Chuck Dreams of Love while in Honfleur

Honfleur - the loveliest of port cities with the old buildings in the foreground

 

                  I admit that I can’t and never will be able to read Chuck’s mind. Why he wants to come to Honfleur, this very popular tourist attraction in France, I can’t say.  I know why I want to be here.  

Honfleur is one of those unique places where you feel you’ve stepped back in time. Yes, the shops are modern.  You can see cars, etc.  That’s not what I mean.  In Honfleur, the essence of the place hasn’t changed.  The place that Monet came to paint over a hundred years ago is still here, waiting to be captured by the eye or the brush. 

Located near the Seine River, in northwestern France, Honfleur is the lovliest of port towns with a rich historic importance. What attracts me is the role the town played in the arts. Honfleur has been called the birthplace of Impressionism.  Monet came to this enchanted place to paint, and by doing so, he started the movement--encouraging artists to get out of their studios and into the light. 

Why this city is called the birthplace of Impressionism

As Chuck and I stand near the port, we are struck by the world we see: the lovely old brown buildings which contrast with the brightly painted timber framed architecture that is also so prevalent in this town . . . the ancient carousel . . . the bright red and yellow cloth awnings on the buildings . . . the gray wood of the stairways . . . the glistening blue water in the port . . . the white skinny boats . . . the cobblestone streets and walkways . . . the plaid blankets . . . the blue skies with the white clouds . . . the Church of St. Catherine built with a roof that looks like a boat. 

An ancient - turn of the century carousel

Timber frame house

Historic hotel

This town, thankfully was never bombed during World War II.  

A typical lunch is a crepe and a glass of cider, either dry or sweet.  After all, this is Calvados country, that lovely liquor made from French apples.

Where Chuck and I had our lunch

Tourists take in the sights.  They shop.  They eat.  Chuck relaxes beside me as I enjoy my crepe.  The sun is out full force.  It bounces off the water.  

Suddenly, I know why Chuck wanted to come to Honfleur.  He wanted some time to relax and dream.  I have this plaid blanket that he’d laying on, all comfy.  Eyes are closed.  No one is bothering with him.  Everyone must assume he’s a French cat.  

Monsieur Charles de Honfleur dreams of sailing on a skinny French boat with a lovely French cat while eating caviar and French fries.  

Oh yeah.   

Chuck Sets His Sights on a Ruined Medieval Castle

I will admit that at times it’s difficult to understand the mind of my rascal cat, Chuck.  While we were traveling around France, in the Upper Normandy region, near the Seine River, one day I happened to mention the ruined medieval castle of Chateau Gailiard because I found the history of the place fascinating and thought that Chuck might like to sniff around a place like that . . .  

After all, Chuck knows a bit of history. He’d heard of Richard the Lionhearted, who was both the King of England and the Duke of Normandy, and how he wanted to build this castle in France to protect his interests even though he promised he wouldn’t. Nevertheless, despite the expense, it took him only two years to construct this castle which sported quite an advanced design from a fortification perspective.

Chateau Gailiard had what was known as a concentric fortification, which consisted of three enclosures and a moat. It also boasted a system of defense--very modern--where the floors could open so rocks and stones and other materials could be dropped on attackers.  Just in case there were attackers, which Richard the Lionhearted suspected there would be.  The battlements were made of stone, a vast improvement over the wood used in most castles, and this meant they were practically fireproof. 

Well, this design would have worked, but unfortunately, even these improvements couldn’t prevent Chateau Gailiard from being captured in 1204 by King Phillip II, the French King, after a lengthy siege. Not for the obvious reasons but more for humanitarian ones. The locals nearby begged to be let into the castle for protection against the French soldiers.  Their admittance was the downfall of the castle. They literally ate up all the stores.

The castle suffered much in later years and eventually was deliberately destroyed as a precaution. Nevertheless, what is left of it is a marvel.  

I walked around and thought about life over one thousand years ago. It would have been cold and drafty inside. Chuck trotted alongside me, and I guessed he was busy picking up all the smells, probably able to get a much better idea of the history than me.

I was taken with the beauty of the old stone against the gray sky and wasn’t really paying much attention to him, which explains how one minute he was there, and the next, he was gone.

Up to his old tricks.

Not on purpose, of course. Chuck follows his nose. But this castle ruin is an extensive place; and it wouldn’t be easy to find the kid. 

He is a bit of a meanderer, and he couldn’t have gone too far ahead, unless he was spooked by someone or something. Then he can run, and he could be on the other side of the historic site.

I quickened my pace and followed what seemed to be the logical way around--looking down, not up, missing what I should have been noticing, on the look-out for . . . and there he was.

At some point he’d realized that he’d lost me so he’d stopped in a  frozen position and waited for me to find him. 

I scooped him up in my arms and held him close. “It’s alright. No wandering off, okay?”

Within the next minute or two, he was his old self again, sniffing the ground and the walls. 

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN EBOOK AND PAPERBACK FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM

A Father's Day Wish

Occasionally when you travel, you arrive at a place you know is special. The buildings look old and from another time. The vegetation is lush and a bit overgrown. Even the air feels different. A peace and calm overtake you as you wander the grounds. 

When Chuck, my rascal cat, and I arrived in Normandy, France, and made our way to the Abbaye Saint Wandrille de Fontenelle http://www.st-wandrille.com/, we expected, but were hardly prepared for, how very special this Benedictine monastery was going to be. 

Immediately I regretted that my father wasn’t with me to see the Abbaye. He, of all the people in my life, had a special connection with God. I imagined that in this place he would have felt as if he was in heaven.

St. Wandrille was a 7th century count who held a high position at the court of his King before he decided to give up the power and the fame and retire to the Abbey at Montfaucon in 629.  For ten years he dedicated himself to God before returning to Normandy and establishing the Abbaye at Fontenelle. 

The original basillica was dedicated to St. Peter, but it was destroyed by fire.  The Abbaye was built and re-built after it was destroyed over the centuries by Viking raids, lightning, fire, and even bombings during World War II.

In its heyday, over 300 monks lived there. It was known for its library and school. In 811 a monk and celebrated Mathematician hand copied four copies of the Gospels.  Today fifty monks live at Wandrille.

Over its long history, Fontenelle has produced thirty saints and “blessed persons,” which is quite astounding until you walk its grounds and breathe its air.  

We were lucky that day.  A group of us -- including Chuck, of course --were escorted inside the Abbaye to see the cloister, which is rarely shown to visitors.  A French monk led us into this sacred space, but there was no talking allowed.

We glimped the chapel where there are services still held.

We saw the ancient bells that still called members of the Abbaye to services.

As we wandered around, I thought of my dad.  He would have loved all of it.  The deep penetrating quiet.  The sanctity of the air, even. 

My dad passed away over ten years ago now, but I still think of the wonder he would have felt if he’d had the opportunity to see the Abbaye.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS AVAILABLE IN EBOOK AND PAPERBACK FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM. READER REVIEWS: 4.8 ON AMAZON.

 

BLOGGER BOOK FAIR - JULY 2013

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July 22-26, 2013

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Events:

as of 5/31/2013

Art Fiction Gala hosted by Lucie Smoker

Does your fiction promote the visual arts--through featuring an artist, painting, sculpture, performance art, etc? Then, consider entering Lucie's Art Fiction Gala.
The Art Fiction Gala is a virtual celebration of fiction that highlights the visual arts. Dress up in your finest, pick up some friends--a bottle of wine--and sample mind-blowing fiction that crosses the line between literary and visual art. Plus a gallery of art featuring reading.
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Three Wishes hosted by Kirstin Pulioff

Introduce your characters to the world.
Kirstin Pulioff invites you to ask your main character, "If you found a magic genie lamp, what would be your three choices?"
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Flash Fiction Challenge II hosted by Thomas Winship

Get ready to exercise your flash fiction muscles.
For the Flash Fiction Challenge II, Thomas Winship will provide an opening line.
From there, entrants will craft a flash fiction piece of approx 500 words. Entries will be displayed on Thomas' blog Vaempires during the BBF, spread out evenly across the five days, in order of receipt.
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Shah invites speculative fiction writers to write a guest post about being an indie (or hybrid) writer.
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Monster Menagerie hosted by Noree at Trip the Eclipse

What's your favorite monster or supernatural creature?
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Gargoyles Trump Joan of Arc in Rouen,France

       

       

When you travel with a rascal cat, things rarely go as planned.

Case in point.  We were in France.  Heading toward Rouen, the capital of the Haute Normandie region, which is in northern France, near the River Seine. If you are up on your French history, you know that Rouen--besides once being the largest and most prosperous city in medieval Europe--was also the place where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake in 1431. 

I’d told Chuck the story of Joan of Arc. She was both a folk heroine and Roman Catholic saint who had begun her life as a peasant girl but who claimed to be guided by God and led the French army to several victories, enabling Charles VII to be crowed King of France.  She was captured and executed at 19 years old, but twenty-five years later she was declared a martyr by Pope Callixtus III.

Chuck wanted to see the place where Joan of Arc was laid to rest so we traipsed into Rouen, on our way to her gravesite, and passed the magnificent Notre Dame Cathedral.  

The cathedral has a long history dating back to the 4th century when the first church was present, but over the years, the cathedral has been struck by lightning several times, raided by Vikings, burnt down, blown down by fierce winds, reconstructed, damaged during War, damaged during hurricanes, bombed . . . well, you get the idea.  

           But still the cathedral survived, was transformed and even immortalized by Claude Monet in his painting Notre Dame Cathedral which now hangs in the Musee D’Orsay in Paris.

On our way to see Joan of Arc, Chuck stopped. He was gazing upward at the cathedral wall, with that typical “cat quizzical look” on his face.  He sniffed once, then again, as if he could sniff out what he had spied.

“What are you looking at?”

Chuck couldn’t take his gaze off the wall.

I followed his gaze, intrigued at what was holding his attention. 

Suspended from the wall was a gargoyle.  

             I’d heard about gargoyles on buildings.  They were put on churches to frighten off evil or harmful spirits.

Chuck moved closer to get a better look, and I thought he needed an explanation.

“Chuck, the practice of putting gargoyles on buildings like churches actually started here in Rouen.  Many years ago St. Romanus,” I said, beginning the tale of the France legend, “who was eventually made Bishop of Rouen, had the job of scouring the countryside around Rouen and finding the monster called Gargouille.  Now Gargouille was a typical fire breathing dragon with batlike wings and a long neck.  St. Romanus, smart man that he was, used a crucifix to subdue the Gargouille, and he brought him back to Rouen and burned him. The head of the Gargouille was mounted on a newly erected church to scare off any other evil spirits that were lurking out there.  This was the first instance of a gargoyle used for protection.”

Chuck continued staring at the strange monster-like creature which was plastered on the wall of the church.  

“Are you ready to go see Joan of Arc?”

He glanced at me, and we turned away from the Cathedral.  We walked down the street, when suddenly Chuck stopped again.  He was staring up at a building this time. 

“Chuck, honestly.”

Two more gargoyles reared their ugly heads away from the building.  I had to admit they were interesting to look at.

             Finally, we reached the place where Joan of Arc was laid to rest.  No more gargoyles.

“She was killed a long time ago, and people still come to see her.”

Chuck looked up at me with that disappointed look.

“Excuse me.  People and cats still come to see her.”

And it hit me then, Joan could have used a gargoyle or two for protection.  

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK AND EBOOK FROM AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM.

READER REVIEWS: 4.8 STARS   

 

Remembering a Dead Friend Sixty Plus Years Later

The formal entrance gates to the American Cemetery in Luxembourg

       In honor of Memorial Day, Chuck asked that I tell you his favorite story that says so much about why we should take a moment on Memorial Day to remember.

Several years ago, the rascal cat and I were traveling in Luxembourg when we met this elderly gentleman and his wife.  He’d fought in World War II and had decided, now --before it was too late because he was in his eighties and life was slipping by fast -- to pay tribute to a fellow soldier who’d fought beside him in the Battle of the Bulge.  This soldier, who was his driver, hadn’t been as lucky as he was and hadn’t made it back alive. He was buried in the American cemetery in Luxembourg, which was established in 1944 as a final resting place for Americans killed in action.  The families of soldiers have a choice.  Their loved ones can be shipped home or they can be buried in the closest American cemetery located in neutral territory.   

When we arrived at the cemetery, and when you step foot in any of the American cemeteries on foreign soil, you gasp.  They are always beautifully kept up, massive in scope.  The rows and rows of crosses made of Italian marble take your breath away.  The knowledge that so many brave and courageous men and women fought and gave their lives to preserve our way of life hit you  hard when you are far away from your home.  These men and women left their home, never to return.  General Patton is buried here.

View of the rows of crosses--the stars represent the Jewish soldiers.

General George S. Patton made a special request to be buried at the American Cemetery with the soldiers he fought with when he died, and his wife honored his request.

The guide who showed us around the cemetery was a man who remembered the day the Americans freed Luxembourg from the German occupation.  He stood on the side of the road as the American soldiers marched into his town. He’ll never forget that day, and even though he was a boy then, he still felt a sense of gratitude toward the United States of America.

Rene, our guide, at the cemetery

Now in his seventies, he volunteers at the cemetery.  He enjoys saying thank you to the Americans who come to visit the cemetery.  

As to the elderly gentleman, he found his friend, William C. McGee, a Medal of Honor recipient, who died on March 19, 1945.  He stood near his gravesite and saluted.  It was a wonderful tribute to his friend.  

The American soldier who returned sixty years later to pay tribute to his friend

The gravesite of William McGee, Medal of Honor recipient

Chuck and I were amazed that he remembered him so many years later. The bonds that grow between those that fight for freedom. 

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS AVAILABLE AT AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM IN EBOOK AND PAPERBOOK FORMATS.  READERS RATE IT 4.8 STARS!  

Chuck Visits the Dead at Normandy

It may sound macabre to want to visit a cemetery, but when I told Chuck the story of how the cemetery came to be, he became duly intrigued and insisted on stopping to visit the dead.  We usually don’t think about what happens to the soldiers who are killed in battle on foreign soil. During World War II, there were more than 2,000 American soliders who lost their lives during D Day.  The protocol is that families have the choice--they can bury their loved ones where they died or have them sent home.  

The American Cemetery at Normandy is 172.5 acres of land, located on a cliff overlooking Omaha Beach in Normandy, technically on French soil, but it is considered American land and it’s run by the United States government.  Approximately 9,400 Americans are buried there, and every year millions of visitors from all over the world come to visit to pay their respects.

The first thing you notice are the crosses, each one marking a gravesite.  They are lined symmetrically and they seem to go on forever. Rows and rows of crosses stretch for acres and acres.  It is the sheer  organization of death that hits you--the space and the numbers.  The white crosses against the green of the grass.  Perfectly tended.  Beautiful against the blue sky.  A breeze blows from the ocean. 

Then you notice the other aspects of the cemetery.  A chapel sits squarely in the middle of the grounds.  There is a 22 foot bronze statue in the center of this memorial in the open arc facing the graves, which is called the “Spirit of American Youth Rising From The Waves” appropriate because so many of the dead in this cemetery lost their lives struggling to gain possession of the beaches in Normandy. The names of the 1, 557 Americans who were missing who could not be located or identified from the Normandy campaign are carved on the garden walls behind this memorial. And north of the memorial is an overlook where one can visualize the battle that took place during D Day.

Brigadire General Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. is buried in this cemetery.  He is one of three Medal of Honor recipients, who was awarded his medal posthumously for his valor during the Battle at Utah Beach.  He did not die on the beach that day. The oldest soldier who landed on the beach, beset with a heart condition and with arthritis, he acted courageously and survived only to die one month later of a heart attack. His brother is buried next to him.  In all, there are 38 sets of brothers buried in the cemetery.

The American Cemetery at Normandy is one of the world’s best known military cemeteries. As Chuck and I leave, we discover that near the Visitor’s Center, newsmen visiting in 1969 buried a time capsule--to be opened on June 6, 2044. 

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM IN EBOOK AND PAPERBACK. READER REVIEWS: 4.8 STARS!