Eternal Youth

A scent and smile to live by Here in Vevey, rain, snow or shine the farmers' market and tiny antique fair (brocante) takes place every Tuesday and Saturday morning. Friendly, warm vibes from the merchants, locals and visitors typically do a good job at offsetting winter's sometimes terribly frigid temperatures. Today's weather was extra-forgiving and user-friendly. So, I ventured outside and unexpectedly purchased some home harvested and made lavendar balm and oil. The merchant was a delighful, soft-spoken middle-aged French woman. With a twinkle of pride and a few photos, she described her high-altitude farm and presented evidence of her hand-picking flora for processing. Then, she explained that she has been religiously attending the Vevey market for many a year, even though she has to drive all the way from Valence, a three-hour mountainous voyage. It's a city that is part of the Drome region, renowned for its never-ending fields of lavendar and acclaimed for its organically grown commercial farming. After a fairly long but enjoyable exchange, I quickly left the outdoor market to give both ambrosial items as a gift. The recipient? The poised, pretty and always pleasant front desk manager who works at the hostel where I have been staying. I must say that one of the unforeseen gains at staying in these accomodations has been the rejuvenated sense of (clear throat) eternal youth! Well, she and the general manager have helped me out so much by offering the vacant/studio space where I have been working in and thensome. One of a few miracles that, in large part, revealed themselves this past Christmas eve. The unfailing cherry atop all of their gestures of support has been the authentic caring, ready to help smile that they have greeted me with each and everyday. The general manager's wife is expecting to deliver a boy sometime next week. Lucky lad, he shall be. Yes, sometimes, a miracle can appear before us like a technicolored hot air balloon, as it just begins to lift off the turf. Conversely, sometimes they can seem to be oh so vague or coy or even scared to be witnessed, like a stray dog in hiding. "Here miracle! Come-out come-out wherever you are!" Well, my lodging, at the well hosted hostel and in Vevey, has clearly been anything but monochromatic, vague or uncertain in meaning. Actually, the story that connects to this city goes back nearly ten years ago, with my early fascinations of Austrian artists Egon Schiele, Oskar Kokoshka and a fire-red haired ninety year old lady named Zita. I, however, shall leave that tale for another occasion. For now, my Swiss report is simply aimed at reminding us all that still there are fields of lavendar and still there are cherried smiles to be found and given freely. May such heavenly acknowledgements bring forth a rainbow of magnificent balloons and allow our earthly minds to accept the abundance of our awaiting miracles. E