Today I will be driving to Guingamp station
At 12:30 the train from Paris should bring an old friend whoI have yet to meet
My blogging buddy and loyal commentator, Claudia, is coming to visit The FVH for a few days
How amazing is that???
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Etables sur mer
When I was a mouse in the rat race there were many, many mornings when, driving to Slough on a sunny summer morning, a strong urge to turn off the motorway and follow a road less travelled almost over-whelmed me
Looking back I weep at the opportunities I missed...
The exciting places I didn't find
The adventures that passed me by...
as I sat in an air-conditionned, neon-lit, rat-infested office, the seconds of my life slowly ticking by, selling my soul for a diminishing pay packet and a promise of a pension, if I survived long enough to claim it
Yesterday, leaving a sawmill after an abortive attempt to find feather-edged board for a friend who struggles with the French language, I noticed a sign for Etables sur Mer
I've never been to Etables sur Mer
Ths sun was shining
Birds were singing
The scent of the sea was in the air
So I turned left and followed the signs....
and I found this deserted beach
Neat and tidy and and deep in sleep as it awaits the tourist season and the arrival of the posh and proper Parisians who own the big houses on the clifftop
People rich enough to spend many thousands of euros to maintain their two weeks of seaside-life each year
The words of Thoreau kept whispering in my head but still I gazed in envy at the extravagant houses perched on the cliffs and imagine living such a lifestyle
and then, as is my way, I climbed the steep stone steps cut into the cliff and, ignoring the luxury living to my left, I took a path less-travelled
The air was thick with the scent of privet flowers, a sickly-sweet and cloying smell that remindes me, always, of my house in Oxfordshire...
If I'd stayed in the rat race maybe I could have, one day, sold my soul for a mortgage on a stylish villa overlooking the sea at Etables sur Mer
I wandered and wept a little
Missing my Ragazzi and my old life...
The security if a salaried-existence...
Safety in numbers
and then I returned to the beach
I was completely alone
It was as if I were the last person standing on the planet
I slipped off my skirt and shirt and waded into the sea, past a dead crab floating on the waves, clumps of seaweed hanging like hair, broken shells, broken dreams
The water was cold and judgemental
"You do not belong"
I slipped under the surface and as I began to swim the water softened and warmed and the waves parted, just a little, for this little refugee from another life
Looking back I weep at the opportunities I missed...
The exciting places I didn't find
The adventures that passed me by...
as I sat in an air-conditionned, neon-lit, rat-infested office, the seconds of my life slowly ticking by, selling my soul for a diminishing pay packet and a promise of a pension, if I survived long enough to claim it
Yesterday, leaving a sawmill after an abortive attempt to find feather-edged board for a friend who struggles with the French language, I noticed a sign for Etables sur Mer
I've never been to Etables sur Mer
Ths sun was shining
Birds were singing
The scent of the sea was in the air
So I turned left and followed the signs....
and I found this deserted beach
Neat and tidy and and deep in sleep as it awaits the tourist season and the arrival of the posh and proper Parisians who own the big houses on the clifftop
People rich enough to spend many thousands of euros to maintain their two weeks of seaside-life each year
The words of Thoreau kept whispering in my head but still I gazed in envy at the extravagant houses perched on the cliffs and imagine living such a lifestyle
and then, as is my way, I climbed the steep stone steps cut into the cliff and, ignoring the luxury living to my left, I took a path less-travelled
The air was thick with the scent of privet flowers, a sickly-sweet and cloying smell that remindes me, always, of my house in Oxfordshire...
If I'd stayed in the rat race maybe I could have, one day, sold my soul for a mortgage on a stylish villa overlooking the sea at Etables sur Mer
I wandered and wept a little
Missing my Ragazzi and my old life...
The security if a salaried-existence...
Safety in numbers
and then I returned to the beach
I was completely alone
It was as if I were the last person standing on the planet
I slipped off my skirt and shirt and waded into the sea, past a dead crab floating on the waves, clumps of seaweed hanging like hair, broken shells, broken dreams
The water was cold and judgemental
"You do not belong"
I slipped under the surface and as I began to swim the water softened and warmed and the waves parted, just a little, for this little refugee from another life
Thursday, June 26, 2008
The man who makes roses...
Brittany is full of special people
People who have stepped aside from the rat race, from the 9-5 routine with its emphasis on making money, acquiring material possessions, keeping up with the Jones'...
People who have chosen to walk a healthier, saner and kinder path through this life
Today I had need of someone to weld a broken piece of metal so I'd arranged to go to a nearby friend whose companion, S., is a master of metalwork
This is where they live
In an old hamlet comprising several houses and a manoir that are built around a central garden with a large pool and roses, roses everywhere
In Brittany one can buy a small village for the price of a three-bedroomed detatched in Nettlebed
Well, almost....
As I arrived a strange sound filled the air
It was the community of ridiculously, unbelievably, bright green male frogs on the pond in the centre of the garden, each defending their testosterone territories with loud croaks and complaints
I scrambled through the overgrown garden to snap a picture
and then I wandered
This is the chapel...
It is a perfect place for meditation.
If you close the heavy wooden door you shut out the sunshine and light and are plunged into a dark and dreamy world of peace and reflection illuminated only by the rainbows through the tiny stained glass window
I asked to return with my mat and a candle for some periods of deep and intense reflection and spiritual healing...
"Of course, anytime, you are always welcome" was the reply
All around the central pond are rose-covered walks and little 'rooms' where painted benches invite you to sit and pause and stay a while....
It is a truly magical place
But the best surprise was, for me, discovering that the quiet and shy S. makes roses....
and once you ask him about his passion and he starts to tell you how he creates new roses, the patience required to pollinate a rose and to nurture its rose hips and how carefully you must tend the babies and how you never know what you will get and the wonder of it all, this shy man blooms as beautifully as his flowers
I was totally entranced and enthralled!
I could have stayed to listen to him forever
This is Zippy
S. actually made this rose
It's small and bright as a drop of sunshine and it smells absolutely divine!
And it is as unique as its 'father'
As S. walked me back to my car, which seemed a compliment coming from this shy and retiring man, we passed this rose growing in the hedge
He was surprised...
He'd never noticed it before
It was as if it had bloomed just today as a gift
My gift from S. is the small pink rose that he presented me with before I left...
It had no name, now it bears mine
And I feel truly honoured
A man who makes roses is a very special man indeed and a real treasure
n'est-ce pas?
I returned in a dreamy, almost meditative state.
As I was pottering around my courtyard in the warm sunshine the phone rang.
It was a prospective employer asking if I would be available in August...
People who have stepped aside from the rat race, from the 9-5 routine with its emphasis on making money, acquiring material possessions, keeping up with the Jones'...
People who have chosen to walk a healthier, saner and kinder path through this life
Today I had need of someone to weld a broken piece of metal so I'd arranged to go to a nearby friend whose companion, S., is a master of metalwork
This is where they live
In an old hamlet comprising several houses and a manoir that are built around a central garden with a large pool and roses, roses everywhere
In Brittany one can buy a small village for the price of a three-bedroomed detatched in Nettlebed
Well, almost....
As I arrived a strange sound filled the air
It was the community of ridiculously, unbelievably, bright green male frogs on the pond in the centre of the garden, each defending their testosterone territories with loud croaks and complaints
I scrambled through the overgrown garden to snap a picture
and then I wandered
This is the chapel...
It is a perfect place for meditation.
If you close the heavy wooden door you shut out the sunshine and light and are plunged into a dark and dreamy world of peace and reflection illuminated only by the rainbows through the tiny stained glass window
I asked to return with my mat and a candle for some periods of deep and intense reflection and spiritual healing...
"Of course, anytime, you are always welcome" was the reply
All around the central pond are rose-covered walks and little 'rooms' where painted benches invite you to sit and pause and stay a while....
It is a truly magical place
But the best surprise was, for me, discovering that the quiet and shy S. makes roses....
and once you ask him about his passion and he starts to tell you how he creates new roses, the patience required to pollinate a rose and to nurture its rose hips and how carefully you must tend the babies and how you never know what you will get and the wonder of it all, this shy man blooms as beautifully as his flowers
I was totally entranced and enthralled!
I could have stayed to listen to him forever
This is Zippy
S. actually made this rose
It's small and bright as a drop of sunshine and it smells absolutely divine!
And it is as unique as its 'father'
As S. walked me back to my car, which seemed a compliment coming from this shy and retiring man, we passed this rose growing in the hedge
He was surprised...
He'd never noticed it before
It was as if it had bloomed just today as a gift
My gift from S. is the small pink rose that he presented me with before I left...
It had no name, now it bears mine
And I feel truly honoured
A man who makes roses is a very special man indeed and a real treasure
n'est-ce pas?
I returned in a dreamy, almost meditative state.
As I was pottering around my courtyard in the warm sunshine the phone rang.
It was a prospective employer asking if I would be available in August...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Roses for love...
Yesterday evening I enjoyed aperitifs with The Hippies and a pair of visiting parents. Such joy! Having no parents of my own I do adore spending time with other people's.
We sat in the garden, sipped our drinks and chatted about This and That and other such important matters.
As I sat soaking up the early-evening sunshine and inhaling the health air with its scents of flowers and newly-mown grass I gazed in admiration at S's rose garden
We sat in the garden, sipped our drinks and chatted about This and That and other such important matters.
As I sat soaking up the early-evening sunshine and inhaling the health air with its scents of flowers and newly-mown grass I gazed in admiration at S's rose garden
And then I could control myself no longer, I slipped from my seat and took a stroll amongst the roses stopping to smell their heady pefumes
Small, but beautifully blooming and fabulously fragrant...
And as I moved among the roses each one rose reminded me of someone long gone
A neat, dark red and delicately fragrant rose was Jeannie...
The large, slightly blousy orange-tinged pink was my maternal grandmother, Alice...
A prim and proper little tight bloom was Auntie Emily...
A bunch of yellow roses was my mother
and so on
Now, I read once, somewhere, that rose oil is excellent for those who are grieving and finding it hard to move past a period of mourning.
The English herbalist Thomas Culpepper wrote that red roses strengthen the heart, which is perhaps why they are given as a symbol of everlasting love
For me the scent of rose petals takes me back to my childhood and the memory of all the strong and wonderful women whose wisdom and love I carry within my heart today.
And as I wandered through the rose garden and bent to inhale the intoxicating perfumes of each bush, I felt as if the spirits of those women were with me and I could see, in my mind, each smiling face
It was a wonderful experience and one that I will treasure
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Busy bees
I was so busy preparing for our summer solstice party that I failed to notice that there were gate-crashers gathering in the flowering currant hedge
The gardens at the FVH are totally organic, a little wild and oft-times overgrown and so provides a happy haven for wildlife.
We have moles and shrews a-plenty, many of which find themselves unexpectedly transported, still alive, into the house by the three cats, from whence they are carefully gathered up and relocated back in the garden by me.
Butterflies flit from flower to flower in the warm June sunshine...
Flies hover in the still air as swallows swoop and dive to harvest them...
And of course there are more than enough snails, this being France, bien sûr!
But bees have, until now, been solitary and welcome little guys
Welcome, that is, until they swarmed into the flowering-currant hedge and began to build a nest
Honey bees (or honeybees) are a subset of bees, primarily distinguished by the production and storage of honey and the construction of colonial nests out of wax. Honey bees are the only extant members of the tribe Apini, all in the genus Apis. Currently, there are only seven recognized species of honey bee with a total of 44 subspecies (Engel, 1999) though historically, anywhere from six to eleven species have been recognized. Honey bees represent only a small fraction of the approximately 20,000 known species of bees. Some other types of related bees produce and store honey, but only members of the genus Apis are true honey bees.
(Wikepedia)
It wasn't easy to investigate the loud buzzing sounds that emanated from the depths of the hedge but the comings and goings of so many bees was warning enough
What to do?
A French friend advised calling the fire brigade who would kill them
Which seemed a little drastic, especially considering the usefulness of the bee and the recent rapid decline in their numbers in the western world
I thanked him and declined gracefully
Although a visit by les pompiers would have provided a delightful distraction for my guests, firemen being rather attractive chaps here in France
An English friend delightedly told me that "A swarm in June is worth a silver spoon" But I have plenty of silver spoons already
I thanked her and thought some more
Another friend was more helpful
"Call the maire at Bulat Pestivien, he's a bee-keeper"
I called.
The bee-keeping maire is, since the recent local elections, the ex-maire and the new maire's deputy was polite but insistent that I should call my own mairie for help
It was Saturday evening and Brittany was closing, as it always does, until Tuesday morning
The phone rang and an English woman introduced herself and reassured me I had nothing to fear from my furry flying friends and could she call a friend who would be delighted to collect the creatures and house them in one of her hives?
Absolutely! Come now!
The friend was away
This is rural Brittany and nothing happens very quickly here
I waited and watched and I watched and waited
the phone failed to ring
and the nest grew larger
Yesterday as I was sitting working on an essay my attention was drawn to a scene straight out of the film Killer Bees.
My awarm was on the move
I rushed around closing windows, collecting cats and dogs and generally panicking as the entire bee colony rose into the air, gathered itself into a frenzied formation and set off up the drive towards the street
I watched aghast as they circled the beautiful climbing roses that grace the front wall of my neighbour's house and moved menacingly towards his open bedroom windows
Rushing outside I called frantically to alert him to the threat, just as he appeared at the upstairs window and calmy closed his windows
And with that the swarm simply disappeared
Today I feel a tad bereft
I was quite enjoying watching the nest grow and feeling rather flattered that they had chosen my garden in which to build it
But relieved, all the same since I have now a stock of horror stories
Bees building nests between shutters and windows
Bees colonising chimneys
Bees in the bathroom
Bees in the boudoir
Nope, on reflection I am better off bee-less
And anyway, I never did like honey
Monday, June 23, 2008
Carpe Diem
The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or anticipate troubles, but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly
Buddha
If there is one thing that I will take from this time-out in rural Brittany, aside from a desire to be well-accessorised and the loving warmth of the friendships that I have enjoyed here in the commune, it is the ability to enjoy each day
While I was busily engaged in the business of work and chasing my tail in an attempt to keep my customers happy, I had little time to pause, to reflect, and to seize the day
Life was lived at such a frenetic pace, always rushing here and there, forever trying to juggle my different roles as mother, friend, employee, customer support, that I never had the time to live
This morning I woke to another beautiful Breton-blue sky
The swallows that sit on my telephone wire were singing with joy...
A blackbird in the bay tree serenaded me as I wandered down the drive to cast an approving eye on my small vegetable boxes where flourishing fronds of carrots and crisp lettuce leaves were slowly shaking off diamond droplets of an early-morning dew...
The sounds of children's laughter from the nearby school added musical notes to accompany me
Today I have nothing more pressing than the final touches to an English essay
Nothing more urgent than a walk with the dogs
Today I am free to indulge myself in the delights of books, the beauty of the garden and the pleasure of playful puppies
One day, probably soon, I will leave this place and return to the 'real world'
I will take up the challenges once more of earning a living, busying myself with practicalities, duties and the responsibility of juggling several roles
I trust that I will do so armed with the skills I need to manage my time and to preserve my energy a little better
I hope that I have learned, finally, how to live a good and healthy life
But today belongs to me alone
It is all mine to spend as I chose
Today, here in this corner of rural Brittany, my life is perfect
Buddha
If there is one thing that I will take from this time-out in rural Brittany, aside from a desire to be well-accessorised and the loving warmth of the friendships that I have enjoyed here in the commune, it is the ability to enjoy each day
While I was busily engaged in the business of work and chasing my tail in an attempt to keep my customers happy, I had little time to pause, to reflect, and to seize the day
Life was lived at such a frenetic pace, always rushing here and there, forever trying to juggle my different roles as mother, friend, employee, customer support, that I never had the time to live
This morning I woke to another beautiful Breton-blue sky
The swallows that sit on my telephone wire were singing with joy...
A blackbird in the bay tree serenaded me as I wandered down the drive to cast an approving eye on my small vegetable boxes where flourishing fronds of carrots and crisp lettuce leaves were slowly shaking off diamond droplets of an early-morning dew...
The sounds of children's laughter from the nearby school added musical notes to accompany me
Today I have nothing more pressing than the final touches to an English essay
Nothing more urgent than a walk with the dogs
Today I am free to indulge myself in the delights of books, the beauty of the garden and the pleasure of playful puppies
One day, probably soon, I will leave this place and return to the 'real world'
I will take up the challenges once more of earning a living, busying myself with practicalities, duties and the responsibility of juggling several roles
I trust that I will do so armed with the skills I need to manage my time and to preserve my energy a little better
I hope that I have learned, finally, how to live a good and healthy life
But today belongs to me alone
It is all mine to spend as I chose
Today, here in this corner of rural Brittany, my life is perfect
Friday, June 20, 2008
A Spiritual Massage....
Commune: Collectivité territoriale administré par un maire assisté d'un conseil municipal
Larousse
Community: a group of people living togetherin one place, especially one practising common ownership
OED
Living as I do in rural Brittany my life has become linked, in a lovely way, to the lives of the people who with whom I share a space in this small French commune...
We live together and we play together
We celebrate each others good times and we support each other when life becomes tough
We are a community
Of course there will always be those who take more than they are prepared to give..
I'm ashamed to admit that our own little village they are a British couple who are a blot on our landscape and a stain on our good character,
But mostly we are a caring community
So when an English friend asked me to help her wth the church flowers I was delighted, even though I am not a regular church-goer, being spiritual rather than religious and preferring to commune with my Maker in less formal circumstances
Her floral creations are absolutely beautiful...
but then she is an artist
and even her cheeseboards are a work of art!
My own enthusiastic efforts were less artistic but as I sat and snipped stems, lovingly arranged leaves and blooms and chatted to H. about her life, I felt such a sense of peace and well-being that it was, as I told the rather sceptical French churchwarden who popped into check on our work, akin to a spiritual massage...
He had come to ensure that all was in place for this afternoon when the commune would be saying a fond farewell to one of its number
Sadly the church seems to host more funerals than masses
But today there would be mourning and tomorrow a wedding
As we left I turned to glance back...
The old church of granite and well-polished wood was suffused with the scent of fresh flowers.
The sun shining through the stained glass windows was making rainbows over the walls
A candle burned in one corner
I hope that through their tears and sorrow this afternoon's mourners see the beauty that is all around them
And that tomorrow's bride and groom are blessed with a life of love and sharing
And when the time comes for me to leave this kindly little commune I pray that I can take with me the feeling of calm and peacefulness that I felt today
It is in giving that we receive the most and I am truly blessed
Larousse
Community: a group of people living togetherin one place, especially one practising common ownership
OED
Living as I do in rural Brittany my life has become linked, in a lovely way, to the lives of the people who with whom I share a space in this small French commune...
We live together and we play together
We celebrate each others good times and we support each other when life becomes tough
We are a community
Of course there will always be those who take more than they are prepared to give..
I'm ashamed to admit that our own little village they are a British couple who are a blot on our landscape and a stain on our good character,
But mostly we are a caring community
So when an English friend asked me to help her wth the church flowers I was delighted, even though I am not a regular church-goer, being spiritual rather than religious and preferring to commune with my Maker in less formal circumstances
Her floral creations are absolutely beautiful...
but then she is an artist
and even her cheeseboards are a work of art!
My own enthusiastic efforts were less artistic but as I sat and snipped stems, lovingly arranged leaves and blooms and chatted to H. about her life, I felt such a sense of peace and well-being that it was, as I told the rather sceptical French churchwarden who popped into check on our work, akin to a spiritual massage...
He had come to ensure that all was in place for this afternoon when the commune would be saying a fond farewell to one of its number
Sadly the church seems to host more funerals than masses
But today there would be mourning and tomorrow a wedding
As we left I turned to glance back...
The old church of granite and well-polished wood was suffused with the scent of fresh flowers.
The sun shining through the stained glass windows was making rainbows over the walls
A candle burned in one corner
I hope that through their tears and sorrow this afternoon's mourners see the beauty that is all around them
And that tomorrow's bride and groom are blessed with a life of love and sharing
And when the time comes for me to leave this kindly little commune I pray that I can take with me the feeling of calm and peacefulness that I felt today
It is in giving that we receive the most and I am truly blessed
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