Three years ago today, I safely landed the Mothership and her cargo at L’Horte – the cargo being myself, my best friend Rene, 9 woofers and a 4 ft high Peace Lily. In my blog from that Sunday I wrote, ” I’ve made it. I’ve finally come home and so the next chapter of my life starts. A new beginning and hopefully many many more blogs and a book to begin. As they say in France; Bienvenue dans ma vie”. It’s hard to take in sometimes, I’ve crammed so much into the new chapter since then. Whilst two of the original woofers, Evee and Gizmo, are no longer with me, I have managed to bring up a litter of Border terrier puppies and keep the one that is my precious Sherman. I wrote that book and am now plodding away on the sequel and I still write the blog every Sunday. I helped build a pool and learnt how to mend liner holes underwater. I renovated a neglected garden, added a potager and blinged up our corner wall. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I fell in love with a wonderful man – my Denis and a little village called Rouffiac d’Aude. And although she is somewhat frail these days, being around 28 years old, the Peace Lily is still with me. And, in case you haven’t had enough ‘and’s’, tomorrow I will be flying back to the UK for the first time since I left. It’s a funny old world.
Speaking of our wonderful world, I got a chance to see the incredible meteor shower last night with friends at Abraham’s place. Under a cloudless sky surrounded by nothing but fields and the hills beyond, we watched the night’s canvas unfold. Billions and billions of stars flashed and twinkled above us, I’m pretty sure everyone has a sore neck this morning from all that oohing and craning. The only minor disappointment was that I only saw one shooting star – I did make a wish though and naturally, I won’t tell you. I might get a second glimpse tonight unless the possible thunderstorms roll in but I really do need to get to bed early – far too many evening soirees over the past week.
The heat hasn’t helped with my sleep routine either – I’ve got fans on full blast with panting woofers strewn below them. Arry is spending more time in the pool than out of it, the others preferring the afore-mentioned or the cool earth under the pool deck. Mind you, as much as I love cooling off in such heavenly waters myself, as soon as you are out and dressed for the evening ahead, you’re sweating again. If you think that perhaps wearing shorts and T-shirt is appropriate attire for aperos, absolutely not unless you want to be eaten alive by the midges. I am not complaining however, with it being a good 10 degrees warmer here than the former land that is the UK I am going to have to pack a couple of sweaters – my body has become accustomed to 30 plus Augusts.
Ah August…the month when bees buzz lazily through the oleanders, cicadas make music after dusk and Arry turns 8 years old. Physically that is, mentally he’s stuck at 8 months. Sadly I will miss most of his big day as I won’t get back home until late but I’m sure Denis will keep him amused and out of the oleander beds. So to my darling doofus, I hope you have the most marvellously idiotic day as every day is to you and thank you for reminding me that stress levels can still rise to epic levels – I do love you my crazy, cailloux-obsessed canine…
“Life is a book and there are a thousand pages I have not yet read.” (Cassandra Clare)
Widow plus woofs 