Vale

Vale to my Father - a distinguished physician and scientist who had great compassion. I have learnt so much more about him from others since his passing, and also much about myself. 

Father was walking when stuck by a car, (driven by a very drunk 60 year old female driver) and sustained horrendous head injuries. I have had to find strength for my father, who was taken off life support almost 2 weeks ago and forgiveness for the drunk driver who took his life away when she swerved around a stationary car to hit him without braking. 

Father gave unconditionally to others - generous in spirit and humble by nature. He adored our mother who predeceased him, and gave his children a strong and loving family that will be sustained for generations to come.

Please to do not leave a comment. Instead take the time to focus on those you love. 

The Sleep Thief

Waking up in the morning feeling more exhausted than when you went to sleep? Tired and fuzzy headed, you're dragging yourself through the day? Snoring? Noticed that your memory is not as sharp as it was last year? Secretly think that you're "losing it"?

Welcome to the insidious world of sleep apnea. One in which energy and patience are in short supply, motivation is minuscule and problems magnified.

As John Steinbeck said, It is a common experience that a problem difficult at night is resolved in the morning after the committee of sleep has worked on it.  Imagine the ramifications if the sleep committee is on strike. Chaos - on a personal level, professional level and physical level. A lack of sleep plays with the mind and dampens the spirits. There is a feeling that your life is slow motion while everyone else is is in "fast forward".

This is the world in which I've being living for the last 24 months. My malaise developed gradually so I was caught unaware. As young as I am, I have obstructive sleep apnea!  Now my malady has been diagnosed by a careful process of elimination, life is generally looking brighter for everyone here at Number 8 - with one obvious exception which has me trying to reassure myself that  "Beauty has a lot to do with character" Kevyn Aucoin.

I have to go to bed looking like a WW2 pilot, with a breathing mask over my face from which protrudes a log tube attached at the other end to an air pump which hums through the night! My frizzy mop pokes out of the sides of the head piece so I resemble Mo from "The 3 Stooges"! Practicality is "the order of the day" - forget feminine, forget romance. 

WW2 pilot Courtesy Google

With the current daily temperatures hovering in the high thirties and the night time temperatures in the twenties, the head gear has been so unbearably hot and uncomfortable that I've been removing it in my sleep. Hopefully within the next few weeks, the weather will be cooler so I will be getting the full benefit of the air pump.

But I'm not alone. A practitioner in hospital said that currently, about 1 in 100 adults wear a similar contraption to bed, but the ratio should be closer to 1 in 5. Age is not an excluding factor. There are children as young as 4 with sleep apnea, some of whom were initially incorrectly diagnosed as having ADHD.

The long term effects of leaving this condition untreated include a significantly increased risk of having a stroke, heart attack, dementia and accidents as well as falling asleep while driving! Type 2 diabetes has also been linked to obstructive sleep apnea.

Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone (Anthony Burgess). 
I no longer snore, but I'm very unattractive when I sleep. 

Perhaps you're being visited by the sleep thief?

St Valentine's Day Whimsy

Sometimes the heart sees what is invisible to the eye. H Jackson Brown Jr

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. 

Lao Tzu

A Dog's Best Friend?

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. 

Jean-Jacques Rousseau 

This little fellow stood here patiently for over an hour. We passed him in Lugano as we strolled down to the shores of the lake for lunch. On our return journey up the hill the dog was still in the same spot, optimistically hoping that somewhere inside there was a friend who would throw him a tasty morsel.

Snippits from Life in France - "Ring them Bells"

“ Home is the wallpaper above the bed, the family dinner table, the church bells in the morning, the bruised shins in the playground, the small fears that come with dusk, the streets and squares and monuments and shops that constitute one’s first universe”.  Henry Anatole Grunwald.

The rhythmic chiming of clocks and church bells immediately transports me back to my pre-digitalised childhood - the days when mantle and grandfather clocks were wound by hand and church bell ringers weren't almost extinct. A simple, secure childhood filled with love, adventure and laughter. 

Throughout my travels across the length and breadth of France the sound of church bells has been a scarce occurrence, so it was quite perplexing to be welcomed to My French Folly by pealing church bells at 7 p.m. on a Tuesday night - our first night in residence.

Amidst the dust, rubble and disappointment that greeted us courtesy of My Man on the Ground, (the scoundrel parading as our renovation project-manager) I felt unexpectedly at peace hearing these bells. By habit I counted the chimes. 3 different sized bells were identified without a discernible pattern to their ringing. ......100, 101, 102....... When the last bell was finally struck, a lingering, deep, resonance echoed across the valley.

The village's own 19C Notre Dame

By the next day we realised that our watches could be abandoned.  The bells rang 8 times on the hour, 4 times every half hour and come 7 o'clock, (a.m. or p.m.) the bells went bezerk. An irritation for some, reassuring for others.

Inquiries about the origin of this 12-hourly phenomenon usually met with similar responses. " I don't know" or "it just is". My curiosity was eventually satiated months later when exploring the remains of the 12C Church, (affectionately know as La Vieille Eglise), with a local historian.  No bells can be heard here now - the steeple collapsed a few centuries ago as most of the footings of the church subsided into the soft earth of a reclaimed swamp.

The remains of the village's La Vieille Eglise

The 7 o’clock ritual was a call to prayer. Nestled in a valley at the foot of the village, it is understandable why the ringing of La Vieille Eglise bells was so prolonged and varied – the sound had to carry up to the surrounding houses, across fields, and through the forests to neighbouring hamlets. Quite some distance.

Today the chiming emanates from the grand 19 C church, perched in the centre of the village directly opposite My French Folly. With only 10% of the community attending church regularly and the proliferation of timepieces, from watches and mobile phones to almost every technical household item, it is heartening that this centuries old tradition continues.

A bell's not a bell 'til you ring it. A song's not a song 'til you sing it. Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay. Love isn't love 'til you give it away. Oscar Hammerstein 11

Inside the remains of La Vieille Eglise

If the cap fits .........

Currently, I resemble a horse. 

Courtesy of  ehow.com

My smile reveals a mouth of very large (I would say “oversized”) teeth. Thank you father. When adult teeth superseded my juvenile teeth an overcrowding issue developed in my average sized mouth. So off I trotted with mother to the orthodontist, Mr. Chalmers – an elegant gentleman who always arrived at his consulting rooms clad in an immaculately cut dark suit, a bowler hat and very shiny shoes. Despite the weather, in his hand he carried a wooden handled, black umbrella in a jaunty, but dignified manner. Mr. Chalmer’s eyes shone when I first opened my mouth. 4 molar extractions were promptly ordered so my teeth could be correctly spaced using wire bands. The result? A smile full of very large, straight equine- looking teeth.

Note: Father has large teeth that sit perfectly in his large mouth.

Courtesy of gypsy-willow.hubpages.com

I have spent the summer vacation (southern hemisphere) sorting through the attic where many treasures, references that aren’t being used, and photos have been hastily stored without a suitable filing system. Being very sentimental, I tend to hold onto items with history and often put smaller ones and professional notes in unlabelled boxes or files. Then there are the lovely old pieces of furniture that  have been stock-piling for the stone cottage we planned to build on our 12 acres in the countryside. However, after buying My French Folly the stone cottage idea is shelved. Consequently I have also been sorting through this beautiful furniture in order to sell it – unexpectedly time consuming. It was during a recent rummaging and organizing episode in the attic that I dislodged a hard-wood table that was precariously perched on top of boxes of files that sat on top of a much loved wooden box of Lego – kept for the hypothetical grandchildren. 
As the tower of goods toppled towards me, my arms haphazardly scrambled to halt the cascade of boxes and the bridge of my nose gallantly stopped the fall of the unusually heavy table. Much blood, pain and swelling of my nose at its point of contact with the table resulted. "Look on the bright side - now your glasses can't fall off and you can wear a pince-nez!" was optimistic Mr R's initial response my mishap.

So with a mouth full of large teeth and a recently acquired huge, red Roman nose, I resemble a horse. More specifically, when I smile I look like “Charlie” , the first horse I rode.  Just hope I don’t find chaff on my dinner plate tonight.

One accident (of birth) + one recent accident (physical) = one horse-faced me.

Courtesy of "Equine Dentist"

Too Hot to Handle

Billabong. Tabilk Winery, Australia

Gardening is spiritual, anchoring me to the earth and seasons – my form of green meditation. While I don’t apportion my time to gardening accordingly to its importance to my life, just wandering around the yard, pulling a few weeds here and there, spot watering and planning my next major activity are incredibly fulfilling and soothing. 

A worm on the 4th floor of Annelid House.

Part of my green landscape is my worm farm that supplies me with lovely, organic fertilizer while disposing of our herbaceous kitchen scraps. Harvested rain from the house roof usually manages to provide the garden with water until early summer. 

Bee-keeping activities have now ceased due to my allergies but I still delight in seeing bees in my garden foraging around in search of sweet nectar.  

So it is with a heavy heart that I have to report the death of the worms in the worm farm due to my forgetfulness.

The 4-tiered annelid-tower has survived in the shade for the last 10 years, through all weather - fair and foul. Kitchen scraps go into its top store, garden fertilizer and compost come out from the bottom– until last week’s unseasonal 41 ^o C. (106 ^o F). The weather was so uncomfortable that once I made it home from work and feed the troops, I just flopped around the house preparing the bare minimum for the following day, before collapsing onto my bed.

No thought was given to the new seedlings in my vegetable patch or to my wonderful worms.

Third floor worms

Suffering from the heat, I omitted to remove the lid off the worm farm to allow the tower to cool – a necessity once the thermometer hits 35 ^o C. My oversight became apparent when my little soil Trojans were to be fed during the weekend. As I approached the worm farm, laden with kitchen scraps, I noticed a cloud of frenetic flies. A foul odor hung in the air. ….. “Something’s wrong.” Removing the lid of the 4-tiered annelid-tower unleashed a sickening smell and revealed a sea of discolored, putrefying worms. Phew!  My supportive family retreated indoors amidst screams of disgust leaving me to deal with the product of my neglect. Not an easy task given the size of the tower, and the stench.

On our 12 acres in the countryside, huge eucalyptus tree branches frequently
fall during strong winds,  adding to our list of chores.
Their removal can consume hours of our time and test our patience.

Yes, lurking under my suburban exterior is an avid greenie – not one who hugs trees in protest, but one who hugs them out of sheer delight; inhaling the sent of their wood,  feeling the texture of their bark, observing the intricacies of their being and feasting on the hues and contrasts of the colours of their bark. Isn’t nature wonderful?

Festive Insanity

The "Silly Season" can certainly can test one's sanity, patience and relationship with others, especially those whom they may have inherited as "in-laws". People are vulnerable to being swept up in the hype of the festivities and forgetting the simple, yet powerful Christmas message.

I suspect that by this New Year's Eve Mr R and I, who are temporarily "empty-nesters", as well as M. Louis (the dog) will all have bulging eyes.............. an effective deterrent to door to door salesmen. 

Chic Provence Design Tour - link is working now!

Bookings for Chic Provence Design Tour Printemp 2013, are now open. Download the tour brochure by clicking on the above link to Chic Provence.

Season's Greetings

Merry Christmas and best wishes for a peaceful, prosperous and happy 2013.

                                                   

Nous vous souhaitons un Joyeux Noël et une très bonne année  

2013. Nous ésperons que vous passez d'excellentes fêtes de fin d'année .