It begins with my mother’s recollection of a visit to Belgium on her honeymoon 50+ years ago.
To fill in their story just a bit; my father was young, British, Protestant, an only child. A rather dashing chap with an avid love of travel and geography.
Mom was a black haired, blue eyed Irish-Catholic. One of 7 children, and in her own words “having barely traveled out of the borough of Dublin” she thought my father a fine catch with his fancy car, film star hair and English ways. He thought she had beautiful eyes, elegant hands and, I suspect, fun brothers.
Despite major family oppositon due to the Catholic-Protestent issue, they married and off they went. To hear them both tell it now, which in fact I did just last night, is a tale of two very different honeymoons but that, dear readers is another post book.
Their itinerary included 7 (or 8 ) countries, possibly a boat, or not (father rolls eyes here), untold amounts of bacon & eggs (according to him, she wouldn’t eat anything else-mother rolls eyes here) and the car robbed of everything ( clothes, camera and all the honeymoon photos) outside the Folies Bergere.
But, this post is about the day they went to Belgium.
My father’s grandfather had been a soldier in the 1st World War. He lost his life, alongside literally thousands of others that day in Belgium, in 1915. Seemingly endless tides of brave yet unimaginably terrified young men and mere boys rising from the trenches to be caught in barbed wire and machine gun fire. He left a widow with 7 children back home in England. Some 40 years later, his grandson now wished to pay his respects at his grave.
My mother; ”Of all the places we’d planned to see, your father’s visit to his grandfather’s grave was very important to him.”
When they arrived at their destination in Belgium they were overcome with emotion at the immense size and immaculate condition of the beautiful cemetery. On this they both agree. Meticulous care had been taken honouring the memory of all the heroic foreign souls who had lost their lives in battle on Belgian soil, even after all these years. My mother remembers searching the rows of identical headstones for what seemed like hours, to no avail, almost reaching the point of giving up. My father recalls he had a map of sorts; a grid of numbers & letters, I presume sent to the families of the deceased after the war. In any case, after quite a hike, they came upon a lone gardener to whom my father spoke a few words en francais. When the gardener heard my father’s last name, he lifted his jacket from where it was placed…directly upon my great grandfather’s headstone.
My father; “Can you imagine the emotion, upon finally arriving there amongst thousands of graves, to find it was my grandfather’s headstone being tended at that precise moment?”
~
So I’m dedicating this post to my great grandfather, and his son, my grandfather, who also served in the British Army in World War II
and to all the brave troops who are serving now.
Without them we have nothing.
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw *sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
~
Cemeteries of the Great War 1914-1918, Belgium,
~
PS. Thank you to my parents for allowing me to share their tapestry of memories with you.
Have a Beautiful Memorial Day Weekend!
xoxo
SP
Then…
Cameos & tats, who’da thunk it?!
Italian Vogue
Arizona Muse via Vogue China
They even customize. A loved one, or perhaps a favourite pet, or just beautiful initials.
Both images via Amedeo
These are not your Grannie’s cameos
BTW, shouldn’t the Dowager have a cameo on her collar?!
A most beautiful head in the Palace of Versailles
and the most beautiful head in movies. No contest.
right??
Rugs by 
via The Libertine magazine
Tumblr
Lanvin
Lanvin
credit unknown
and make sure to have fun with it.
Located in the Indian Ocean, just a stone’s throw off the southern tip of Sri Lanka in Weligama Bay.
The famous stick fishermen of Weligama Bay
and yours truly, also in Weligama, waaay too many years ago to admit to.
I want to go back to Morocco now
The octagonal open air design allows the tropical breezes to flow through the house. The black doors you see flanking the terrace lead to bedrooms
This was Paul Bowle’s bedroom. Much of the original furnishings and paintings are still there. Don’t you just love the doors?!
Moi, in one of the other bedrooms enjoying a dreamy, sultry breeze on a very hot & humid day.
One of the things we loved about much of the architecture we encountered in Sri Lanka were the wonderful ways in which seating areas are incorporated into walls and floors.
Like this.
Taking late afternoon tea at Taprobane.Uh… no bats ’til dusk right???
The steps leading down to the ocean where the house staff told us the present owner and his mother had been swimming when the Tsunami struck.
A new infinity pool has been built in a higher location on the property. Here you can see how close the beach of Weligama is to the island.
The tropical gardens surrounding the house are brimming with eye-popping bouganvilla
Remember that the tide does rise in the afternoon in Weligama Bay!
A photo hanging in the house.
Vintage seed pearl and rhinestone cross by Stanley Hagler
Believe it or not, with the right jewellery, a belt, and a black or indigo slip beneath it becomes quite boho.
Lady Sybil would definitely approve.
Multifarious varieties of fungi at our local Farmer’s market
Vermont Wildcrafters
And to think a Giant Fungus could be growing just beneath this idyllic woodland picnic scene…
Chanterelle macaroons from Pierre Herme
Martha has this delicious sounding recipe for a “Mushroom Martini” 
Purists (and Martha) would likely kill me for saying this, but these gallon sized buckets of freeze dried(?) assorted mushrooms from Costco are surprisingly good, especially in a pinch for soups & sauces.
Caveat; If my counsel means anything to you-do not, I repeat DO NOT stick your nose inside and take a big smell.
One of my favourite ways to prepare mushrooms is to simply flash fry some of the fancier, frilly ones in a 50/50 combo of butter & olive oil until they get crispy, drain on paper towel then serve still hot; sprinkled with coarse sea salt and a generous squirt of fresh lemon juice. Like decadent, earthy potato chips-yum!
Do you think it’s easy working fashion into a post about mushrooms?!
I’ve had this image and recipe in my files for years thinking I would someday attempt it. I think it was also from Martha. It’s really the pastry that scares me, but this year might be the year. Rest assured I so will be sharing the photos if I ever make this.
Link for Morel mushroom Christmas ornaments below
Mushroomy tiles
Mushroomy rug
Mushroomy coasters from Barney’s (I have these in violet-so pretty!)
I think Hermes
Toadstools in my friend’s garden in Greece
I’d love a couple of these in my garden
There’s really something quite magical and pure about mushrooms, don’t you think?
