Pot-pourri sieben et twenty


Mozart Requiem. Paris 2016.


Dead snake. At our house in Conakry, Guinea, West Africa. C.1960. Snakes are very common in Africa. But somehow, every time we moved house, a snake would appear in the first few days. And be dutifully killed by the Cook. In that particular house, a few days before, Cook had killed a 9-10 ft python in the garden… One gets used to it. ๐Ÿ™‚


Sandwich anyone? West Africa, c.1960. One goes barefoot, despite the snakes. (And scorpions). ๐Ÿ™‚


Tlalpan, Mexico city, 2016. Typical 17th-18th century Colonial window.


Baalbek, Lebanon. 1967. We were supposed to fly from Cyprus to Israel to meet old friends. My father, a typical airline man, screwed up the flights, we ended up in Beyruth. (Never made it to Israel). This was in July 1967, barely a month after the six-day war! My parents were truly unconcerned. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Lebanon then, long before the civil war was a heaven of peace.


Phnomh-Penh, Cambodia. c.1956. With my older brother Richard and lil’ sister Gaรซlle. Cambodia is another country that was later submitted to massive slaughter. Most countries we lived on were, actually. After we left. Always after we left! I sometimes wonder whether my parents weren’t international spies! (Joke. Of course not. Just a casual succession of many countries swept into destruction.)


Et mortis fatum fini e(s)t. And Death and the fate of the end… The remnants of my Latin only could identify a few words:ย mortis, fatum, resurrectionis… The rest is courtesy of your local Latin-English translator. Church floor, Sienna, c. 14th, 15th century. (I had to take the Equinoxio time-travel capsule)


Little sister’s (and mine) first and only attempt at modeling. Paris, Salon de l’enfance, c. 1958. A friend of my mother’s needed small children for a fashion show. Above and below. (Now that I think of it, we didn’t get paid!)



Our country house in Normandy, early sixties. (So Bourgeois!) I remember endless summers of remodeling and freedom. See the white door to the left? That was the door to liberty. Open it, take your bike out and cycle away in the country roads.


When I say remodeling, I mean remodeling. Anything from plumbing to electricity to roofs, to walls to… you name it. See the minute window in the roof on the right? And the larger window in the roof to the left? My parents decided to replicate the left window, and opened a hole in the wall and the roof. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ


Above, l. to r. my father, and my eldest brother Michel, opening the new window in the wall and roof. Work in progress.


After. Big Brother Michel fixing the last details. Since we were the little ones, my sister and I were “slave” labour, called in to carry paint, tiles, nails, what have you, while our parents and older brothers did the heavy work.


Green Velvet. Paris. 2016.

Thank you for flying Equinoxio Time-Space Airline. Look forward to see you on our next trip.

32 thoughts on “Pot-pourri sieben et twenty

    • Thank you Tish. Nomads we were. And still are I guess. You didn’t do too bad in that department. ๐Ÿ™‚ The house in Normandy was fabulous. It is still there. As we left it. One of my brothers passed by a few years back. He says we should buy it back. ๐Ÿ˜‰ And thank you, the new house is more or less functional now. Kwaheri sassa.

  1. Konny’s drawings are great! ๐Ÿ™‚
    Actuially I like everything in this pot-pourri. I like the freedom that feels so strong in some of the scenes – something we’ll never see again on this Earth.
    Thank you for yet another amazing trip! ๐Ÿ™‚

    • Quite welcome Dragos. Freedom, eh? Interesting. I had not thought about it but you are right. There was a lot of Freedom. And arbitrary too. Ask the blacks in Selma. Or women going for higher education then. Not so easy. Today’s times may be confused but… I’m sure we’ll figure something out. :=) Be good.

  2. Re: the slave labour. I could have negotiated your fees.
    Re: your jumper in the pic….reminds me that Xmas is nigh upon us.
    Re: the snake. Me asleep in room by window. Africa. Open window. Woken up by shouts outside of window. Snake killed as it was about to enter window. Don’t get that problem in Brighton.
    Re: Gaelle. Have always liked that name.
    Re: the wars that broke out in your wake. I’m suspicious…I shall be keeping a closer eye on you.
    Re: the pics. Great.

    • Thank you. Re: fees. You weren’t born then.
      re: jumper. OMG. Haven’t heard that word in decades. You are so proper, Adela.
      Re: Snake (yours) OMG. Africa? hmm. Living or traveling? East? West? South?
      Re: Brighton doesn’t have snakes coz there is too much wind. I know. Been there. Re: suspicious eye. I’m innocent. I swear. (I want a lawyer). Re: today. Happy Thanksgiving. Take care. Bertram.

      • Lol. My friends used to laugh at me about that a lot. Of course I’m joking to an extent but I’d suddenly come up with some antiquated nonsense from the 1920’s to peals of laughter. (Even ‘peals of laughter’ is very Enid Blyton lol). Who says that now?! Lol.

        I have no idea where it comes from. Perhaps I was Queen Victoria in another life – or indeed Enid Blyton.

        Snakes? West. Holiday.

        Brighton? Why, do they sell a lot of beans?

        Re: claimed innocence – what else would you say?

        Re thanksgiving. Happy one and all that but not much fun for turkeys.

      • Enid Blyton? OMG. The fabulous five or whatever the Club des cinq was called in english? ๐Ÿ™‚ West Africa then. Lived there some of the finest years of my childhood. Brighton? We just went there the year before last when we were in London. Curiosity and shades of Graham Greene I guess. We were quite surprised by the wind. Thank you for Thanksgiving but we had no turkey. Poor things. Be good, Enid. (Hehe!)

  3. ick on the snake factor of course….I always enjoy glimpsing into your past, places I’d never get to see otherwise. Hope you have a nice Thanksgiving, even if you don’t celebrate, every day is a good day to celebrate life and being. Peace and love to you and yours, K

    • Mes compliments pour ton franรงais. Sehr gut. Much better than my German. As a matter of fact, we always arrived in any country AFTER Independence. We were definitely “post”. Tschรผss.

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