For once, it was Remi who pulled the car over with a need to take a second look. "You need to see this," he declared as a smile slowly spread over his features. "What?" (me, cranky after a long day). "Only your dream house," he tossed off as he slid out of the car. I grabbed my camera but was highly dubious.
Silly me. I love the cast-offs, the shy ones, the Island of Misfit Toys. Remi knows this. He also knows that there is a part of me that is dancing in silk bias cut gowns, Zelda-like, if only in my imagination. And he found the perfect blend between the two.
The house looks as though it hasn't been lived in for quite some time. But the charm of the best of what the Riviera once was beckons behind its closed-off gates, sleeping in its ill-kept gardens. With the lullaby of the sea singing just beyond. From the few shutters left open, I can tell that the house has a straight-through access to the blue beyond. Can you imagine the Jazz Age parties that were held here? Don't you feel the impulse to open up all of the windows and let the curtains billow? I sure did. And here is the kicker. Someone will. On the quaintly unimposing gate, reminiscent of more promising times, we read the permis de constuire or construction permit which was not, thankfully having to do with destruction but rather concerned the simple addition of a pool.
So someone is going to save this lovely old girl--isn't that something? It made me think of my other Sleeping Beauty, My Dream House in Provence. I would take either, frankly with unabated joy. Remi and I got back into the car and were both quiet for some time, groggy from having a new dream in our hearts and content that someone will be living it soon.
Have a wonderful rest of your weekend, friends.