There was a novel and a derivative television series, A Year In Provence, where a couple gives up the hectic pace and complexity of life in modern London for the tranquil and relaxed lifestyle of rural Provence. Americans of a certain age will immediately recognize that the premise of the story tracks that of the classic American sitcom, Green Acres.

It is an enjoyable charming series and the stars, the late John Thaw and Lindsey Duncan, make the show as engaging as Eddie Albert and Eva Gabor made its predecessor. Admittedly AYIP is a bit more sophisticated and Albert and Gabor were definitely doing great satire on American life in the Sixties.

What brings them both to mind is I have to have my Whirlpool electric range repaired. There is a bad time/ temperature control module. Back in the day, it would be a simple enough task to open the Yellow Pages, find a repair service, call them and somebody would come over and fix it if you told them to do so.

Now I go online and the entire appliance and home repair world opens up at my service. Call them and somebody will come by when it is most convenient for them and least convenient for me. It’s all similar to how life worked for Peter Mayle or Oliver Wendell Douglas.

Back to the hunt.

Ideas are percolating in my brain..I did some cleaning and I started getting ideas about the house worthy of an HGTV host. Suddenly I fancied myself serving tea on my newly reconfigured terrace, formerly the deck. Just the finest of whoever I hang around with was savoring the good life in my little slice of paradise.

Then my brain shifted gears and I was thinking about making my own lavender-infused syrup which i could use in concocting fancy drinks to serve my necessarily teetotal friends.. 

I did throw out my accumulated plastic cutlery stash and much of the recyclable containers that come with take away.

I really  want to fall asleep. Blogging is counterproductive to that interesting tion. 

Nighty Night.

We got iPhones, J and I. It is a new world, but it really isn’t.

I don’t have it in me to write about how effed-up the world is. I did watch a video on YouTube that featured a nine year old girl who is a balalaika virtuoso. If you’ve seen The Grand Budapest Hotel, you may remember the balalaika orchestra that accompanied the closing credits. This girl gave me more hope for the world than anything I’ve seen or read in the news since Nixon’s resignation. Then again, that is a major purpose of art. Art puts the mundane in its proper place.

Meanwhile, we had snow. It was Currier & Ives beautiful for a couple hours before turning to slush. Alas, Bing Crosby and the gang were not around to keep the magic going.

I did a FaceTime call with a friend, worth every minute it has taken to learn this new system.

I cleared off an enormous pile of crap off my side table, wrote some checks, paid some bills, made some charitable donations.

Here is a thought . Can you imagine your life without bogeymen? You know the people you blame for the planet’s predicament and your own personal problems. Trump, Obama, George Soros, your “ex”- boss, spouse, lover, fill in the blank. Seems like every four years, we start looking for a new Savior. We don’t need new Presidents. We need a football head coach. If things don’t work out, we hire a new one.

But whatever. The decaf is ready. My feet are cold. Life’s pretty good, as long as we have nine year old balalaika virtuosi.