Simple Pleasures

In the vegetable garden there is a newly planted row of tomato seedlings standing to attention with the aid of some bamboo stakes. J'adore faire du jardinage.

Despite differences in culture and socio-economic backgrounds, there is a universal camaraderie amongst gardeners. Real gardeners. The ones who actually till the earth. I revel in the chance to "get down and dirty" in practical heavy-duty work wear and feel  privileged to be able to get my hands in the soil.  For many, it's not possible.  

Dora the scarecrow has watched over the vegetable patch and also 

our children who spent their holidays at Lily Pilly farm. She has survived 

the extremes of the seasons and endured a  couple of facelifts over the 

years. Our children are now adults and Dora still stands dutifully on 

guard.

Contemporaries often look askance when I tell them of my delight pottering in the yard, digging, rearranging and preparing the  beds and vegetable patch. "Oh I've a gardener for that", " I hate getting dirt on my hands", "We've no room for a garden" or " I don't garden - my nails!", are common responses when this topic is raised . Sadly, the many delights of having one's own plot of dirt are are rapidly being lost in urbanised communities.  

A Spring visitor to our garden.

The first apple from a
young tree.

Houses are being replaced by apartment living and suburban blocks (which once produced much of the family's food in the early 20 century) are being further subdivided into minuscule parcels of land with barely enough room to construct the all too common, oversized "boxes made of ticky-tacky" that speak of the financial success.... or stupidity of their occupants. Without their own patch of earth, urban dwellers are deprived of the nuances a garden provides that indicate the changing of the seasons.....and the joy of picking fresh flowers and tasty home-grown produce. 

Our delicious pears - harvested this year.

One small patch of Earth can be very
productive.

There is something magical to be able to commune with nature - it creates an inner peace that over rides the outer frustrations daily living. Gardening is a wonderful form of meditation. 


Shipping is a terrible thing to do to vegetables.  They probably get jet-lagged, just like people.  ~Elizabeth Berry

Addendum.

1. Still with husband, who kindly gave me advice about how to minimise the damage to Roger if I have a repeat encounter with a stationary gatepost ........... Something to do with turning the steering wheel in a particular direction when dismounting a steadfast object.

2. Insurance cover is generous after the excess (not so generous) has been paid.

3. Just avoided having a horrific car accident involving a truck and high speed, which puts the French kiss incident into perspective.

Thank you for your advice and encouraging words during this period of emotional disquiet.

Image courtesy of freeware.

An Unfortunate Event - Kiss and Tell?

Despite being brought up in the Presbyterian church, I have a need to confess my wrong doings. Perhaps it's a legacy of my distant Catholic ancestors (whose allegiance to the Holy Roman church abruptly ended when my great-grand father took to a priest with a shovel).    
     

1 hour ago, I badly dented the rear right-hand side of Roger, my husband's beloved black Land Rover Discovery. .......He is yet to find out. I am riddled with guilt and just can't summon up the courage to tell him, so I am confessing to you with the bizarre hope that it will alleviate some of my remorse. 

Yes I am a coward. There is no one to blame but myself - one sedentary brick gate-pillar and one moving car . I wish I could report that Roger lightly caressed the gate post as he passed it, but unfortunately the encounter was more like a French kiss..... involving 2 interlocking tongue rings. Merde! 

The internet informs me that extensive repairs to one back panel and one side panel of a metallic coloured Land Rover is equivalent in price to the renovations of our bathroom in France. Mon Dieu....... And I can't covertly locate the relevant insurance policy, due to The Husband's unique filing system. Consequently I don't know the nuances of our insurance cover and my possible out-of-pocket expenses.  Perhaps I'll be bathing in a bucket when we eventually get to stay in My French Folly?  The appropriate businesses which could remove the evidence of my wrong doings are closed for the weekend .......my stomach is "in knots".

Poor Roger, poor Husband. And financially poor me..........?

Never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth or married.

Photographs courtesy of Land Rover

French Paper Art

Paper sculpture and photograph by Jolis Panos

The French have perfected Paper Art. It tends to be arranged in long, convoluted trails that resemble the most complex of mazes. Working in the area of mathematics, I usually enjoy the challenge of a maze, but the Paper Art of French officialdom has me beaten. Just when I think I have understood their game, and have supplied all of the necessary documentation for the insertion of 2 new windows into the dinning room wall of My French Folly, there has been a slight change in the paper work requirements to which I must respond. The planning department has also requested that I supply them with additional photos of my House in France, taken from a distance.........16,000 km away?  One of the many reasons I love les Français is for their creativity. And they have definitely elevated paper work into an art form. My "man on the ground in France" informs me that Paper Art is "enjoyed to the full by the French". Comment on dit en français, "I need 2 asprin, or a strong gin and tonic and a good lie down"?

Paper sculpture and photograph by Elod Beregszaszi

The Dinner Party

Where once having guests for dinner was a carefully orchestrated affair, now such an occasion is like having an accident - it is unplanned, does not require much effort in order to happen and one is relaxed and calm leading up to the unsuspected event. Last week I made some heavenly rillettes and  French onion soup, so when I chanced upon some friends shopping, an invitation to share our food was offered and accepted. Flowers were already sitting on the dining room table, napkins, place mats and cutlery were quickly arranged, the fire was lit, the wine selected and excellent company was enjoyed. No fuss on my part and no expectations on behalf of my guests. A perfect combination for a hostess who is prone to suffer angst over small details. As a consequence of my relaxed approach to entertaining,  the dinner  invitations which we receive, tend to be of a similar ilk. 

Last night was an exception. The Husband and I attended a carefully planned dinner party to celebrate a friend's milestone birthday. I'm always reticent at formal affairs when I don't know fellow guests, but my anxieties were quickly quelled by our charming hostess who provided the perfect combination of food, wine, atmosphere and interesting guests, that included francophiles, speakers of perfect French, (it definitely wasn't the time to showcase my basic French language skills), a professional photographer, a writer of novels, an owner of chickens, a couple who had also purchased a house in France over the Internet, and some engineers who fuelled an interesting discussion about alternative energy sources - delightful, unpretentious guests who appeared to have in common, an interest in the "Good Life". The conversations were passionate and  flowed easily all evening. New friends were made.......I was in social heaven. 

By this morning, the enchantment of the evening had dissipated when I woke with a champagne headache after only 2 glasses - a mid-life curse - and the realisation that I should reciprocate  with a similar dinner invitation. Perfectionist overload.......fear of failure.......2 aspirins taken. Time for a soak in the bath and some reflection..........

Champagne bottle photograph courtsey of The Daily Green, and the photograph of the onions courtsey of Wikepedia.

French Food Safari......

Cheese cakes! Chinon market,  France

A recent request to supply framed photographs for the walls of a local French restaurant has me trawling through my digital archives. For many, my travel photography is a touch banal or even bizarre. It reflects, as does my size, a deep - seated family passion for food. For me, the main attraction of the weekly French markets is the food stalls, particularly those manned by the producers, be it fresh crisp greens, du meil from quaint, conically shaped hives, rounds of goats' cheeses, fresh and soft to aged and hardened or twisted lengths of pungent salamis. And then there is the rainbow stalls of nougat - green, white, pink yellow and brown............ J'aime manger.

In France, Cooking is a serious art form and
a national sport.
Julia Child

Without butter, without eggs, there is no reason to come
to France. 
Paul Bocuse

Nothing would be more tiresome than eating and drinking if God had not made them a pleasure as well as a necessity.  Voltaire

There is no love sincerer than the love of food.
George Bernard Shaw

Pepper is small in quantity and great in virtue. 
Plato

Miam.........fresh, French nougat, Apt market, France

Good Living is an act of intelligence,
by which we choose things
which have an agreeable taste

rather than those which do not.

Brillat-Savarin

Mid- life Crisis and The Black Business Suit

I'm outcome driven, consequently I'm a list person. I've always made long lists in my head, a behaviour which I believe is now causing my telomeres to unravel at an accelerating rate. Due to a life time of list making, the increasing complexity of my daily rythme and my current state of hormonal mayhem,  I've  found that my hard drive is full, so now my lists have to be written - a habit, which in times of pressure, I tend to overlook.
This morning my list was cerebral.

1. Lunches made - check
2. Breakfast - too little time
3. Brief case sitting beside the front door packed- check
4. Adult children woken - check
5. Phone father to remind him of his dental appointment - check
6. Shower etc - check
7. Black business suit today for early morning meeting - check
8. Drive one adult daughter to the station (leave my comfortable slippers on) - check
9. Return home to pack dishwasher - check
10. Dog fed and outside -check
11. Lights, heaters and computers off - check
12. Grab brief case, dead  lock front door - check
13. Arrive at meeting 7 minutes before schedule with relevant paper work- check
14. Meeting a success, grab a cup of tea - check
15. Prepare for next meeting and tend to cold feet..............merde!
16. Hormonal mayhem can result in loss of dignity - check

Would you wear these to work? I did.


Mental note.....no, a written note in my diary....... bright pink, sparkling slippers clash with black business suit.


Tomorrow..... write list and insert - change from slippers to shoes before leaving the house - check.
The art of savoir-faire continues to elude me.......

House in France - Update

Silence.... Not a word from the project manager about the renovations to My French Folly, despite having a bevy of artisans in the house to give relevant quotes. Initially I assumed that this lack of communication was a result of the artisans being frightened off the job, due to its enormity and our tight budget. Or perhaps the quotes were so ridiculously large, that our project manager was seeking additional cost estimates in order to quell my anxiety and avoid a volley of emails being exchanged between the northern and southern hemispheres.  

Summer skies, Provence

No, I was wrong on both accounts. It's the holiday season in France so life is in slow motion.  In summer, many businesses cease operating until the end of August - an enviable trait of the French lifestyle if one were not trying to renovate  - from the other side of the world - a house while there is no snow on the ground. I concede that it is better to have the artisans on site 'from start to finish' than have them wander off on holiday half way though the project, but for this INTJ personality 'going with the flow' and giving my authority to someone else are difficult.  And exhausting. I seem to have a permanent glow when dealing with issues relating to our French house. A lesson learnt from renovating in France - the French don't die from ulcers! Perhaps I need to be more French................

In summer, the song sings itself. William Carlos Williams


Savoir-Faire



Effortless style

Savoir-faire - oh how I've longed for a touch of its allure. 
My mother possessed it - a necessary component of a young ladies repertoire in the 1940's .....or perhaps a result of her French heritage. Mother was an individual who was bien dans sa peau - happy in her own skin. She was always gracious and innately knew the subtle art of dressing...... More is less, but don't forget the gloves.  Your shoes "tell all". Quality is better than quantity. Good grooming, individual flair and laughter were her mantra. She wasn't one for following the flock.                                                                                       
As a child,  I assumed that I would acquire my mother's savoir-faire osmotically. As an adolescent, I realised that I didn't possess any savoir-faire.  And as an adult I searched for books which, would give me clues or better still, the steps by which I could gain some savoir-faire.

Unfortunately savoir-faire still eludes me - I'm not one whom others would describe as self-possessed, sexy or defiant.... maybe a touch defiant, but definitely not self-possessed and sadly for The Husband, not sexy....I'm of an age where undergarments and sleep wear must be comfortable.                   

Now, in a state of hormonal mayhem, I have finally found 2 books, What French Women Know and  Women, Work and the Art of Savoir-Faire that clearly explain why my life-long quest for savoir-faire has failed.  
From what I have gleaned, the reasons  are as follows.

1. Not enough shades of grey in one's thinking - very unsexy. It's the nuisances in life that make it interesting.

Sometimes black and white

thinking has it's place.

2. Needing to be  like one's peers - valuing sameness is definitely not chic. There is no standard way of looking or being.
3. An overly zealous appetite - size does matter. Self control is paramount and should appear effortless.

4. Failing to savour the experience of a relationship by focusing on the relationship's goal or outcome. 

5. Perfectionism - what a curse and a distraction. Life is imperfect. 

6. Failing to appreciate flirting as a form of amusement and flattery. For the French, flirting is "their drug of choice".
7. Lack of self confidence - an individual needs to be self contained in order to be their authentic self.  If not,  they will have.........

8. A lack of inner beauty to form outer beauty. 
Armed with this newly, acquired knowledge and diminished inhibition  - mid life has some advantages - it is time for my rebirth and a touch of  savoire faire......Ooh la la !       
                                                       

I'm taking only my torque and my savoir-faire.     Phillippe Gaertner

A definite lack of savoir-faire. 

Bastille Day

Although not in France, Bastille Day  was a time for celebration - with French champagne - and a time for reflection. 

Question - What drives an extremely cautious woman to purchase an old derelict house in France  over the internet,?

Answer - An irrational passion for France.

Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.  Francois de La Rochefoucauld 

There are many attributes of France (and the French) I find appealing. Currently they blind me to the faults, foibles and frustrations of this hexagonal piece of intrigue. But will familiarity eventually spawn contempt? ..... 7 months after purchasing My French Folly I still don't possess the keys to the house ..... missing mail ......  disappearing artisans ..... French taxation ..... a dwindling bank account .......  

Oh, the price of passion!

Hands in the Soil then .......Back to Work

Life here has been pleasantly mundane - which at my age, I prefer to a roller coaster existence. Last weekend we made a trip to the family's cottage; the first in in 8 weeks so it was quite an exhausting few days. The hedges and weeds were out of control again, but we made little headway trimming and tidying up because we had to remove a gum tree which had fallen across a fence on our 12 acre plot a land, (a few kilometres from the cottage), allowing the neighbour's bull to roam freely around our paddocks........ Hours of work, but at least we have a pile of firewood and an erect fence for our efforts..... and glorious mounds of bull dung for the fruit trees.

Husband and I purchased the land (nicknamed Snake Gully, for obvious reasons) with a view to building a house so we could play hobby farmers. But My French Folly has curtailed our construction plans. Despite the lack of a dwelling on site, we still derive enormous pleasure from Snake Gully. There are 10 fruit trees, 10 olive trees and a large pond with yabbies (freshwater crayfish) and 50 silver perch (fish) which we are feeding to accelerate their growth, with the view to eating them as soon as they are about a foot long. Producing, harvesting and cooking one's own food provide simple pleasures, which are deeply satisfying. The older I get, the more I enjoy getting my hands into the soil. Although it is the middle of winter, I picked black olives during the weekend, which I am preparing to preserve after which I will make some marmalade from the lemons off our lemon trees. It is my mid-year holiday now, so I am having a delightful time in the kitchen.
However, next week it's back to work.......holidays over ........ Another lemming moment.......Must learn to swim.

Où sont les clés?...French Keys Please?

Oh where, oh where,

Have my sets of keys gone?

Oh where, oh where, can they be?

On a ring so large,

Keys rusted and worn,

Oh where, oh where can they be?

Despite having purchased My French Folly 10 months ago and completing the sale 7 months ago, I do not possess a set of house keys. The only set resides with a company whom I have engaged to project manage the connection of the essential services to the house.

4 months ago I requested 3 copies of les clefs de la maison to be made…. one set to be sent to me, one set to be sent to Switzerland and the other to be posted to Dijon, which is about 65 km away from mon résidence secondaire.

Apparently this was “no problem”, but no keys appeared. …. No replies to my emails inquiring to their whereabouts. Silence from their end. Concern at my end, and a dwindling lack of confidence in my appointed project mangers.

An urgent email was dispatched late May, stating that I needed the keys as soon as possible.  A French friend, Louis, had volunteered to video My French Folly - he was departing de Australie en France on 20 June. A delayed response. The keys has been copied but lost so further copies would be made and sent toute de suite!

Tenth of June and still no keys. Apparently they were lost in the French postal system. In transit to Australia, Switzerland and Dijon? This does not auger well for my future use of their postal system or for the project management team.

An olive branch…. Louis would be given a set of key prior to his departure from Dijon. Then a correction…. Louis would be met at my house and given the keys.

I received an explanatory email .…of sorts….

We were very sorry about the keys and had tried to pick up another set of keys but the shop closed Saturday, so the owner could go to a wedding and did not open again until Tuesday.

Unfortunately (this is) the French way of life, which is relaxed and laid-back and seems perfect for most of the time, but has its downfalls when you need them to work out side their comfort zone. If our job was easy dealing with these little “French ways” then we would be out of a job.

July and I still do not have a set of key for mon résidence secondaire …..but there is a set in Dijon. Enough said!