Pure class

At 10.45 am on Thursday 27th of February, our Mumo passed away. I wish I could say she was surrounded by her loved ones but she was in the hospital waiting for a scan when my big brother Simon was called with the news, typical, she never did like being fussed over. We knew the time was coming so it wasn’t a total shock but nevertheless, it still seems far too unreal. But, at least for the last few months, Mumo had had a constant supply of family members popping back and forth over oceans. Family was everything to our mum as were her friends, her Ipad only leaving her lap when it needed to be recharged. As so many have told me, she was the loveliest soul, adored by everybody. Stunningly beautiful on the inside and out.

She was born Janet Christina Collins (amusingly that was both maiden and married name which caused many a hiccup when dealing with officials) on April 15th 1939. In May 1964, she married Pop and the two produced us 4 kids and we gave them 7 grandkids, as Mumo was oft to say the latter were so much more interesting than her offspring. She and Pop travelled the world; first Sarawak then up through Indonesia and Hong Kong before Kenya, Thailand and New York. Her address book, she was never one for technological storage, was so full that she dreaded the yearly Christmas card list but always made sure each person was ticked off. I was looking through the stacks of photo albums yesterday for a suitable picture – there are so many memories of a life most would only dream about. Kenya was her favourite so that’s where the picture was taken kissing up to her darling Ringo.

Apart from her lyrical waxing about her unbelievably brilliant grandchildren, Mumo was a book lover, rarely seen without one in hand unless, as Simon put it, she was on her Ipad or asleep. Actually she usually dozed off with pages still open. As those who knew her would say, Mumo was a wise and patient listener even if she refused to admit to us kids that she was going deaf – apparently we just don’t enunciate properly. She was the epitome of a hostess, she loved a good party and could have conversations on any topic – something no doubt learnt from her years abroad with Pop. And she had class. Not born into it, no hers was entirely her own. She had opinions but never forced them on others, was always elegantly dressed even if it was to prune the roses at L’Horte and although if she admitted that she wasn’t fond of the task, was a pretty mean cook.

Oddly, considering she hated exercise of any kind, our mum managed to bring up two extremely active generations. I say two because for Simon’s and my ‘sprogs’, she and Pop pretty much did bring them up at L’Horte. It was Mumo who wanted a pool in the back garden here in Rouffiac- one she never got in because the very idea of swimming made her shiver. She was always cold, only taking her sweater off when the rest of us were melting in a heatwave. A hot water bottle was a must, Bong remembered that they once had to warm up a rock on a camping trip as someone had omitted to pack this necessity. She was the best wordsmith and crossword puzzle solver and got us all involved in the daily New York Times Spelling Bee. She was a pianist and loved classical music as long as it wasn’t too loud – Pop liked the stereo on max which caused many a raised eyebrow (she could raise them one at a time). She adored her pets, especially her beloved German Shepherd Chrissie who alongside Pop’s Gunner were the L’Horte dogs. She will be laid to rest at L’Horte next to her husband, our Pop, a man she once said to me had to ask her several times to marry him and she could never figure out what took her so long to say yes. Both of them surrounded by three German Shepherds (my Macgyver’s ashes are there too) in the spot above the river under the oak tree Moth planted.

For me, I’ve lost my best friend and most trusted confidante. I have been blessed to be able to share the last 4 and a bit years with Mumo ‘next door’ to me. I will miss our evening natters over the kitchen island, her sitting on her stool positioned so she’d have to reluctantly move when you wanted to open a drawer. I will miss the smile that greeted me each morning as she read the news on her Ipad on that damn stool whilst breakfasting on coffee and a muffin – a smile that was invariably followed by “what do you want for dinner tonight?”. Like everyone that knew her, there will be so much to miss – she was simply pure class. I shall leave you with one of her many many favourite quotes…

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars” (Oscar Wilde)

Jan Collins April 15th 1939 – 27th February 2025

Colour me happy

Oddly, considering they were my two worst subjects at school, I was back in my happy place last week painting and sewing. Actually, maths and chemistry would be further down the list but then Mrs Longman the latter’s teacher always terrified me. Anyway, as I said, I’m back in Soph serenity land swiping my brush across the canvas and making velvet chair cushions. Mind you, a staple gun is so much quicker than a needle and thread ahem. And, despite the neck-ache that comes with running a roller across its ceiling, my bathroom is now finished – Callum said the colour reminded him of a dental surgery but I think minty green gives the space a bit of Zen.

Speaking of palette choices, Denis and I went over to the piscine shop mid-week to pick out the right hue for the liner. Naturally, any decision over which would look best in the pool’s depths has to be made by all four of us siblings but Moth’s ‘what about the beige’ option had me putting my flipper down. The word itself sounds dull although my son did point out that the water would still appear blue – it’s a chemistry thing (yawn). We’ve ended up agreeing on a sort of turquoise colour which, apart from anything else, matches the stairs.

One certainly couldn’t say my life has been devoid of colour especially when you add Arry into the mix and Friday marked our 9 year anniversary together. Yup, that what was supposed to be a foster pup back in 2015 is still hogging the bed covers. A little grey round the edges these days but always a bumbling ball of sunshine. And with Spring around the corner, we have been blessed with the rays from above which, after a couple of drizzly downpours, has brought out the blooms. From daffodils, cherry blossom, magnolia and marguerites to little rose buds and yes, another cauliflower, the garden is getting ready for the best of seasons. And when it comes to lifting the soul, there’s nothing better than a swish from Mother Nature’s paintbrush. Hey, its March next week!…

“The best colour in the whole world is the one that looks good on you.” (Coco Chanel)

The girl can’t help it

Yup, it’s still February but there is nothing like flowers, friends and fair skies to put a spring in one’s step. And I’ve been blessed with all three this past few days. Admittedly, the beginning of last week had me to doing a passable impression of a moody teenager – one too many comments about yours truly’s character but all was thrown off as soon as the sun came out. That and Denis’ perfectly timed trip to the garden centre after I dropped my Giselle off at the Toyota emporium for the last time. I was a little sad to say goodbye to my speedy set of wheels, Mumo’s Renault hasn’t got the same vroom and is much lower to the ground which means any bump in the road slams your butt.

My Rav 4 hasn’t been the only one leaving the nest, brother Moth and nephew Louis have gone back to their respective dwellings although Louis will be back in a week or so – kid needed to catch up on his actual job, that being fixing pianos and church organs, instead of building staircases and sanding down floorboards. Callum thankfully is still in residence, putting in electrics and a vent in my bathroom. I’ve been busy painting the latter although my expertise in ceiling decor has resulted in a splatter effect on the tiles – I did cover everything but the blasted paint is very sneaky. I’d much rather be planting roses and finishing off the new flower ‘beds’ D and I created thanks to Abraham’s gift of a few bits of dried tree trunks from Le Jardin. Speaking of makeovers, we finally got a visit from the pool poseur so the bloody thing could be measured up for a new liner hopefully next month. He tells me it can only be installed if the weather gauge gets to 20 degrees which judging by the forecast isn’t going to be a problem.

At least the woofers don’t mind my apparently irksome inability to keep still for five seconds and I think, quite like my ‘over enthusiastic’ optimism as do most closest to me, including friends. So, I had a few over last night to dine Greek style. Even Mumo sampled a little of my cuisine – brave lady. We might have eaten too much, drunk our way through several vineyards and murdered a few Demis Roussos tunes but in the best company. Flowers, friends and fair skies – maybe February’s not that bad at all…

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.” (Marcel Proust)

Sizing up February

Considering it’s the shortest month of the year and we’ve only just got through the first week of it, why does February feel so interminably long? One can’t even blame the weather; the predicted snow fall this weekend never arrived and although one wakes most mornings to a covering of frost, the afternoons are in double digit degrees. Maybe the mood dump is down to the unpredictability of being not quite out of winter yet – there’s always a fear that anything you start outside may well be under several centimetres of the white stuff the next day. Still, on the plus side, the dawn runs are simply serene. I can see where I’m going for a start now that the sun gets up a little earlier and the terre has turned rock hard what with the morning chill.

It’s not like we haven’t been busy here either although there was a slight hiatus mid-week when Callum came down with a tummy bug which meant 48 hours stuck in a bathroom, Louis then changing places as soon as his cousin recovered. Luckily, I managed to avoid the queue – I’ve had enough to do sorting out tax stuff for my apartment in Montpelier. The French impôt system is, let’s just say, migraine-inducing. So in order to save the yearly search for a document I don’t remember seeing or one I did and just filed in some dusty corner of a kitchen cupboard, I’m going to sell the place.

Speaking of selling, I’ve been busy photographing all my finished bits of furniture so they can be put online – Callum has promised to sort that out and bring me in some centimes. And of course, having cleared a small part of the workshop, I found a few more sorry souls to fiddle around with. One is a really rather lovely Gothic-style chair which I’m going to keep for myself – Dracula is my favourite book. Restoring such a beautiful piece of history isn’t the only reason why I’ll be garage-side for a while, tomorrow I say goodbye to Giselle as she returns to Toyota and I get a healthy bump to my bank account. As much as I love her speed, I just don’t use her that often and I’m always nervous of getting her pranged (the gate has been behaving of late). There’s enough cars and vans in the driveway for me to use until I find something more suited to dog hair and dirt tracks.

In the meantime, there are some garden jobs that have to be done when one isn’t wielding sanding paper and washing copious amounts of dust down the shower drain- the potager has to be emptied and then turned over before the new season plantings go in. I have been reliably informed that my woeful excuse for winter veggies is not my fault, apparently everyone round here has had a problem with ‘size’. Ergo, all my new seedlings are going to stay in the serre until the month is out. Let’s hope the pleasantly smelling bay leaf and pepper deterrent keeps the ‘dormice’ (Denis also has a problem with sizing rodents) out of there til then. How long is it until Spring?…

“February is just plain malicious. It knows your defences are down.” (Katherine Paterson)

Laundry lists

I was absent-mindedly folding Callum’s laundry this morning when a thought struck me as to how normal the action felt. Except that I’ve never folded his laundry, Tony always did it and let’s face it, my son has been looking after himself ever since his dad died. Yet, it was a nice feeling, being ‘mum’ again and taking care of our boy especially as our relationship is usually the other way around – he gives much better advice for a start. Thanks to him, I’ve been in a clearer state of mind over the past week and I no longer have a leaky roof. Mind you, the latter did give me a fright, seeing Callum wandering across the tiles like a beachcomber.

The recent weather could well have something to do with my mellow mood too. The start of February and it’s sunny. Not very warm but if you stand where the rays hit, it’s almost Spring-like. And with us being one month closer to a new season, everyone is busy doing something and I’m back in the garden again having sent off The First Book – the second would have gone with the first but I’ve managed to save several chapter drafts so I don’t know which ones are the right ones so that’ll be tonight’s headache. I’ve finished my kitchen chairs, which I’m ridiculously pleased about, less so regarding the dressing table I’m still working on but outside one must be whilst the sun shines. Of course, anything to do with the pool has had its hiccups, as soon as Denis got in to remove the old liner, we had back to back nights of pouring rain so the bloody thing kept filling up instead of draining out its last vestiges of algae-ridden water. Still, whilst he was deep in wellies trying to fish out toads, I sorted out plantings in the serre which smells lovely by the way – I’m assured that dried bay leaves and peppercorns keep the rodents away.

Speaking of rogue mammals, I took Arry to the clinic on Tuesday for his hydrotherapy session – his first with this particular practice and I have a feeling, his last. The unfortunate new-qualified vet was subjected to 10 minutes of non-stop ‘singing’ – I did warn her if you remember that ear defenders would be useful when she made the appointment, I should have added a raincoat as well seeing the amount of water he sprayed the room with. Life with my crazy german Shepherd is never dull, embarrassing yes but like my incredible son, he knows how to lift the clouds and add sunshine. And he generally doesn’t need me to do his laundry, just towels…

“While it is February one can taste the full joys of anticipation. Spring stands at the gate with her finger on the latch.” (Patience Strong)

Busy boots

Apparently, I caused quite a few heads to turn earlier in the week. The sight of a 50-something blonde wearing torn jeans and work boots, running through the arrivals area in Toulouse airport was, according to Callum, quite a sight but I wasn’t half glad to leap into his arms. Poor thing probably didn’t need to be squeezed so hard, 20 plus hours in an aeroplane suffering from altitude sickness (the meds didn’t work this time) and feeling totally exhausted – all he wanted was a shower and his bed. But my gorgeous boy is home and after a decent rest, back doing what he does best – giving Mum hugs and stripping paint off the main staircase. The latter however, has now put him back under the covers having, I think, inhaled too much dust even with that Darth Vader like mask on. Or perhaps climbing up Bugerach – not my idea of a relaxing day out if you remember that blog.

Cal wasn’t the only one to return to the nest last week, my little brother Moth flew in from Kenya on Thursday. Now, suddenly the homestead is full of activity, the sound of sanders and drills mixed with an eclectic choice of radio tunes makes everything feel almost normal again. Denis said watching the four of us (Louis is still here) reminded him of a beehive, always on the move for something that needs doing. Considering how emotionally and physically draining the last months have been, getting back into busy mode is perfect therapy. So much so, I’ve finally put down the proverbial pen, having finished the latest draft of The Second Book and re-written a large chunk of The First – both will be soon off to a good friend in the publishing business to be polished for presentation. After four years of tap tapping away, I’m glad to see the back of the opuses for a while although part of me still wants to fiddle with them some more. It’s an annoying habit of mine, I can’t seem to stop and just put my feet up. Denis even installed my old TV ( a bit on the small side he thinks) in my lounge so I could watch the French news channels (important for one who is applying for citizenship at the end of the year) but I the only time I stand still long enough to watch it is with my morning coffee. And I only have so much concentration which is required when attempting to understand politics in any language. Callum tells me such twitchiness is just one of my many ‘quirks’ but he loves me anyway. Over dinner with friends the other night, I was asked what I did to relax. I run I replied.

I box too although we’ve needed to move my heavy punching bag out of the room downstairs that Mumo is using as the nurses kept having to dodge around it. For now, it’s hanging in the alcove below me which is spacious enough, if not a little cold. At least it’s in a covered area and out of the wind that is currently pestering us but I’m not used to kicking and sparring with quite so many clothes on let alone trainers. I don’t know if the restlessness inside me will ever abate but as long as I’ve got something on my feet and they’re moving- I’m as close to relaxation as I can get. And a bloody beautiful boy to smother…

“A bee is never as busy as it seems; it’s just that it can’t buzz any slower.” ( Kin Hubbard)

Furry moonbeams and ruffled feathers

“Can you see the moon?” my sister Bong asked me as we drove back from Toulouse airport on Monday evening. I did remind her that I was in control of a moving vehicle in rush hour so best keep my eyes straight ahead but I did take the occasional glance. I did get a much better view up on my terrace after dinner – the Wolf Moon in all its glorious orbness. And, being of the superstitious sort, I Googled. Apparently such lunes signify ‘renewal, emotional depth and balance inviting us to reconnect with our inner strength, reflect on our past and set intentions for the future’. Considering I spent the first half of the week doing a passable impression of an ostrich – head in the ground and kicking out at everyone and the second half, as Denis put it, resembling a hyperactive magpie (the comment directed more at my white shirt tails under a black jumper), I haven’t done very well in the spiritual growth department.

I suppose part of the reason for my waxing and wanings is having family here. Don’t get me wrong, I adore them but when you’re used to only seeing your sibs during occasional holiday visits and you’ve gotten used to it just being you and your mum, it’s difficult to well, share. Selfish I know so I’ve had to slap myself a few times. Suddenly there is someone else doing the grocery shop, something I’ve always done and the daily task of organising the washing is no longer mine. I am no longer in charge of the cooking however, a merciful blessing as is being able to get on with my list of things yet unfinished without having to worry about who’s looking in on our Mumo. Ergo, the change from big bird in a hole to a busy oiseau.

On the subject of avians, the cold snap we were promised was just that so their garden feeders have been well-stocked. Mind you, the icy temperatures have disappeared as quickly as they plunged and my towels are currently drying out in the abnormally warm winter sun. Naturally, being that it is still January, most of the garden is in shadow by mid-afternoon but that hasn’t stopped big brother Simon from trawling his bench across the acreage to catch whatever rays are still available.

And speaking of rays, Arry was back having laser treatment again at the vet on Tuesday. My idiot Shepherd reignited the injury in his front right leg, no doubt as a result of hurtling himself across the frozen ground chasing deer on our morning runs. The dog doc suggested we try hydrotherapy in his next session to which I informed her that I have had a lot of experience with Arry and aquatics so she might want to wear ear protection. He may be short in the brain cell department and missing any gear between Park and 5th but when you need a few moonbeams, he and the other woofers are right there. Usually hogging the bed but always there. And family. All the inner strength you need. Right here in Rouffiac…

“In time of test, family is best.” (Burmese Proverb)

Where there’s light

When I said I took down all the Christmas decorations in the apartment last week, I lied. Frankly, the sight of fairy lights twinkling away over the lounge doors does stem the blues a bit. I could blame the weather – I’m English after all but it’s Mumo. She isn’t feeling so hot right now and I’ve had to message Callum. He’s flying out week after next. A new year and so much to do yet sometimes I just think, what’s the point.

Mind you, on the plus side, my darling nephew Louis has decided to stay put for a little longer. Seeing pictures of England covered in snow might have something to do with his decision. Having Lou here is the best pick-me-up as, apart from his hilariously bad one-liners, he’s got on with finishing the staircase in the remis – the one we nicked from L’Horte a few years back. Naturally I can’t help but get my two centimes in so I’ve shifted my terrace furniture down there even if, according to my nephew, it’ll clutter the space up. Gotta sit somewhere young man. And speaking of places to park one’s derrière, having him and brother Simon here has given me the chance to potter around in my workshop and switch off from my troubles for a few hours. I’ve even thrown off the pessimistic pashmina and started redesigning the apartment living area although putting my new shelving unit together last night without the manual’s ‘two people’ instruction – Alice’s attempts to hide the nuts and bolts aside, was not exactly calming. And one of the shelves is missing holes for the screws, either that or I’ve stuck the wrong bits together. Experience tells me which.

Now, the weather report. Wacky. I was driving around town in sunglasses and 19 degrees on Friday then yesterday Simon was standing over a barbecue in the pouring rain and today I’m looking out at gorgeous sunshine in full winter clothing. Apparently we are heading for an icy snap in the coming days, I wouldn’t mind so much but all the rose bushes have started flowering and my sister arrives tomorrow – she’ll probably think it’s summer judging by New York temperatures right now. Still, as long as there’s sunshine, there’s always work to be done and that keeps this girl looking forwards. Oh, and we’ve got a man coming about the pool liner on Wednesday…

“Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy” (Leo Buscaglia)

Old habits, no resolution

When one should take down the Christmas decoration caused a minor dispute between me and Denis last week. As far as I’m concerned, everything comes down after the New Year comes in – after all, tired tinsel and flat fairy lights don’t invite thoughts of fresh starts and positivity but my man thinks Papa Nöel and his gang should stay in place until the Mayor decides to take down the village luminosity. Considering the lot stayed up until mid-February last year, absolutely no way Monsieur. So for some reason known to no-one, we have agreed on January 15th although only the top corner wall’s display is still intact as is the main house’s Christmas tree but that’ll be a distant memory by tomorrow afternoon. Twelfth day and all that.

It’s not that I’m being a spoilsport about ‘ho ho ho’ holiday traditions, I just have my own practices. Now that most of the family have flown away save my nephew Louis who I never want to go, there’s no reason to keep replacing batteries and constantly rescue tinsel out of Alice’s jaws. It’s the first month of a new year and there’s much to do whilst the weather is miserable. We’ve already made a start in clearing up the garage and the main house’s fridge – the Collins’ have a habit of putting new stuff in front of old stuff and then only throwing away what they can see. Several mattresses sans bed frames have been uncovered behind unhinged doors from where who knows and brandy butter only lasts so long no matter how much alcohol was added. I doubt very much that any of my siblings or their progeny have made any resolutions to change their ways or their preferred tipples judging by the amount of bottles that went into the recycling yesterday. Louis, Denis and I contributed a fair number after the two of them spent an entire evening eating pizza over endless games of drafts whilst I wrestled with one of those wooden puzzles that doesn’t have instructions and is supposed to end up as a miniature vault. It didn’t.

I don’t suppose it bodes well to fail at the first challenge of the new year but list in hand and hopefully slightly better organised, I would like to hope I’m ready for what 2025 might throw at me. Or better still, gift me. And speaking of making resolutions as many feel they should, I haven’t. I did suggest to Mumo that I should be less sensitive to what people say about me and just do my own thing to which she replied “so what’s changed?”…

Bonne année et bonne santé tout le monde!

“It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it” (Lou Holtz)

And there you have it

And there you have it. With the bins over-flowing because I didn’t check the holiday schedule and the chaos of another Collins Christmas dinner their main contributor, the house is calm and clean once again. Well, not entirely. Big brother Simon is still in residence along with wife Alba and his three offspring bringing the patter of stomping feet and shoes abandoned in the hallway – an armoury no ankle can avoid. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not just because I love having my niece and nephews here what with all the constant chatter and endless plates of food that I haven’t had to cook but also because I’ve been able to let the reins go and recharge the batteries. I even managed to find whole afternoons to play in the workshop and sort out what to put in my new toolbox that Denis gave me – many a raised eyebrow in his direction over the piles of discarded wrapping paper but he always knows what makes his girl happy. Better yet, Callum called me on Christmas morning, the best present a Mum could receive although maybe not his thoughts on staying in Oz for the foreseeable future.

As for me, the only think I’m looking towards is dumping 2024 in what little space remains in the poubelles outside the gate – the non-recyclable ones. Mind you, with the gorgeous weather we are under at the moment, you’d be hard pressed not to feel those positive vibes stirring the soul. The sunrises that greet you on the early morning run are breath-taking but not half as magical as trekking up Pic de Bugerach yesterday. Located about 28 kilometres away from here, the mountain is the highest peak in the Massif des Corbières lying in foot of the Pyrenees and known for its apparent mystical powers. I can’t say anything odd flowed through me other than fear hiking up its rocky outer face what with the narrow paths lining cliff edges and my poor choice of bootwear. I would like to say it was another proud moment for me to get to the top but I didn’t quite make it – the last stage of the climb got me and I ended up hugging a large boulder trying not to look up, down or sideways. Eventually, thanks to a lot of gentle cajoling from nephew Louis and niece Kate, I slid inelegantly to safer ground below but still high enough to take in the horizon. I add in peace and quiet but I’d brought Arry, Alice and Sherman with us – Arry spent the entire day out on hyper-speed, nearly knocking most of the other walkers off piste so to speak. At least the journey home was blissfully silent unlike the car ride going there which had Arry and Alice shrieking at full volume and me nearly bursting a blood vessel and having wobbled their way up the staircase into the apartment, the three of them passed out not to be seen until this morning.

And there we have it. Just a few more days and we’ll be ringing in 2025. To all, have a great knees-up and I hope the New Year brings you sunshine and roses. For many of us, it will be a time to remember those we have lost over the past 12 months as well. I’d like to give a special mention to my friend Georgie whose husband Iain passed away suddenly just before Christmas. Iain was a good friend to both me and Tony, his unwavering kindness, sharp one-liners and tongue-in-cheek sarcasm never to be forgotten. So, let’s raise a glass or three to seeing the back end of 2024 and to blue skies ahead. And new pool liners…

“I don’t know where I’m going from here but I promise it won’t be boring” (David Bowie)