The 3-Ringed Circus

Courtesy of Google

The 3-ringed circus involving notre maison en France continues: 

• the wrong type of window was used to replace a large window that was broken, but overlooked when the renovation estimates were given; 
• the ceramic sink is out of production until September (despite being in the current product catalogue) - the person organising the insertion of the kitchen just went ahead and purchased another type without consultation; 
• my beloved flagstones have been taken up and dumped outside; 
• the quotes for the re plastering were so grossly underestimated that the sitting room, bedroom, hallway and ceilings have been left untouched; 
• the plasterer has damaged his ankle on another job so he hasn't finished his contract with us; 
• the bathroom is unfinished - the plumber started with another client so he is now juggling multiple contracts;



My French Folly. Courtesy of Matt & Meeri

• the new 2 windows which were to be inserted in the dining room have been scrapped because the planning permit  hasn’t been granted (as yet) even though it was submitted 12 months ago……well at least that’s what I’ve been told! 

What makes me hopping mad is that if the project was managed within the timeframe set out when we engaged services of My Man on the Ground, many of the issues and disappointments that we’ve experienced in order to get the house to a habitable standard, would not have occurred.  

If anything else goes wrong with My French Folly, I’ll “blow a gasket”..........I had a dream…… I had a budget………I have an expensive nightmare!

One of the views from My French Folly, Courtesy of Matt & Meeri

Busy Doing Nothing

I feel as if  I'm busy doing nothing, working the whole day through............ No sooner have I crossed one item of my Must Do Before I Depart to France list, another pops up at the bottom of the page. However, most of the essentials are in place:
ü house sitters (a sensible couple who will nurture my garden and keep the house ship shape)
ü travel insurance & tickets (plane & train)
ü  a small amount of cash of various denominations & an international VISA  
    card
ü a car waiting for us in Europe
û dry cleaning collected
û clothes organised
û bags packed
ü gifts packed
û leaving my desk at work in order for my temporary replacement.


Post Script: I heard from My Man on The Ground today. I now know that bad news from him is predictable, but whenever it happens, I still get quite emotional about it. Yes sh** happens, but sometimes its occurrence is just too co-incidental.

Bonjour France: French Lessons 2

French lessons at School continued..............

..................The following year my Form 1 French teacher, Fanny Bligh, is superseded by the young, dapper Mr Nicomidis. Immaculately dressed in navy waistcoated suits and pointed-toed European shoes, he cuts a striking figure amongst his tweed-coated peers. Despite his small stature, this newly arrived immigrant has presence and palpable enthusiasm.  At last, French spoken with a European accent, albeit Greek.  But Mr Nicomidis’s passion is soon thwarted and our learning stunted, due to his immaculately groomed hands. The nails on his little fingers are inexplicably long and filed into a neat, point. Strangely, these two fingers are at a permanent angle to their neighbours and used to point and poke the surrounding air.  The distraction of his hands becomes unbearable and Mr N starts to loose control of his charges. “You” he shouts pointing to an offender with a crooked little finger, “copeee the parrrrrge”. A page of text is thrust at a student. 
The class heart throb, George Konstansis, takes delight in devising new ways to raise Mr N’s blood pressure. Consequently George often finds himself locked in the classroom cupboard from which we hear muffled demands to be let out. Little progress is made in Form 2 French.

A new year and I move to a single sex school. Despite my protests and obvious lack of talent, I am to persist with French due to my Father, who speaks the language fluently.

Thus begins the dark days of Miss Ball, a small rotund woman with massive breasts, which obstruct her view, sensible lace up shoes and a very short haircut. The fun is over. Miss Ball is a linguist with an exclusive interest in those students who show flair in French or who are “pretty” -  qualities I don’t possess. I am quickly assigned to the marginalised group at the back of the classroom, where I am intermittently lashed by Miss Ball’s sharp tongue. My formal French education comes to an abrupt halt.

Decades later, the scarring caused by the ferocious Miss Ball still persists, heightening my nervousness as I organise our departure for France and contemplate speaking French with other adults who are actually French! 

Shabby French for Me - giveaway

For a chance to win this fabulous book, and more interior inspiration, pop over to 

Shabby French for Me

Bonne chance tout le monde!

Fingers Crossed

Soon we will be walking through
our French gate. 

The memory of the terse words exchanged between My Man on the Ground and me during the last 12 months is slowly dissipating each time I receive a progress report on My French Folly and an old hidden feature of the house is unexpectedly revealed. The process of making our house habitable, from 16000 km away, has been akin to childbirth - great anticipation followed by the inevitable pain of delivery, that was somehow blocked out of our consciousness when we first embarked on this journey. Once  the baby is is placed in your arms the memory of this dreadful procedure is suddenly dulled to the point that you would even contemplate repeating the whole process.

An original fireplace
has been discovered.*

I'm sure our trials and tribulations with My French Folly are not over, and my "baby" is not in my arms as yet, but I am now seeing a fruitful end to what has been a very long gestation period. Fingers crossed that all goes well between now and the delivery.      

This event is still celebrated at a local village and is scheduled so we can experience it first hand this year.
Courtesy - Google

* Images courtesy of My Man on the Ground

“Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.” Anon
There is a sharp pain in my head due to tiredness.  The hour is fast approaching pumpkin time and I need to sleep, so here is a very brief update on My French Folly..............No dirt floor to be seen ................I am very happy!

The dining room/ kitchen.
 Courtesy of My Man on the Ground

Finally it's happening.

Patience is the ability to idle your motor, when you feel like stripping your gears. Barbara Jones

As many of you realise, my patience has been sorely tested since purchasing My French Folly in 2010.

Beware of him that is slow to anger; for when it is long coming, it is the stronger when it comes, and the longer kept. Abused patience turns to fury.   Frances Quarles

And I have certainly expressed my fury to my Man on the Ground during the last 6 months. But at long-last, it's finally happening - work has begun in earnest on our house in France. The dirt floor is no more, plumbing pipes can be seen and the plastering of some of the walls has commenced. 
Unfortunately the the old clos lit and adjoining cupboard are no longer - the base of each support and panel were severley rotted so they collapsed when the fragments of the remaining floor were taken up.


The placiste remarked on what a great house this once was.  He  found several points of interest that belie its current condition.  Some excellent sections of wallpaper have been retrieved as well as parts of a 1920's newspaper. I requested that any salvageable materials from the house be recycled in order to maintain the character of the building and contain the costs. So and I was relieved, and some what surprised, to receive a photo of one of the doors in the house that has been rehung in the kitchen as the door to the pantry. 

More to come.................... I hope. Not thrilled at the thought of camping in the garden when we arrive in France!

Historical or Hysterical?

A quick dash into the city by train, to one of my absolute favourite shops, Il Papiro, was undertaken last weekend to purchase some gifts for a friend’s significant birthday. 

On the return journey, just as the train was about to depart from the CBD, a quietly spoken family (father, mother and 2 young children) joined the empty carriage in 

Brighton Bathing boxes

which I was seated. The map in the mother’s hand and snippets of conversation suggested that they were country residents en route to see the Brighton bathing boxes. As the train made its way out of the CBD, the father confidently pointed out the city’s landmarks to his children. 

Along the train line, one can occasionally catch a glimpse of graffiti-art juxtaposed with what can only be described as ugly acts of vandalism executed with spray cans. “ Some of that graffiti is historical now”, proclaimed the father. “What’s historical? inquired his young son. “Well, it’s like when the Romans invaded bits of Europe”, explained the father in a less self-assured tone.

A 5 second silence followed, then a little voice said, “So when did the Romans come here?”  No reply. The conversation was skilfully diverted to the previous evening’s football game. As the train approached my station I stood at the door to hear a child inquiring, “Do we still have another holiday to go this year or is this the only one?”  The train door closed behind me. 

Next stop - Brighton Beach. 

Foreground: Brighton Beach bathing boxes. Background: Melbourne CBD

Autumn or Spring?

Autumn in the garden always has me busy pruning and fertilising in preparation for the colder months and the growth bursts of the following Spring. Our garden rakes and broom are frequently in hand, removing the bright tapestry of leaves that regularly blankets our front path - courtesy of a rampant Boston ivy.  

Withered brown autumnal cast-offs from the deciduous trees that have survived the prolonged droughts of summers past, form decaying mounds that become dangerously slippery if they’re not removed regularly. 

In the rear garden the vegetable plots lay fallow while being replenished by manure and recycled kitchen scraps that have been turned into nutrient-rich brews – a product of the frenetically active our composting worms. 

Despite the cold and wet conditions which now dominate our weather patterns, my mind frequently turns to visions of spring as I read about the gardening activities of northern hemisphere friends........

garden beds in bloom, 

plant nurseries  full of seedlings and potted plants in various stages of development, patiently waiting for a new home.

And what is happening growing and blooming in our garden in France this spring?  If only I knew....................

I'm Not Alone!

A reassuring cartoon appeared in the  Sunday magazine yesterday, 29 April, which mirrored my sentiments  in my most recent blog - I'm not alone. It seems from the supportive emails and comments which I've received last week, that my temporary malaise is not uncommon - a consequence of being over-committed .........with just a touch of middle- age thrown in! Just need to get a balance between what I have to do and what I want to do..........easier said than done. 

Bonne semaine.

Ignorance is Bliss?

It is said that “ignorance is bliss”, to which I can attest. From a person who, since aged 9, used to religiously devour the daily newspaper from front to back, I’ve become a selective reader of the arts, epicure, travel and occasionally the financial sections only. Being confronted daily by reports of grim events over which I have no control is emotionally demanding. And then there’ s the question of where the truth lies. As a firm believer in the multiplicative effect of the power of one, I feel that I’m shirking my civic responsibilities by adopting the ostrich principle when it comes to the news and current affairs, but I feel much happier and more content for it.


However, ignorance has definitely not resulted in a state of bliss when I overlooked the faint tick, ticking of my constant companion, M. Laptop. Unfortunately he ceased to function – permanently – last week; hard drive full and body parts, worn out from overwork. I first noticed his malaise when he was slow to boot up, but it was too late.  Tick…… tick…… gone.

Currently there appears to be some parallels between my life and that of my laptop. My hard-drive is jam-packed – full of facts, useless information, names and faces. I’m certain that its functional storage capacity has been trimmed over the years by intermittent bursts of cortisol. Mid-conversation a word can temporarily take flight . Names, once my forte, are now my “Achilles heel”.

An aching back, clicking joints, an impaired knee, (a skiing injury), and the odd problem with my gastrointestinal tract suggest to me that my body parts are tiring too. Is my dysfunction a temporary condition of modern day living or am I heading the way of my laptop? Better listen carefully for some tick….. tick …… ticking.

When I took this image I was in a state of utter bliss.
I experience the same emotions each time I visit this magical location in Switzerland.

Undergarments

Currently, I seem to have the choice of one of only 2 undergarments.

Time to take stock and prioritize as the demands on my time compound. My French Folly has been an exercise in faith - some may even say stupidity - which has morphed into a nightmare. It's time to turn my back on "my corner of France" and get on with the more pressing demands that command my attention at work and on the family and friends front. I am reducing my time at the computer over the next few months, hoping that my chums in the blog world will understand my temporary blogging hiatus. I love to read your wonderful posts and get enormous pleasure from receiving your comments so please be patient and stay tuned.

Symbols .........

New life kindles feelings of expectation, hope and often forgiveness. A time to "wipe the slate clean" and start anew. Rabbits, hares and eggs, are fertility symbols from antiquity, which herald the coming of new life - for obvious reasons.

“Symbols influence the nature and development of social organization and the growth of culture.”  This is certainly evident at this time of year.

For over 2500 years painted eggs have been given to celebrate the arrival of Spring......and in my case, an expanding waistline during this Period of Chocolate Temptation. For many, religious or not,  eggs have become a symbol of Easter. 

Courtesy Zimbo

In France, the gift of chocolate bells signifies the return of their ringing in churches on Easter Sunday, after having been silenced on the day before Easter Friday in acknowledgement of Christ's death. Children believe that the bells temporarily exit France to visit the Pope. 
The significance of The Cross and The Star of David are universally understood.

Courtesy, Cats and Quilts

The bible has about 15 references to lilies - the Lily of the Valley is seen by many as a symbol Christ.

The sending of “coded messages” through flowers and specific floral arrangements (Tussie-Mussies) were often used in the Victorian era.


In contemporary times, there is a whole industry devoted to logos, because of the power these symbols have assumed.


So keeping with this theme her are some Easter wishes for you ........................

Water Lily flower is symbolic of rebirth, but in addition to its religious meaning, the lotus is also a symbol of all that is true, good and beautiful, representing good fortune, peace and enlightenment. A lotus represents life in general. 

Lavender: Devotion

Camellia: admiration, perfection, good luck gift to a man. 

Dark pink rose: appreciation........ gratitude........ thank you.

Poppy (red): pleasure....... consolation

Sunflowers: warmth......happiness......adoration......longevity.

A whole tree of olive branches to wish you peace.

May the true spirit of Easter touch us all.