Fingers off the panic button

Considering how glad I was to be back under sunny skies and woofer snogs after my somewhat traumatic exit from the Motherland, you’d think I’d be raring to get on with things but no. I don’t know whether it was that phone call from the notaire to set a date for the signing over of my bank account for a piece of land or the next ping from the architect for a ‘let’s build a bungalow’ meet up that sent my mood skyrocketing south but something did. I should have been elated with the news but instead all I could think about was money. Or lack of which is stupid as I have no idea how much a house will cost yet but the brain bugs weren’t having any of it. My decision to rid the mind of such useless prattle by cleaning all the apartment windows was not a wise one either, nothing broken except my temper – the streaks are still there. Thankfully, such moue moments can never last long; between Denis’ eternal optimism about winning the lotto and a bed full of canine cuddles, a girl can’t stay glum for long. That and the afore-mentioned sunshine – October and we are in 20 plus degrees of warm.

Perhaps the funk was down to a short spell of PTSD of the getting out of England kind – I don’t cope well out of the driver’s seat, makes me nauseous. I got stuck in the airport hotel lift for 10 minutes going up and down all floors except mine which sent me into a blind panic, who knew you were supposed to touch your key card on that black spot on the wall? Between that and not knowing how the hell to find a way out of London to catch the plane, the control freak in me had a melt-down. I would however like to thank the Gods for not unleashing my belongings throughout the turbulent trip, it was only when I got on the plane that I realised my over-stuffed little suitcase was only partially closed.

It’s taken quite a lot of self talking to and more than a few face slaps but I’m back to being a busy little bee. With the prospect of getting my licence in the next couple of weeks, the bijoux workshop has me buzzing with ideas – especially the wood kind. I can work with wood for hours on end, it’s as close to meditation I can get. And of course, there are all the other chores that come with living in such a palatial property (the estate agent calls it a luxury home which is a bit of a stretch but whatever gets it sold) – the gardens need weeding and the potager looks like the apocalypse popped by for a start. On the plus side, I can forget about the pool now it’s tucked away for the winter and despite the lack of rain, the whole place is blooming. It might be October but the flowers haven’t got that memo yet. And I for one am keeping my fingers crossed that next week will be coming up roses…

““You don’t always need a plan. Sometimes you just need to breathe, trust, let go, and see what happens.” (Mandy Hale)

Psyching the synapses

The sun is out, the garden is blooming with colour, the birds are tweeting and I’m in a restless funk. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do; looking after this place is a full-time job without adding the furniture restoration, my attempts at making jewellery without gluing my fingers together and planning a new book but I just can’t settle. I don’t mean the ‘relax and put your feet up’ kind, everyone knows that’s impossible for me, I’m talking about switching off the synapses. My brain is working like a chimp at a tea party at the moment, jumping from one thing to another non-stop. It doesn’t help that events yet to be are in the hands of others, I’ve been here before and it’s just as frustrating. To add to it all, yesterday marked 7 years since Tony died which seems unreal. I’d jump in the pool if the cover wasn’t still on and the thermometer on hypothermia readings.

All that being said, the past week was actually quite a blast. With the evenings being so much more temperate now we are in mid-May, I’ve had the chance to catch up with old friends and one who I’ve known for years but never met. Janeen and I meshed on Facebook not long after I arrived here, she lives down near Antibes but was passing through so stopped for the night. We chattered well into the wee hours over several tipples in the courtyard, a place made for alfresco suppers, so much so that I hosted a little do the following evening to belatedly celebrate Denis’ birthday. Being enclosed by walls, the area has a sort of microclimate of its own not least as its protected from the infernal wind which makes barbecuing so much more pleasant. I even let the woofers join us which kept the kids entertained and the floor under the grill clean. There was only that minor mishap when Saba tripped over a sprawled-out Arry and promptly sent her glass of the red stuff straight down the front of her mother-in-law.

You might have noted earlier that I’m doodling down ideas for a new opus. No, it isn’t going to be the third ‘bio’ and anyway I’ve yet to hear anything about the first two, this one is a novel. Based vaguely on true events mind you. I miss writing, daft I know considering how much I complained about lazy muses the last time I was tap tapping away but the process is weirdly therapeutic – the brain cells can actually congregate in one place for a start. Which is more than I can say when it comes to the art of joining bits of metal. I did finally end up with a necklace and a bracelet, frankly a miracle as the jewellery glue was useless so I ended up grabbing my furniture one, the spray of which is slightly less accurate so I spent as much time scrubbing the goo off the kitchen counter as I did sticking bits together. And my digits. Still, I am rather chuffed at my first efforts so shall continue forth with all things bling. Who knows, all this cranium concentrating might be the panacea to my pouting? And that character I was struggling with could be a designer or a famous writer or a psychotherapist? Or maybe just the first half of the latter…

“You can’t stop the waves, but you can learn to surf.” (Jon Kabat-Zinn)

Sore necks and special girls

I have a pain in the neck. Mon cou to be exact and it’s flippin’ annoying. Not only does it support what little brain I have, I can’t move my head without wincing so I’m doing a favourable impression of a debutante in training at the moment. And I can’t even blame on a wild night out dancing, nope it’s down to cleaning cobwebs and dust off walls and swabbing the pool deck. Denis keeps insisting I enlist the help of anti-inflammatories but I hate taking pills of any kind – I might have a reaction and be left powerless. The witch in me one supposes. Still, better to be ailing over the weekend especially as the weather is still deciding whether or not to bring the hailstones that are apparently arriving from Spain – Denis watches too much TV.

It’s not that I mind housework, in fact I count myself as one of the weirdos that actually likes dusting but not several metre high walls. Up until recently, the main house had Natalie, our femme de ménage but with no-one in residence at present, she’s on hiatus. That being said, the family home still needs the occasional pass with the vacuum cleaner – a job that falls on me. Now, Natalie is of the diminutive size so I can’t really blame her for not looking up and noticing that the impressive stairway and its surroundings were covered in several centimetres of poussière which had been deposited by my son and nephews at least two months ago after a robust sanding of the railing base. I only noticed the oddly coloured paintwork during a spider web elimination task – I have one of those super long poles with a brush on the end for such, as I swished back and forth, fine brown powder descended. Everywhere. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to clean down the wood on the pool deck and then paint on two coats of sealant (has to be done every couple of years and somehow is always me what does). This I though would be best achieved on a fine but windy day; the product would dry quicker was my thought only the pesky gusts kept dropping leaves and bits of twig to my perfectly pristine planks so the whole job took twice as long as I’d planned. So that’s why I have a crooked cou.

As mentioned, I’m still here in this big ol’ place on my ownsome. Except for the woofers of course and one particular member of the Dog Hollow pack turned 8 the other day. Yes, our Alice had a birthday. Celebrations aside; I had a few friends over for dinner and she partook in the normally never allowed munching of crisp hand-downs, it was also a day tinged with a little mellow. Not only because she had been my 25th wedding anniversary gift to Tony, there is also the reminder that he passed away a year later. Then there’s Yogi Bear who should have also had a birthday but he’s sleeping peacefully by the potager. But we have our little lioness; one who never fails to make your heart thump and not always in the positive sense – let’s not forget that time she took on a 90 kilo mastiff when he attacked Arry. She’s a game girl is our Alice.

At least, I’ve got everything ship-shape as far as the family homestead is concerned as I have a guest coming next week and then a wee party for Denis, a bit delayed but then we haven’t exactly had outdoor barbecue weather of late. As I write, there is the grumbling sounds of thunder in the distance and I’ve had to shoot downstairs into the courtyard to grab the washing off line. But my man Monsieur le météo decrees that next week should be full of sunshine and no hailstones in the forecast. I really hope so as I can’t look up at the skies without wanting to release a few expletives and a little bit of balmy will do wonders for my bothered brainstem…

“Housework can’t kill you but why take a chance?” (Phyllis Diller)

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)

Funny feelings

I woke up this morning feeling oddly unsettled. Probably last week’s fault – it didn’t start well, got better in the middle and a bit flat at the end. It didn’t help that I asked Monsieur le Max chauffagiste extraodinaire to turn off the heating as the main house lay mostly void of human life and then the weather suddenly went arctic yesterday. And let’s not get into a conversation about the bloody pool; naturally it decided to spring a leak in one of the skimmer pipes. I had warned Denis that I thought there was a problem which he insisted there wasn’t so I made him crawl under the deck and yup, a massive crack in the tubing. He was lucky not to have felt the force of my ire although I stroppily refused to go to his annual Easter Monday family lunch.

Actually, opting out of Denis’ do wasn’t such a bad decision as nephew Louis returned to join his brother Maxime here for a few days so I got thoroughly spoilt by the two of them. Fabulous meals and much hilarity over the dining table. Both left mid-week to spend a bit of time with their mum in the Savoie taking Mumo’s dog Sappy along for the ride. She’s Louis’ canine companion now and I can’t say I’ll miss her especially as she left a number of smelly deposits on the piano carpet in her wake. I shall take her owner to task when he returns mid-May.

Aah, May. Just round the corner with, according to the météo man, sunshine. It may sound sexist to refer to such a person as male but he is almost always wrong – I state my case. Mind you, Mother Nature (definitely female as she can put her mind to anything) seems to be delighted with the wacky weather; things are flowering which never flowered before. Mumo’s courtyard is overflowing with colour and the irises she planted which never did much are now blooming yellow. As much as it’s beautiful to look at, you can’t helping feeling a little melancholy that she isn’t here to enjoy the view.

As I mentioned, the main house was left empty once the boys went, save this weekend when brother Simon and wife Alba popped over. On the plus side, the woofers and I had the entire property to ourselves although they aren’t allowed in the big bit as Sherman is likely to leave a few messages up the furniture but it did mean I could leave the inside gates open and the courtyard door. The latter was a necessity as I’d noticed rat droppings in the garage so I unleashed the hunter that is Alice to do her thing. Yet, apart from running up and down the stairs with the duster and lighting the fire as it warms the apartment upstairs, I barely set foot in the family home – it doesn’t feel much like a home when there’s nobody in it. Probably another reason for the oddly unsettled feeling. And for the next couple of weeks, I’ll be toute seule once more although hopefully in shorts and flip flops which will no doubt improve the mood. It does beg the question however as to what the future holds for this place. And the widow plus woofers…

“Life’s under no obligation to give us what we expect” (Margaret Mitchell)

Familiar in the unfamiliar

Weather-wise I think we can forget the past week but at least the wind has finally dropped. The Marin is not a gentle breeze to put it mildly; miraculously the serre stayed put – my neighbours’ blew away the last time it came through. Still, there’s a plus side to staying indoors – I’ve been lucky enough to have Callum to myself and had time to focus on what Denis calls ‘my micro enterprise‘. It’s a new career path but you’re never too old to change direction. The downstairs bedroom that kept Mumo comfortable has become my storage unit because there’s a leak in the garage roof and it’s too wet for Cal to get up there and fix it. Mind you, we did have a dry day yesterday which allowed me to clear the potager so we can start planting the summer salad stuff – I’ve put my foot down about spring onions though, we had so many last year the freezer still has bags of them in its depths.

Not a day goes by when I don’t miss Mumo, especially to talk to but I have my son who apart from being brutally honest at times, is an amazing listener. One such conversation last weekend brought up the subject of my drinking. Too much he told me; he remembered I’d done the same thing after his dad died and it left him traumatised. I know, a 59 year old woman taking advice from a 26 year old but then he has Tony’s sensible calm genes – albeit in our son’s words he has his mother’s crazy ones too. So apart from a humdinger of a night with friends Bruce and Suzy up the road yesterday, I’ve stuck to sobriety and feel much better for it. That is except for the broken sleep due to the amount of water consumed. My counsellor is off to London tomorrow although just for the day – a health certificate is needed for his visa back to Oz. I don’t think tuberculosis is running rife down here but hey. As much as I love him, he needs to go back to his familiar and I know he misses his friends.

Getting back to normality hasn’t been all that difficult although I have added a few other changes to my repertoire so to speak. I went over to the library in St-Hilaire on Friday before stopping by for tea with one of Mumo’s good friends. I’ve only ever visited Didier’s little book nook once but I promised him after the funeral that I would pop in. His library by the way is one of the two that will receive the donations many of you very generously made on behalf of our mum. Anyway, I came away with a couple of tomes all about French history, in French, which are now glaring at me over the kitchen island. I can’t remember the last time I was given a library card but I didn’t want to leave empty-handed and Didier waved the 5 euro subscription charge. Driving back home that afternoon, I stopped to take a photo of the Pyrenees – I must have taken a hundred snaps of the impressive mountain range over the years but the familiarity of the view was somehow settling.

And I am beginning to feel more settled. Since Mumo’s cancer diagnosis last Autumn, life has been anything but, yet experience teaches us about how we choose to deal with the afterwards. Put the bottle away for starters. I’m lucky enough to live on this beautiful property in South-West France surrounded by nature, have the chance to try my hand at something new and for now, my son next door. April is just around the corner and what the wind didn’t get, is covering the trees in colour. It’s still peeing down out there so the woofers are slouched inelegantly across sofas, considering their former residence was in London they are awfully picky about the weather and I’m writing this here blog. Familiarity is a great therapist…

“Familiarity breeds content” (Stephen Sondheim)

the calm of Callum (mine’s the cup of tea)

A time best shared

I made a mattress cover. Sounds daft but I was ridiculously pleased with myself, mainly because I’d managed to use the sewing machine without breaking it. Okay so I did snap the needle mid-seam when it ran over a forgotten pin but using the dreaded contraption without Mumo’s guidance was a first. If I’m honest, life without her hasn’t sunk in yet – everything seems to be carrying on as normal even if it’s anything but. For most of last week, the only residents in the house were me and brother Simon; both of us busy sorting out funeral arrangements and legal stuff. It’s not as though the family home was constantly full of Collins; most of the time it was just Mumo and me but somehow the place echoes with emptiness. The arrival of nephew Louis and niece Kate this morning along with Cal who had been visiting his other grandmother, has however, helped lift the gloom and with the rest of the clan descending tomorrow, the coming days will be easier to bear.

Mumo used to say that she preferred her grand-children because her own kids always argued but when it came to family fortitude, us lot would always stick together. As we sat on Mumo’s bed last weekend, going through her bits of bling and mercifully tidy wardrobe, sister Bong and I reminisced over the pieces. We don’t often talk so sharing memories was a nice way to reconnect especially as she remembered far more than I me. I didn’t take much as I tend to lose jewellery on a regular basis but there was one pendant, a Cowrie (Mumo loved Cowrie shells), that I recall her wearing in Kenya.

Recollecting happier times has stretched further than the family bonds. Having been tasked with sending out emails and making phone calls to Mumo’s friends, everyone has had their own special memories of our mum. Right now, in the main house, Simon, Callum and Louis are poring of photographs for the service and there’s a lot of laughter added to the process. So much nostalgia held in those album pockets. I can’t say I haven’t cried, I’ve sobbed bucket loads – weirdly mostly when I’m doing the ironing but as long as I keep busy, I’m doing okay. In fact, I’m whizzing through my furniture renovations to the point where I’m going to have to find somewhere to put all of it so I can photograph my babies and sell them. The workshop keeps me calm – my safe space unless I’m running up those hills. And I finished the tableau for the signpost under the corner wall – my version of Spring. Mumo said I’d put just about every colour of the rainbow on canvas. Thankfully, Denis has encased it between two sheets of plastic because March so far is rather windy and wet. Good for the garden though and my cauliflowers.

The next few days are going to be the tough ones as we say good-bye to Mumo on Tuesday before she is laid to rest at L’Horte. On behalf of all the Collins clan, I would like to say thank you for all the wonderful reminders of just how incredible our Mumo was. I only wish she’s told me where she kept the spare sewing machine needles…

“Say not in grief that she is no more, but say in thankfulness that she was” ( Hebrew proverb)

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)

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)

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)