all the goods that go along with it. 

Actually, I hope you are having a berry, berry good summer. *winks and pops berry in mouth*

Gratitude Journal

Posted on by Ang Anderson

I discovered this adorable journal on a recent shopping excursion.

I was drawn to the cover design and the words “in everything, give thanks” inscribed on the top.

So, I thumbed through the pages for a more in-depth investigation.

I read this page and knew that this little book, bound with gorgeously illustrated paper, was intended to be mine.

There are random quotes throughout, but this quote in particular tugged on my heart. 

It was a sign, a nudge, a whisper…

“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.” – Mary Jean Irion

Okay. Maybe it wasn’t so much a sign as it was a bunch of state troopers lined up with spike strips.  Maybe it wasn’t so much a nudge but a hard push from behind.  Not so much of a whisper but a “Hey girl! This is good. You need this tattooed on your forehead.”

So, I purchased it and plan to journal about what I am grateful for.  Because I am blessed.  Sometimes, I forget that.  All too easily I forget that.  So, I plan to remind myself over and over again. 

Because let’s face it, we could all use a reminder of the goodness in our lives.  I admit that sometimes I may inadvertently possess a ‘woe is me’ attitude.  I don’t mean to.  But it seems to be in our human nature to see what is wrong instead of what is right.  So, I intend to use this gratitude journal to focus on the good in my life and celebrate the extraordinary in the most simple moments.

In one of those simple yet extraordinary moments, my sweet boy recently shared his own words of prayer at bedtime. I immediately wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget. (Because, per the above, I sometimes do forget.)

Easton’s Prayer:

“Thank you God and Jesus for building us. Thank you for giving us the skills to build things. I love you God and Jesus. Amen.”

*heart melts*

I thought it rather fitting to make this prayer the first entry in my gratitude journal.

Blissfully blessed –