A Tour of French Roofs and Windows with Dolly and Olga

A long time ago, I realized that I have an endless fascination with roofs. Please note that, at the same time, I am terrified of heights. Luckily, I don't need to crawl down the roofs, dying of fear - I can just photograph them from a safe distance. Over the years, I have gathered an extensive collection of roofs. However I hope my mother will never know how I managed to get a shot of some of them.

Thanks to the Internet, I have managed to meet this wonderful lady - Dolly's Art of Daydreaming

 We have decided to create a collaborative post about France. Not just about France in general, but about our specific impressions - in my case, of roofs, and, in her case, of windows. We also decided to add a few things of our choice. I think we have managed to put together an exciting walk, although that's really up to you to decide.

   

Blogging for Fame and Fortune

Since I’m relatively new in the world of blogging, I try to read any materials I can find on the subject; anything that might help me avoid falling flat on my face (having slipped on a banana peel, of course). After all, falling flat on my face in front of so many people from all over the world isn’t quite the same thing as falling flat on my face in front of the neighbours’ balcony while they are busy watching the Victoria Day fireworks. What was I talking about? Oh right – blogging.

I have come across a book with a rather promising title – Blogging for Fame and Fortune by Jason R. Rich.

The story of my grandmother’s cat - and one Canadian raccoon

(Pictured - not my grandmother's cat. This is my Deniska.)

Long, long ago, my grandmother had a cat named Sunny. She was a real tough cat whose responsibilities included catching mice in the basement. Sunny fulfilled her duties diligently all her life, and passed away in an unfair battle with a giant rat when she was far into her senior years.

One of Sunny’s main characteristics was a keen intellect, an astute awareness of human psychology, and an overwhelming passion for beef bones. Why bones in particular? Because, for an unspoiled cat like her, finding meat on that bone wasn’t the sort of thing to expect. (At this point, it might be appropriate to mention that there was no such thing as cat food in Soviet Russia.)

Royal Botanical Gardens

Springtime reminds me of a stage production. Maybe a play; maybe a vaudeville or an operetta. The characters are larger than life; the decorations have only the brightest colours, and the songs are only of the greatest love imaginable. This overflowing beauty makes you want to jump on the stage and take part in the proceedings.

Oh, those sizes!

Oh, those sizes! The sizes of our jeans. The sizes of our souls.

Here’s a story that a friend of mine told me:

Quiet thoughts about the weather

The whole time that I’ve spent in Toronto so far after returning from Saint Martin, it has been rainy and overall quite gloomy. No, there were a couple of sunny days, when I went out to take photos of blooming trees. Lately, the forecasts have not been inspiring. And, as it often happens with uninspiring forecasts, it gets confirmed each day. The gray skies and the constantly pouring rain brings up the thoughts that this state of affairs will never end, and that sunshine has forgotten about Toronto.

The Carnival on Saint Martin - Take #2

I wonder – who came up with the idea of the carnival? Why do carnivals, in their most extravagant form, seem perfectly at home in certain countries or cities, and completely out of place in others? What a strange idea – to put on flamboyant outfits, and go dancing down the street to loud music.

How can such a strange event unite so many completely different people, and get them to be happy and cheerful at the same time and place, and for quite a simple reason?

I’m sure historians and sociologists can answer some of these questions. However, if you leave your technology-centric city life for a while, and visit the carnival on Saint Martin, these questions will lose their releveants in the mighty flow of colour, sound, and movement. This carnival is a part of life, and also life itself, which sweeps you up in its rhythm. It allows you to breathe the hot seaside air. It stays with you in your dreams and memories. Or even in the tangible, everyday life – in the form of a little bright feather lying on the pavement.

Tick tock tick tock

The image isn't mine, but it reflects my mood pretty accurately. I hope that, despite Friday the 13th, they will bring back my previous post about the Carnival in Saint Martin, as well as all of your precious comments.

 Please, all of you, have a nice and predictable weekend!

Caribbean Days

You know how quickly the feeling of a certain place can disappear. Even if you spent quite a bit of time in that place, and recall being happy there. Even if you would like to return there one day.

Saint Martin is not one of those places. We’ve been home for a couple of days now, but all the images and feelings from the past week spent on the island are still in front of my eyes – so lively that I don’t even need to close my eyes to find myself walking down the shore.

How will I ever live without the Saint Martin roosters?

I'm back from my vacation with my daughter in Saint Martin. Despite the terrible headache I got during the five-hour nighttime flight, as well as the insect bite on my eye that makes me look like a real Caribbean pirate, I feel well, and I will tell you about my experiences shortly.

I would like to thank everyone who responded to my previous post. Also, thank you very much to all my new followers. I will check out the updates on all of your blogs really soon.

I missed everyone's blogs very much :)