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On a whim during my honeymoon, I coerced my husband, the talented comedy director (and funniest man I've ever met or, should I say, married) Gary Weis to buy a house in France’s La Profonde (the deep interior heart of the nation). We took a wrong turn and instead of going to stay at a posh hotel in Provence we ended up in what was then an unfashionable part of the South of France. Le Sud Ouest.


Between my longing to have a home close to my roots, somewhere between southwest Scotland and the Tuscan coast, I found a remote, rundown farmhouse (see MILIEU’s Spring 2019 issue) that sat atop a cluster of hills with far reaching views of the Pyrenees. It was February and neither of us had any idea that the house we were to call home would be surrounded by sunflowers during the summer months.


Cut to four years later, when we were the proud parents of three boys (born, I may add, within four years, Irish triplets?). With no renovating or decorating skills to talk about, I taught myself how to decorate—in French. The idea of helping my friends with paint colors and how to dress their windows was a natural next chapter. 


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This story appeared in the Summer 2019 issue of MILIEU.