Julie and Karen in Maine.

My dearest friend Karen and I took a most needed girls trip to Maine over Labor Day weekend (aka my birthday.) We spent nearly a week and enjoyed every moment hiking and biking through Acadia National Park and eating as much lobster as we could stuff into our mouths.

These are some of the photos.

(The next four photos were actually back in Virginia before we left for Maine. We squeezed in an afternoon at one of our favorite National Trust properties — Oatlands Plantation.)

San Antonio.

I’m basically apologizing right and left every time I write here, but here goes again. Sorry, I’m skipping San Diego (that deserves an entire page, don’t get me started) and going straight to posting a few photos taken last weekend in San Antonio with our friends Doug and Cindy (Doug’s behind the camera). Our weekend was fantastic and I could go on and on about it, but won’t . . . Thanks for sending the photos Cindy, they’re great. We were down at the Riverwalk, a perfect place for a romantic foursome.

(Shame on you, that’s not what I meant.)

Out for crêpes.

Courtney and I jumped in the car this morning and blasted off to the Christmas market in Strasbourg (France.) But before we strolled off to the outdoor market (it was raining), we detoured through several patisseries, bookstores, etc. and came out loaded with pastries and hand-made paper and ribbon for wrapping presents. I almost bought a $200 black beret until I came to my senses.

The outdoor market was a little disappointing, until we stopped for a crêpe. We must have passed 8 or 9 crêperies until finally we couldn’t stand it any more. It was meant to be because the one we chose to stop at was owned by the most delightful family. The man was quite the comedian and not only did he talk me into a banana et chocolate-noix crêpe (with plenty of sugar and a splash of Grand Marnier) but he tried to talk me into taking his son, Nicolas, home with me. “He’s very useful . . . he can do your dishes . . . he can make the beds . . . you can eat crêpes for every meal . . .” And he couldn’t decide where the heck I was from because he kept switching from French to German to French and back to German. It was so charming.

The cathedral in Strasbourg rivals any I’ve seen in Europe. I can’t believe that in a few months I won’t be able to take little day trips into France.

Two weeks in Provence.

Back from Provence. Well, maybe physically, but certainly not mentally. I’m going through the motions of unpacking, laundry, etc. while trying to maintain my fantasy that if I go outside my house, there will be the smell of jasmine in the air and a vineyard over the courtyard wall.

If only it wasn’t raining and smelling like manure outside. . .

We stayed chez Lucie and Odelle at Mas de la Treille in St Laurent des Arbes. The Mas was perfect. Maybe 15K from Avignon. After leisurely breakfasts we forayed into L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, St-Rémy, Les Baux, Aix-en-Provence, Mont Ventoux, Orange, Avignon, Cassis, Pont du Gard, and back á la Mas in the evening for many a fête gourmand.

Now, back to reality. And I’ve got lots of work to do.

Provence, France

L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue.

Cassis.

Aix-en-Provence.

Orange.

Atelier Paul Cézanne.

St-Rémy-de-Provence.

Avignon.