Personal Milestones in Yoga

When I was brand new to yoga, I was surprised that there were  more advanced poses that I could easily get into like half lotus pose (as opposed to simple cross-legged pose or sukhasana) or upward plank pose. I realized that people come to yoga at a wide array of starting points.  Me personally, I couldn't touch my toes in standing forward bend.  I couldn't touch my head to the floor in child's pose.  Certain poses like crane pose, chaturanga dandasana, and side plank pose were like a big joke . . . I couldn't even begin to get into those poses. 

While I still find these last three challenging, now that I've been practicing over a year, I am so pleased that I can get into the poses and stay there long enough to explore my breath and explore what's going on in my body.  I can stay there long enough to make adjustments and experience the benefits of these poses.  

But what has me straight tickled pink these days is that finally, I can get into upward wheel pose.  It seems like up until a month ago, I absolutely had to modify this pose.  I simply did not have the strength to get into the position and if I did get into it with help, I couldn't stay there for very long at all.  I had been modifying with bridge pose which is still a very lovely pose that my body likes and which I will still keep on doing depending on what my body says.

It's nice to mark the milestones in yoga.  Even nicer to note how many more there will be. 

Photo Credit

Book Review: Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott

I'm really into books like these at the moment: memoirs and autobiographies.   I'm drawn to stories that tell of peoples' very individual journeys and the lessons learned and the understandings gained.  Funnily enough, I felt "Traveling Mercies" was an apt title:  it's something my parents would often say when someone was headed off on a long journey. On the recommendation of a good friend, I picked up Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith by Anne Lamott.  This is the second book that I have read by this author--the first was Operating Instructions: a Journal of My Son's First Year of Life, which, as a brand new mother myself, I really appreciated.   

Traveling Mercies was a good read.  It was not full or intrigue or any eye-opening insights but it was what it said it was:  some of Ms. Lamott's thoughts on faith, take it or leave it.  Funny that I should pick up and enjoy the book since Lamott's faith is so totally different than mine but I think that's what  I liked about: it.  She tells of how she figured out her faith, came to terms with things that didn't always makes sense, and grew to come to a place of peace.  The end of the book was kind of anti-climactic and I would say that it took me a long time to read the book because it really was a series of thoughts strung together from different moments and events in Ms. Lamott's life--kind of like a blog in book form.  There wasn't necessarily a good flow . . . but that's how thoughts (and blogs) work sometimes. 

Now I'm reading The Color of Water by James McBride, another memoir/biography, which I bought at a thrift store for a couple of cents years ago but never got around to reading and I am really enjoying it.  It's so engaging and I'm moving quickly through it. 

My First Attempt at Basic Artisan Bread

It didn't quite rise the way it was supposed to.  This is kind of the same issue I had with the no-knead bread.  Anyway, it's super tasty but far too dense--an artisan bread is supposed to be light with lots of air holes.  The recipe I used is found in the booklet that came with my Cuisinart food processer.  It is adapted from The Best Bread Ever: Great Home Made Bread Using Your Food Processor by Charles van Over.  I will definitely give it another try at some point but because of the heat, it's not the greatest idea to have the oven on.  I had to stick the dough in the fridge last night . . . so that may have messed up the process.  I'll never know till I try again, making sure to start early in the morning. 

At the Altar . . .

So little by little, I've been adding things to my altar to beautify it.  I figure if I'm going to sit there for a time, it should be some place that's beautiful.  

So, it's nice now.  I can't say it's really all tied in, i.e. has a theme, but I like it.  I feel comfortable there.  I purchased the "fruit" today.  It's artificial but it's massively hot right now and real fruit was ripening too quickly.  The bowl was one we've had around for a while that really had no use so I'm happy it's got one now.  Everything else (including my fabulous ottoman) was purchased at the thrift store (including my butsudan).  So all the pieces caught my eye in some way. 

I wish I could spend more time at my altar but there are lots of distractions in my life right now.  Sometimes I feel like if I did spent more time there, I would be more centered and have a bit more clarity about what would make me happy, content and fulfilled and what it is I should really be doing with my life.  Maybe.  Maybe  not. 

Full-time mom?

I have been very careful about not calling myself a full-time mom so as not to offend moms who work out of home.  After all, when a mother heads off to work for 8-10 hours daily she does not stop being a mom.  

But over the last few days, I have decided that I'm going to start calling myself a full-time mom.  I mean, this job that I'm doing is endless.  I don't have a quit time.  It's just what I do all the time.  Except when I'm sleeping (and that's not really true unless the boys stay peacefully asleep the whole night).  Or when I'm eking out a few moments in the morning to workout.  And if I were taking care of someone else's children, this would certainly be called a full-time job.  Plus overtime.  Plus extra days off just because of the high stress nature of the job (shrieking kids, fighting, poop). 

The past few days I've been feeling like going to work would be a welcome reprieve.  Now, the line of work I would be doing (teaching), I know, is not a break.  It is hard work that doesn't end at the end of the school day.  And I'm not quite sure what else I could do with my Master's degree in Childhood Education . . . or what else I would want to do with it.  And in this job market?   I know that on the flip side, being a work-out-of home has it's own challenges and frustrations.  I know . . . but I've been feeling pretty challenged and frustrated with this full-time/overtime gig these past few days.  (((sigh)))  I have been impatient.  Not compassionate.  Short.  Mean.  Annoying.  The whole nine.  I feel like I need a moment . . . no, some moments.  And I know that's not realistic so it just keeps grinding on.  

Hopefully in a few days, I'll feel a shift.  Gain some perspective or something.  Right now, it's just . . . what it is. 

And here's the blanket I made for the shower . . .

Specs: 

Caron Simply Soft Yarn--I cannot emphasize enough how much I hate, hate, hate working with acrylic.  It is a special kind of hell to work with it when it is hot. And it feels like plastic.  Simply Soft is the only acrylic yarn I can even begin to contemplate working with but I really needed the blanket to be hassle free for the mom.  

I used a Size F hook.

The pattern is Rectangle Granny Square which is one my favorite patterns.  It's very easy and you get into a rhythm with it so it's a relaxing project (if you are not up at 12:00 PM furiously crocheting trying to finish it for the shower that's happening the next day).  A few notes about the pattern: I never break my yarn to start a new round.  I simply slip stitch over till I get to the starting corner of the new round.  I bordered the blanket with two rows of single crochet and one row of crab stitch.  I had grandiose ideas of what I wanted to do with the border but ran out of time.  But I think the simple border worked nicely. 

Here it is on Ravelry. 

I was very pleased with how it turned out.  I'm not sure if the mom I made it for will like it but I put a lot of energy and sweat into it so hopefully that counts for something.  

I attended . . .

A baby shower yesterday.  This shower caused me a fair amount of stress for a number of reasons.  Firstly, there was a dress requirement: everyone was supposed to wear white.  I, of course, did not have a white dress.  Luckily, I was able to get one at the thrift store for a few bucks and I liked the dress well enough.  Secondly, there was a specific request for diapers and/or wipes.  I had bought the yarn to make a blanket for the guest of honor way before I ever received the invitation so I was kind of in a tough place deciding should I still go ahead with the blanket or just get the diapers.  I decided to finish making the blanket.  I'm not sure how it will be received.  The shower was to be held at a restaurant and I was unsure about how the bill would be handled and all--and the restaurant was a gourmet kind of place.  Me, being, the picky eater that I am, did not want to be in a position where I had to pay $20+ for food that I wouldn't like.  Turns out the food was already paid for (a BBQ bonanza but I just got a plate of pasta) And then I just had a lot of anxiety about going to a function where the only person I would know was the guest of honor.  Most of my anxiety was self-imposed and I ended up having a nice time after all.

Anyway, I debated bringing a book with me to the event.  Black folks usually don't start anything on time (not being stereotypical--in fact, I was there on time and I am Black . . . generally speaking though) and I was sure that I'd be sitting and waiting for a while.  I decided against bringing the book since I thought it would be in poor taste and folks would probably think I was being anti-social.  Turns out that the guest of honor, in true diva style, was 2.5 hours late.  During the first hour of waiting, there was not much conversation going on.  I really wished I had my book but was happy that I left it at home because I wanted to appear open to socializing.  I'm not the most talkative person but I tried to strike up a conversation with the lady sitting next to me.  I didn't have much success though.

But I noticed something interesting in that hour:  folks had their eyes glued to the mobile devices.  It felt more acceptable and different than if folks had their eyes glued to a book.  Checking e-mail, Facebook and Twitter on the phone, I guess, is a way of connecting--not to the people who are sitting next to you but to the WORLD.  Reading a book, on the other hand, secludes you in a way.  Encloses you in a world to which no one else is privy.  I guess that's why it seems rude to read at a party but not rude to be cozied up to a phone. 

I have to admit:  I wished I had a funky fresh phone so I could have been busy and absorbed too.  Instead, I just kind of kept looking around, looking at my plate and feeling bored while I waited.  And waited.  Luckily, after about an hour or so, we had some more talkative guests (and some more liquor) join the table.  Folks opened up and the conversation was very pleasant. 

I did have a little bit of insecurity because people talked extensively about their careers (many successful/multi-talented women at the table).  I kind of hoped no one would ask me what I did.  I'm sure they didn't want to hear my answer: I clean poop mostly and chauffeur kids to activities that they swear they don't want to go to and then pitch a fit when it's time to leave.  LoL. 

(((sigh))) Today, Z2 decided to remove the liner of his diaper while in the kitchen and drop glops of poop all over the place.  It was seriously gross.  And had me seriously questioning my sanity in choosing to be a stay-at-home mom. 

This shower was like an anthropological study and I was so happy I went.

Photo Credit: "Blackberry" by joodi on Flickr.com

The Joy of Thrifting Returns!

Now that I'm down to a size 6 (wahoo!!), shopping for clothes at the thrift store has become easy and exciting again.  While there have always been lots of clothes available no matter what size I was, at a size 6 not only are there plenty of options, there are plenty of cute options.  I've been able to get great skirts and capri pants; blouses and t-shirts to make up my summer wardrobe.  I would say I have not paid more than $50 for it all.  

Paradoxically, it's become harder to shop for clothes in my neighborhood (aka on the ave in the hood).  I've always been accustomed to buying tank tops and bike shorts or leggings (stuff for exercising or lounging at home that I wouldn't necessarily buy at the thrift store) for cheap on the ave.  Often times I can find merchandise that has "fallen off the back of the truck", i.e. name brand stuff that somehow ended up in these little stores.   A recent expedition to the ave to try to get some new bike shorts/leggings was totally unproductive.  Turns out that they either carry extra-small (like for pre-pubescent girls or really, really skinny women) or medium and up (to xxl).  No smalls!  So my go to for bike shorts/leggings is no longer my go to.  Which kind of sucks.  But whatever.  I'll pony up the $14 it costs to buy bike shorts at Target because exercising in pants in the summer is just . . . not nice.  

Treat a Treat like a Treat

Until I started Weight Watchers, I didn't fully appreciate the extent to which my baking was keeping the weight on me.  Some of my baked delights could turn out to be 5 or 6 points per serving.  And I would, without giving it a second thought, eat 2 or 3.*  I mistakenly thought that since all the cookies, cakes, and pastries I was making were vegan they were better. Turns out that in terms of calories oil is oil (whether it's butter or safflower oil) and flour is flour (whether it's organic unbleached pastry flour or not). and sugar is sugar  (whether it's white sugar or brown rice syrup).   Now,  while I still believe baking vegan treats is ultimately better for your health (no saturated fats, no bleached flour, higher fiber content, etc), I have learned that vegan or not, I have to treat a treat like a treat.  I personally like to have treats every evening in the form of tea and a cookie of some sort.  Recently, I've been having organic graham crackers (just 1 and 1/2 sheets for a grand total of 1.5 points) with my tea and that has been good.  But every so often (not nearly as often as before WW), I get in there and I bake.

Today is one of those days.  Right now as I'm typing this, I have a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven.  The aroma is filling the house and it's wonderful.  I made the cookies using Dreena's Vegan Homestyle Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe.  When I was baking so much more frequently, I would avoid this recipe (even though these cookies are seriously to die for) because I didn't want to use expensive maple syrup.  Now that baking is not a tri-weekly bi-weekly event, I don't feel badly about using the maple syrup. It's a treat.  I'm going to treat a treat like a treat.

Oh, by the way, this recipe makes about 12 nice sized cookies and each cookie is 3 Weight Watchers points.  Since I usually allot 1.5 points for a treat daily, I do have to really think about how I'm going to fit it in since I am not about to eat half a chocolate chip cookie!

*Based on my weight, height and activity level, I have 26 points to use daily.  Eating 2 muffins at 5 points a piece means that I only would have 16 points left to use for the day.  And you know I was eating much more than that!

Photo Credit: "Chocolate Chip Cookies" by Cutting Board on Flickr.com

Father's Day Feasting!

A sistren of mine, who I met through my blog, inspired me!  For Father's Day, she planned to make a beautiful lasagne for her kingman's first Father's Day and I thought it was a great idea.  I hadn't planned to do much of anything beyond a card but I figured we hadn't had lasagne is a long time.  Even though we really like lasagne around these parts and my recipe is relatively easy, making lasagne it a multi-step process and involves a lot of dishwashing and clean-up.  Also, we treat processed soy (textured soy prtoein/isolates, etc) as a treat (so we only have it every so often).  But, I think, Father's Day was a special enough day to make it!

We had it with a mixed green salad and a simple vinaigrette.  It was delicious.  And, surprisingly, only 7 Weight Watchers points!

Here's my recipe for Quick and Easy Lasagne. 

I'm posting this while cooking lentil dahl for dinner.  We sure eat multi-culturally around these parts!

Housework and Philosophophizing

I usually clean the bathroom on Mondays (despite numerous attempts at spot cleaning, it seems like I genuinely need to bust the bathroom down at least once a week).  Our bathroom has all the original parts that were installed when the house was built: original tile (wall and floor), bath, toilet, sink and fixtures.  We've added some things to it and gotten rid of other things but overall, the bathroom is fundamentally unchanged.  And it looks every bit of its 70 years!  Our bathroom is extremely functional.  Everything works the way it's supposed to.  It's been through the bitterest of winters and the most extreme summer heat and it's still working.  But there are signs.  Cracks. Crevices. Some tiles have fallen out.  We've tried to re-grout and all that but really, the bathroom just needs to redone.  (Hopefully, next year will be the year.  It would have been this year but after a terrible storm, the water just started pouring into the house which meant the roof took precedence.)

Anyway,  this morning I saw the before and after pictures of a woman (with kids) who had completed P90X (we're on the same message board).  Amazing.  Yesterday, I was doing Chalean Extreme and Chalean pointed to a woman who has 7 kids.  Like physically birthed 7 kids.  Amazing.  I mean, there are *no signs* that these women have had children. 

It got me down.  I mean, I'm thrilled these women look so great but I have to say, it throws me for a loop emotionally.  I look at my toned legs and toned arms and back and the work I've put in is evident.  I look at my midsection and . . . it doesn't look like I've done much at all.  I can see and feel the muscle in my midsection but covering all that muscle is a layer of seriously sagging skin that as far as I can see will never snap back.  And it doesn't look good.  

So I get sad sometimes.  I feel like my bathroom!  Yes, I am fully functional and can do all these wonderful and necessary things but this part of me just doesn't look good and, most likely, no amount of cardio or strength-training is going to make it look better.  It could be genetics.  It could be that I wasn't eating optimally during pregnancy.    I wish I could say that it's probably better than I think but I've worked up the courage to show two (non-hubby) people and they both said, "Well, you could have surgery."  But in my gut I know I won't ever do that.  I don't have anything against cosmetic surgery but I couldn't see myself voluntarily signing up for it (at least that's how I feel right now--it may change).  So it's something I realize that I will have to accept.  And I am.  Slowly.  But every so often, I can't help feeling bad about it. I can't help feeling grossed out when I am doing push-ups, planks, or cat/cow pose and I look down to see the skin just kind of swinging around.  Actually, it's kind of funny and ridiculous and I have learned not to look down. 

When I'm scrubbing the bathroom, I sometimes think how pointless it is: no matter how much I scrub, no matter how much elbow grease, time and effort I put in, things will never gleam or sparkle.  But I keep scrubbing because even if it doesn't look sparkly and new, it will be clean.  I suppose that's my philosophy when it comes to fitness too:  even if it doesn't look super tight and pulled together, it will be strong.  It's the only thing that keeps me going on those difficult days. 

And there you have it: you can indeed come up with profound life philosophies while doing housework!

Picture credit

Been on a forced hiatus . . .

 . . . from exercise.  And I'm feeling really bummed. I had two wisdom teeth pulled last Thursday and I thought it wouldn't be a big deal but one was really impacted and is causing me a lot of pain. I tried strength training on Monday figuring that would be low impact but as soon as the blood started pumping, my mouth started throbbing!  So I quit.  I don't feel that I'm addicted to exercise but I do feel really disappointed that I haven't been able to get it in.  I figure if I were addicted, I would probably have pushed through the pain. 

It's been almost a week of no exercise! And in my head I'm telling myself, "well once you heal you have to really go hard to catch up". But catch up to what? I know that I won't lose all the gains I've made in just a week of no exercise but I'm still very worried about it. I know how much work I had to put in to get into shape and I don't want to go back!

And to add to all this, Z2 is back to his old tricks.  He has been waking up at 6:00 consistently this past week. I usually wake up at 5:00/5:30 to meditate and journal then I start working out at 6:00. It takes me about 10 to 15 minutes to get moving in the morning so I really tend to put pressure on myself to get up at 5 so I get 45 minutes of meditation time.  (Getting up at 5:30 will only leave me 15 minutes.)   With Zephy getting up at 6, my exercise time takes a hit.  I've tried to work out with him around but I can't focus and get into the zone with him there.  He gets in my way, makes noise, and keeps asking for things so I have to stop repeatedly.  I really need him to stay down till 7!  I'm nervous that my working out will be totally screwed when I'm ready to get back in the game next week (hopefully)!  I'm thinking hard about what to do.  Put him to bed later?  That means less sleep for me too!  Try to skip his afternoon nap so he's exhausted at night?  He really doesn't seem to be able to stay up all day. Maybe I can break his afternoon nap?  No more than an hour?  

Anyway, how have you coped at times when you had to take a break from exercise (or anything else you usually do for you) due to injury, surgery or other life circumstance?

What kind of God would . . .

I used to think about this all the time while growing up especially when reading the Old Testament. I was reminded of that today.  I'm reading Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott and in it she writes about the story of when God asks Abraham to sacrifice his only son Isaac.  

The story filled me with terror as a child.  I knew my parents would do *anything* they believed God was telling them to do because that is how seriously they took their faith.  I knew that given the same injunction by God, they would (potentially) carry it out.  To the end if that's what God told them to do.  To them, Abraham was a hero.  To me, he was a callous, unloving ass. 

The story still makes me uncomfortable especially now that I'm a mother.  I would have to risk eternal damnation before I sacrifice any of my children for any reason.  Now, I realize that some cultures and religions teach that this kind of sacrifice is sometimes necessary but who, pray tell, do my children trust more than me?  I couldn't do it under any circumstances.  I just wouldn't be able to go that distance to prove my loyalty to anyone.  Much less to a God unseen.   I have never been able to make peace with the story even though countless pastors have tried to smooth it over because in the end God did provide a lamb.  But can you image the seer terror of Isaac?  Do you think he would ever be willing to unequivocally trust his father ever again?  Who cares so long as God was pleased, I guess.  

And it always bothered me immensely:  God is supposed to be omniscient . . . why does someone who knows everything need to put his disciples through such tests.  Shouldn't God just know that they are 100% devoted to him?  Other pastors have tried to say that it was for the good of the disciples, good for strenghtening their relationship with God . . . yeah, not buying that argument either. 

There are many examples in the Old Testament that made me uneasy.  The only books I could really stand to read were Psalms and the Proverbs.  I was just always so grateful for the compassion and love the New Testament brought. 

Photo Credit: Abraham and Isaac, 17th Century

What do you want your life to look like?

While having a conversation with my good friend the other day, I realized that I didn't have a solid, clear concept of what I want my life to look like (let's call it my Lifeview).  I have ideas of what I'd like to see going on in my life but I've never taken the time to write anything down or really think about it in depth.  And it's funny because it seems fairly obvious that this is something I should have done.  But honestly, after I gave up my childhood idea of going to an Ivy League school, becoming a doctor (after graduating at the top of my class), getting married to someone equally as successful, buying a large house in the 'burbs, driving my Volvo, and having four kids (two boys and two girls).  My priorities and worldview have changed so drastically since then but I never amended my Lifeview.  Well, now is an excellent time to do it.  I'm 28, a stay-at-home mom with two young children, and an aspiring writer.  Sometimes it feels like I'm just going through the motions instead of working toward a tangible goal.  In terms of my personal happiness, even though I'm still not ready to start my own happiness project, I think outlining my Lifeview would be a big step towards maintaining and expanding my happiness.  I could identify small steps I could take to make my Lifeview my actual life.  My same friend who I was talking to had a beautiful outline that she drew up some time ago and I thought vaguely that I should do something like that.  Now I know I need to be a little more disciplined and get it done. Often when I feel discontented, I get the sense that it's because my real life is not matching up to the life I want.  So I need to get it really clear in my mind:  what is the life I want?  I know that one's Lifeview is something that evolves and changes over time and it should as one matures and develops.  If nothing else, capturing my current Lifeview in some way, shape or form could serve as a concrete way of tracking my personal growth. 

Photo Credit: http://windowsofhopecounseling.org/

Book Review: Victoire by Maryse Conde

It's been a very long time since I simply picked up a book from the library and commenced to reading it.   Instead, I have been choosing to get recommendations from people, read reviews or skim the bestseller lists.  This is mainly because I wanted to make sure I didn't waste my limited time reading things that I really wouldn't like or that weren't really worth much.  Despite relying on reviews though, I still ended up reading some duds, most recently that unfortunate novel Twilight. 

Anyway, two weeks ago I randomly picked up a book at the library:  Victoire: My Mother's Mother by Maryse Conde.  I have not read any of Ms. Conde's other works or any reviews of her work so I wasn't sure of the style or if I would like it.  I was pleasantly surprised and really enjoyed this read.

Victoire: My Mother's Mother is Ms. Conde imagining what the life of her grandmother might have been like using bits and pieces that she learned while growing up and information she gathered from (often fruitless) investigative work.  Victoire, a mixed-race, very-light skinned and gray-eyed orphan (her mother dies during childbirth and it is unclear who her father is or was) is born during the post-slavery era.  From birth, Victoire is treated with contempt (possibly because of how close-to-white she is).  She spends her life as a domestic servant.  In the service of the first family she works for, Victoire becomes pregnant and after a difficult labor and delivery, gives birth to a baby girl.  She almost dies but recovers and learns that she will have no other children.  She is run off after the identity of the baby's father is revealed and is mistreated terribly at the hands of her father.  She moves on with her life, risking everything to leave the island where she born to try to make a better life for her daughter.  She finds employment with a wealthy white Creole family and it is there that she discovers her gift: making magic in the kitchen.  Conde likens Victoire's cooking artistry to that of a writer and describes in great detail some of Victoire's elaborate culinary masterpieces. She becomes a valued member of the family she works for:  a friend to the lady of the house, a lover to the master of the house, and a surrogate grandmother to the children--all this is a total affront to her own daughter who grows up feeling ashamed and, to a large extent, unloved. 

What's interesting is that even though Victoire: My Mother's Mother is purportedly a book about her grandmother, Conde tells us an equally intriguing story of her mother, Jeanne.  That relationship between mother and daughter is fraught with tensions and filled with things left unsaid.  Victoire, tremendously humbled and alienated by her illegitimate birth status and her illiteracy rarely advocates for herself and you, the reader, often wish she would stand up!  This is in sharp contrast to Jeanne who fights desperately to distance herself from all those things her mother represents.  She struggles to reposition herself socially to the detriment of their relationship.  It is only towards the end that we start to see more of a compassion from Jeanne toward Victoire.

I was especially intrigued by this book because I have one interesting character in my family history too:  my grandfather's father.  I don't really know much about my family history having grown up in the States but I did gather one little snippet of information about my great-grandfather:  that he was a polygamist, that my grandfather was the only son of his youngest wife and that she was not treated well.  Supposedly, this is why my grandfather was so driven and why he was so successful.  Like Conde, I would love to ask questions, investigate, learn more, and if I can't figure out the real story, at least imagine what it would have been. 

My only complaint about Victoire:  My Mother's Mother is the translation.  I felt that too much of the text was still in French.  I realize that it's difficult to translate some things but I feel like the translator (Conde's husband, by the way) could have made more of an effort or, at the very least, added footnotes.  My rusty French skills could not keep up and I know I missed some things which was a shame.

Here's an interview with Maryse Conde about Victoire:  My Mother's Mother.  A nice read indeed!