on the road again

Taking a quick plunge into the mossy feet of the Ventoux before driving our well fed and marched guests to the station, I picked up a phone message from the Musiciens du Louvre:
"Mirella and Claire's father will probably die this week. He wouldn't let go of Claire's hand. Can you get on the next train?"

(Some voyage, it being a strike day but we won't go into that)

So, I'm back in Grenoble doing a music-theatre project on the city's beloved Stendhal. I haven't met Julien Sorel yet but artistically it is good to be grazing once more in the pastures of gourmet quavers. I'm not sure how the second violins who are chaps respond to being asked to play 'croches fleuries' but they could surprise us.

My friend Louise wrote a text waiting for her severly delayed plane at Marseille:
"...very much approve of your life, house, cats, husband, mountain, light etc. only the mistral needs amendment"
I would add that the touring also needs amendment:
I forgot my royal jelly from the market so will have to start the 'cure' all over again; the diet will have to wait again (though yesterday i had a rice cake and an organic carrot for lunch and I haven't had a pizza yet); I didn't get time to hug my neighbours after their dog was put down; Manon has given up her morning snuggles because half the rim of the hole she makes for herself is missing; I can only see Julian's new boat pic in cyberspace; I will miss the first almond blossom and I DO miss my husband...

This isn't a whinge because I am well and happy. More an ode to the imperfection of a perfect life.