So, back to my mum's beautiful house...
She has what she describes as a plague of ladybugs in and around her home. To those of us in the international adoption community, ladybugs are a symbol of good fortune. This, as far as I can tell, is based on the fact that the ladybug overpopulation in the US came initially from China. I realize that this is just another superstition, however I have always loved ladybugs, and their inclusion in the mythology of our adoption community has only served to secure their place in my heart. We were thrilled, then, to find ladybugs in our bedclothes, on our windowsills, and invading our luggage during our stay in Woodstock. In Colorado, it bears mentioning, the ladybug population increased multifold last summer. But in my mother's house, they have no season. They are as plentiful in mid-winter as in summer, breeding in the walls and thriving on the central heating.
A luncheon of homemade chicken salad made from the leftovers of my mother's traditional French roast rosemary chicken, a dish she has excelled at for as long as I can remember. The gorgeous salad tongs came from one of her trips to Africa, and the pelts a gift from a fishing trip in deepest Siberia.
My mother's house is 200 years old, and the artifacts dating back to many eras and many countries.
Art libraries, Indian fetishes, Moroccan jewelry boxes.
Fetishes, charms, and lost-wax sculptures made by me in my early childhood (my mother was a jeweler at the time, and had a small kiln).
Coral necklaces, handcrafted beads, and winter grasses.