Waking late, long walks and long, luxurious meals, naps in front of the fireplace, playing music until late at night, reading and writing books and music and sculpting clay and painting and sketching portraits. These are the things that occupy each wonderful day in Grimault.

Since the last blog post, we have been in Grimault, Burgundy, with our grandparents Alice and David for two weeks. I will try to stay roughly chronological.

Casey returned a few days before Christmas and he will soon update on his two weeks spent in France with Bianca Bisson and Chelsea Sarg. But we were all merrily reunited.

In the days leading up to Christmas we decorated the house with strands of multicolored lights, including a big strand on the hedge outside that looks like some exotic fruit. We also visited dozens of markets in the surrounding areas to stock up on all sorts of delicacies, including 4 different christmas cakes to be eaten at various festive times, gallons of champagne, and the usual breathtaking array of fine cheeses, meats, breads, and fruits. The open air markets in France are beyond compare, and the supermarche's are equally, but very differently impressive, with Massive vacuum packed hams and a cheese aisle that is over a mile long.

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear. It had snowed steadily all day on christmas eve, and then conveniently stopped and allowed the sun to come bursting out on Christmas morning. So we had miles of pure, undistrubed brilliant whiteness, transforming the already idyllic village into even more of a wonderous winter portrait. We had a cozy ceremony of exchanging gifts, and then spent the day in between playing with new toys (not quite in the literal sense as it would have been a few years ago, but essentially still the same), and lounging in the house. We feast on boeuf bourguinon and pasta and the aformentioned various cakes. Gluttony is a totally adequate term to describe our christmas. Otherhighlights include a long nap on the chaise-lounge in front of a crackling fire as Casey strums his guitar, and a long walk across a field that has not yet had a single disturbance in the snow. It is perfect, and undisturbed. Just like the whole day.

In the few days after Christmas we take a series of expeditions. We go to Epoisse, home of the delectable Epoisse cheese that is so incomparable. It is also home to a brilliant, snow bedecked chateau, with beautiful but now sparse gardens, and a massive tower that was once home to hundreds of pidgeons. The chateau is actually still lived in, and so has a marvelous, real-life feeling. We slip on treacherous ice, but don't really mind.

We go to Dijon, where we see the Well of Moses, a beautiful series of sculptures with massive but incomprehensible religious significance. We also go to the local museum, where Alice lectures eloquently on the art of medieval Burgundy and Flanders. The hundred little monk sculptures that are meant to adorn the tomb of the duke are on tour in America (ironic?) but the museums is still full of lovely wonders. We eat a decadent but very slow (typically French) lunch and then explore some of Dijon's music shops, buying violin strings and gypsy music.

We go to Auxerre, where we explore the vaults of a cathedral that echoes eerily and is full of brilliant illuminated manuscripts and other works of religious art. We also go to the local art store, where alice buys supplies of canvas etc. and Casey buys watercolors. We also buy a massive, communal lump of beautiful clay, out of which we all form some interesting sculptures over the next few days.

We go to Autun, an old town with a spectacular cathedral that we spend hours wandering. Grotesque carvings leer down from the arches, and we climb a tall bell tower and look down on the city. A cheerful creperie and a chocolatier await for lunch.

In the evenings, Alice cooks us decadent feasts and we play music. Occasionally neighbors will come over and demand to play music with us and we will acquiese because, even if we did not, they don't speak English and thus would not understand our refusal and would strum loudly and sing mournfully regardless. But we have cheerful jamming sessions and relax our musical standards ever so slightly.

The snow melts and the rivers flood and in 48 hours every trace of snow is gone and the whole landscape is running with water but is once again green. And lush. It is also warmer, but still hardly Californian. We are well adjusted now to the cold, but rarely miss an opportunity to pine for warm California.

Here is some of the music we play these days: Irish folk songs, Russian and Bulgarian gypsy folk music, Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show, bluegrass tunes, and Mason Jennings. An eclectic mix, I know.

It is peaceful. Recuperation. Relaxation. Quality time spent in comfort and happiness spent with true friends. It could not be better. Not long from now we will surely look back on these days of warmth and decadence with nostalgia. But for now, we are happy to be having them.