Mellow fruitfulness

We had another viewing today. An English couple; I know that as they asked me what the large vine that trails over the big red door was just as Alice and I were about to leave them to peruse our beautiful house. It’s a Virginia Creeper I told them, absolutely amazing in early Autumn. I did add a few comments about how most of the houses on the street had the same and wait til you see the marronniers in full blossom and had they noticed all the irises but then cut short my lyrical waxing less eyes glazed over. That and my Border terrier’s insistence on dragging her owner off to take in the Daily Woof otherwise known as verge sniffing. I haven’t had any feedback from the estate agent yet but the prospective peeps were here for over an hour and did throw a cheery wave at me as they drove off afterwards. I don’t know if it was because the sun was out today or that the blasted wind has decided to take a momentary pause but I have a tingle of optimism about this one.

I have no doubt that, like most of us, a decent spell of balm in the weather department, has given rise to this upbeat mood of mine and passing a week gassing with gals and getting on with all sorts in the workbench department. That and an appointment with Dr Lefevre which should have sent a frisson of unease down to my nether regions but oddly didn’t. I’d gone in to ask for what I thought would be a straight forward yes we’ll do that request to remove my ovarian cyst – a cyst I have come to refer to as Olive for no reason whatsoever. Anyway, doc said no, as unless the little blighter was causing pain, I should just let it be for now. I did reiterate the point that 5 centimetres seemed a little big to fit down there in but apparently they can get to the size of oranges before surgery is on the cards. As I said, weirdly okay – a head state probably boosted by spending so much time with female friends who don’t fuss unlike Denis who is worse than me when it comes to reading too much.

I suppose I should thank the arrival of Spring in terms of its Equinox for lifting the spirit too and making one just want to get on with things. The afore-mentioned Alice got a good going over with the clippers and her son Sherman a couple of hours with yours truly stripping his winter coat out. He’s always gorgeous but more so now and not just because he no longer resembles a bog brush but also behaved impeccably when I took him over for a play date with my mate Jude’s little Cavalier puppy – he didn’t once cock his leg on her pristine cream sofa suite or dig a hole under fence. The woofers do like to surprise me. Oh, and I finally finished the snake pot. I have to be honest, I wasn’t overly thrilled with the result at first but as I have had a fair few wows and requests for more custom designed terrace terracotta, its grown on me, or coiled itself. Mind you, I’ve still got a load of ex-chandelier pieces to finish wrapping and a gratefully donated lilac branch to whittle into something whimsical so plenty to keep the mind mellow. Might also have some news next week too, fingers crossed…

“Spring is the time for plans and projects” (Leo Tolstoy)

Bringing out the blossom

According to the online horoscopes that I said I wasn’t going to read anymore, the start of the Chinese New Year on Tuesday was all about shedding the old Snake’s skin and embracing the power of the Fire Horse. Well, I’m not sure about the descaling bit but my epidermis is currently exposed to a strange phenomenon as I currently tap tap away on this here blog whilst sitting out on my terrace under a hazy blue sky and a ball of sun rays. And if Monsieur Météo’s forecast is anything to go by, we are about to have a little more of a taste of Spring in the coming days; something we thoroughly deserve down here after all the storms and soaking of late. As I was filling up the bird feeders yesterday, the surprise noting of the plum tree’s blossom made me do a little happy dance – a careful one as the garden is rather over-grown and you’d best be careful what you might step on.

It’s hard not to feel optimistic when the sun rises a little earlier each morning and is actually visible out there. And whilst I’m still not at my best, nor any the wiser as to what my internals are playing at, the change in season goes a long way towards a healthier outlook on life. As does having a load of friends come out of hibernation for a Chinese feast served up by yours truly and a successful one at that which was quite amazing considering the main house kitchen only has a three hob top, two of the guests were vegetarian, one was very allergic to fish and I couldn’t find the wok. A much enjoyed and well lubricated evening was had by all if the following morning texts were anything to go by as well as pats on the back for this hostess on giving up the nicotine and ‘you’re looking a lot better’ comments – I’d take that as a compliment if it didn’t make me think how I must have looked before.

Mind you, such remarks about one’s well-being are a great boost for the brain cells as are cloudless skies. Having nearly fainted at the organ-doning cost of the architect’s building team, I went shopping for a new one and found a possible candidate who just happens to be a friend of the Lovely Lionel so totally trustworthy. I haven’t met Hakim yet but Denis has taken him up to the land and gone over the specs with him and he’s still interested so positive vibes abounding. I even went as far as digging out all the boxes of Lego that our family have passed down the generations and built a sort of slightly out scale model of my one day abode for reference. Denis told Hakim it was an ‘English’ thing to do, I said it was a sensible one which it is as I realised all the windows on the spec drawing were in the wrong place and D’s idea that I should have double doors going out from the bedroom would mean I’d be waking up to a lovely view of the neighbour’s fence. With any luck and crossed fingers, my new best guy will be able to start as soon as the lawyers have finished my end.

Speaking of anniversaries and looking good at a certain age; yesterday marked 10 years since I took in a young foster pup named Ace. A decade later and Aragorn, aka Arry is still under my feet. I must admit I forget sometimes that he is, being a German Shepherd, old but he wears it well and is still an idiotic juvenile at heart. As I’m sure I’ve scribed many times over many blogs, his presence has kept me going through hell and high water even if only because he’s done something stupid more often than not. He may not be able to run up those hills anymore but Arry’s zest for always looking forward to the next best morning is a mantra this girl is aiming for. That and flip flops…

“An optimist is the human personification of Spring” (Susan J. Bissonette)

Stay young, don’t Google

Over one of my fairly regular phone chats with bestie Rene, she asked me how I was getting on with living toute seule so to speak. Well, I’m sort of getting used to it was my answer although I did find myself Googling ADHD symptoms late one evening. I was a little alarmed at the number of boxes I could tick; constant worrying, inability to keep still, doing Lord knows how many things at the same time, always daydreaming, impulsive which gets me into trouble most of the time, yaddi yaddi. Naturally, knowing me as she does and being a girl with her head on straight, she assured me I was just fine – it’s a widow thing was her explanation, she has the same problems.

And I’m not really on my own, I’ve got 7 woofers for company and my man living a minute down the road in a village full of friends. Having the place to ourselves has its advantages however, Sherman spends almost the entire day behind the front gate waiting to ambush a pooch passing by and Alice has taken to sleeping in the garage lest a rogue rat decides to attempt a re-entry. I accidentally left the kitchen door open in the main house yesterday whilst I was preparing a dinner party, only to find the two of them had sneaked into the forbidden territory – I wouldn’t have minded except I had to check every floor after chucking them out, Sherman and his ‘social media posting’ would not go down well with the rest of the family. Still, the big ol’ house needs company to feel alive so the pitter patter of paws on tiles was welcomed as was the evening’s friends.

Mind you, not all of my canine compatriots have been able to enjoy such freedom – our Simi is currently resting on my bed after an unexpected but somewhat urgent operation. She’d been driving me crazy constantly scratching so I took her off to the vet. He couldn’t find the source of the itch but a routine examination ended up with an echograph and the discovery of a 7 centimetre tumour in her spleen. Now having had far too much experience with such and German Shepherds, I was more than a little worried especially at her age, 16, which according to the ‘age’ chart in the waiting room doesn’t exist in her size but the blood test results showed nothing had spread and doc said she was strong enough to go under the knife. She’s fine and back to doing what she always does, sleep. My nerves are still under review.

Speaking of doing well at a certain age, Denis is turning 66 on Wednesday. If anyone is proof over age being just a number, it’s my man. He’s still shooting up ladders cutting villagers vines and speeding the mower across our vast perlouse. He maintains that keeping busy and not worrying about tomorrow keeps him young and fit. He doesn’t have a computer either. I’d take a leaf out of his book except I’ve spent the morning mopping up the flood that the washing machine he ‘fixed’ last night and I impulsively decided to turn on, emptied over the laundry room. Ah well, no time to sit still and daydream – this widow’s got a hundred and one things to do…

“I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.” (Jennifer Yane)

stay young at heart (and away from washing machines)

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)

Chews and Hues

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, anyone who thinks sharing your life with 8 dogs is a blissful existence doesn’t know my woofers. One of them has munched through my phone charger cable. I can rule out Simi, she only gets out of bed for food and since Yogi Bear only has three teeth, I doubt he’s capable of chewing through anything. Coco Loco wouldn’t either, far too dangerous for his sensitive soul and as for Arry, he’d have eaten the whole thing including the plug it was attached to. That leaves four although Mo rarely goes into my bedroom and Neo prefers human legs to electrical outlets so the most likely culprit is either Alice or Sherman. But since I don’t have a handy DNA kit lying about, I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to buy another charger – Denis did his best to find one I could borrow to no avail, gone are the days when one cable fitted all, modern times hmm. Naturally, the only person I know with the same make and model of my phone is Callum and of course, I can’t call him obviously and even if someone could, he’s off line working on a farm somewhere in South Australia.

At least whoever did the crime waited until the best of the weekend was over, it’s been quite a social whirl over the last few days. Friday marked the start of Le Petit Bistrot season, Rouffiac’s weekly village get-together. And since it was the first night so to speak, there was a whole lot of cheek-kissing and “ça va” ‘s as friends re-acquainted themselves after their winter hibernation before sitting down to catch up over a few glasses and partake in a less than light repas of sausage stew. Good for lining the stomach I suppose. The evening would have been almost perfect if it wasn’t for any attempt at conversation being drowned out by an over-excitable and very loud big band musical performance and the absence of our Graham who could probably hear the trumpet player in Scotland. You are missed darling.

With the start of summer just around the corner and the weather finally starting to remember as such, it’s time to hang up the running shoes until the Autumn. As much as I love wheezing up the hills surrounding us, the mornings are now too hot for Alice, Arry and Sherman and my body needs its annual repose but it would be nice if I could use the pool. The less said about that bloody chamber the better although with any luck, it will be fit for purpose in a couple of weeks. I shall keep schtum about that until it happens. Needless to say however, I’m not one for idle pursuits, most of last week has been spent finishing off the top room in the big house – carrying pots of paint and ladders up and down that staircase should be an Olympic activity. The once dingy pink wallpapered bedroom is now a calm, cream brush and roller job – several different shades as I wanted to use up all the nearly-empty tins left in the garage but no-one seems to have notice the subtle changes in hues.

And it’s not just the room at the top looking bright and cheerful, the gardens are looking pretty spectacular at the moment – we can thank miserable wet May for that. Denis and I have also given my terrace a bit of a make-over including repotting my citrus trees and a spot of geranium buying. Mind you, I should have taken more care over my colour choices as the pink that was once up there is now everywhere down here. At least the potager is gorgeously green and full of summer salad additions. It’s just as well I don’t like beetroot. And now that the trees are all in full leaf, the woofers can lounge about in shady nooks to recharge their batteries – a couple are looking a little too lively this morning however…

“Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. Unless they eat your shoes, then your life is a little less whole.” (Unknown)

Indoor days and birthdays

So far, May has been a complete washout. I know I bang on about how much we need the stuff but a whole week of non-stop pluie? The driveway resembled a lake and my shower drain backed up because the excess had nowhere to go. Even the woofers retreated indoors, their pleading eyes asking me to turn the tap off up there and Sherman was not his usual happy self sloshing through muddy puddles on our morning run. Still, at least we’ve had a sunny, dry weekend as the forecast for next week isn’t encouraging unless you’re a plant.

On the plus side, Denis and I have spent most of our time fiddling about in the garage with the ancient motobécane that brother Simon had found in a dump a decade ago. The L’Horte Four (our kids) had had great fun bouncing over the old homestead’s terrain on her back but after becoming another victim of the 2018 flood, she was put to one side to be fixed but soon forgotten. That was until we decided that the old lady should be bought back to life again. So far, it’s been mostly about de-clogging 6 years of debris in her motor parts, a piston needs replacing and the paintwork needs, well, work but I’m having fun learning about motor machines. Abraham told me that there used to be a ‘moto’ club in Rouffiac years ago and we should start it up again. I don’t have a parka but Tony’s Barbour will do and I have a hankering for one of those old-fashioned helmets – you know the ones that look like you’ve stuck a mixing bowl on your head.

I wish I could say that being forced to stay indoors unless you have a penchant for scuba diving would have resulted in a finished Second Book but no. I’ve only got three chapters to go and I can’t seem to find the motivation to pen them. It’s not as though I don’t want to put the opus to bed, 3 plus years of tap tapping away on the two tales of life after Tony is quite enough but with the end in sight, my muse has gone into hibernation. But with my self-imposed, get it done before the summer, deadline, me and my laptop will be as one. I mean, its not like the sun is going to make a re-appearance anytime soon and the bloody pool is tucked up under the covers for the next month or so. We aren’t as yet, back on talking terms.

But though the weather is a bit doom and gloom, there are little moments to be celebrated. Like Bear birthdays. My slightly-tubbier round the middle, mostly deaf unless you open a biscuit tin, constant cuddle companion, Yogi Bear is 14 years old today. Like most of the pack and their occasionally obeyed mistress, he’s been through a lot over the last almost 6 years. Having lain faithfully by His Master’s bed in those last days, Yogi grieved over Tony’s death until we moved here to Rouffiac and the Bear found a new best buddy in Denis. Now in his senior years, Yogi likes nothing more than to be either snoozing the day away on his favourite cushion or lying under Denis’ feet whilst his beloved human tries to do some gardening. Unless there’s food. Food is always the best thing in life. So Happy Birthday to Yogi Bear, Norfolk Terrier Extraordinaire. May your life always be filled with cuddles and picnics…

“Life’s too short to skip a picnic” (Yogi Bear)