It was long in the planning and though plans changed a bit here and there, some people turned up and others had to cancel, it all evened up to be a fab time in Saint Paul de Vence.
Mum had caught site of the cemetery when we were up on the wall a few days earlier. And had consequently heard that Marc Chagall had been buried there.
We hurried down the steps – not sure why since he’s really going nowhere any time soon. On entering the smallish cemetery we looked for signs of people gathering around any particular tombstones but there were none. So we had to walk past every tombstone till we came across this – covered by pebbles and rocks.
The last time Mum was in St. Paul de Vence – she did not have dogs in her life and wasn’t aware of No Dog rules. She went to the Fondation Maeght again and brought me along thinking maybe one of her friends can sit with me in the garden while she went in. But alas no! She left me with Sylvia and her family while she went with Manuela and Ellen.
Mum loves Giacometti.
You know how I know that Mum was missing me? Because she kept taking photos of all the art pieces that featured dogs.
After they had their fill of art, Mum, Manuela and Ellen went back to La Colombe d’Or for lunch.
It’s been a good two hours since Mum left me with Sylvia. When she saw all the doggies at the next tables – she was starting to miss me.
She texted Sylvia to let her know that they had returned to the hotel. Sure enough, she brought me back to the hotel where I sat sheepishly as Sylvia told Mum I was sitting by the front door and crying the whole time. 🙁
Well, that’s because we were in a new place and she had left me with people I didn’t really know. When I saw that Sylvia was taking me out, I dragged her all the way down the stairs, ran out the door with her holding on tight, took a right but checked into every store along the way back to the hotel in case Mum was in any of them.
After lunch Mum took me for a walk through the streets of the village – probably because I had been too anxious to do any of my toilet business. This time it was a more leisurely walk when Mum then noticed that there are “flower” patterns and bouquet of flowers all along the rue Grande.
This whole area is full of art surprises – everywhere!
After all that there is still the dinner celebration later in the evening. We went back to the hotel for a rest. Don’t know how we missed this sign but how did they expect me to get to our room if we don’t walk past the pool?!?!?
By the time Mum went to sit outside for a quiet moment to reflect, there was no one around – and we sat quietly for awhile.
Before long it was time to meet the others at the cafe across from the hotel – at the place where they play boules.
A bottle of rose later, it was dinner at the famous dining rooms of La Colombe d’Or.
There were suppose to be three dogs but George had to bail out and Marley was not well enough to travel. So it was just me and eight hoomans.
When all the partying was over with – we took our last walk of the day once again through the quiet village street.
Ah yes, let’s not forget it was also Easter Sunday.
Yes, it was a significant birthday but it was made special by these people around us.
Made more special because my godson Edgar was there.
I have finally been surprised for the first time in 60 years!!! Manuela, a very good friend from Dusseldorf usually has family commitments over the Easter holidays, and so it never occurred to ask if she would celebrate with me. But she and Sylvia had planned this surprise. When I was busy looking at my phone, Manuela had slipped in and sat at the seat next to me. And after almost a few minutes later did I realise she was sitting next to me. LOL! This was the moment as captured by Edgar.
I am not easily surprised and never have been so this was a first – it only took 60 years to finally surprise me.
And the day would not have been complete without Sasha and Skye singing happy birthday to me.
And of course FaceTime with George!
It has definitely been one of the best birthdays yet, thanks Saint Paul de Vence!
I’ve decided that from this year forward, every birthday is a big birthday. In fact, I started last year – celebrating the last year of being 50-something with Darcy in Venice.
I know people stop celebrating when they reach a certain age – what’s there to celebrate, they say. They don’t want to celebrate getting older.
I say – we celebrate every day we’re alive and for making it to another year. That way I don’t need to wait to make it to 70 – and celebrating it with Darcy as long as she is with me every year from now on.