Stepping Out of my Nest onto the Cote d'Azur!

Nice

I look out from the aeroplane window as it sweeps around the azure bay on our approach to Nice airport. The facade of colourful buildings lining its shoreline gleams like the jewels of a decadent necklace, perhaps once worn by one of the many film stars, who made the Cote d'Azur their play ground, since the early 1920s.

In the hills above the town a weekend nest awaits me, where a table sits under an ancient olive tree, ready to shelter me from the heat of the Mediterranean sun. Once again, my daughter, determined to stretch my horizons, has arranged this wonderful weekend as this year's Mothers' Day treat! (You can read about last year's treat in my blog, 'Nesting in a Medici Hunting Lodge').

Arriving at the airport, my husband and I share a warm embrace with Katie and Olivier.  Already relaxing into their holiday, they are quick to whisk us off through palm tree-lined streets, to start our weekend in style, with an ice-cream at the Lido by the Promenade des Anglais.

Le Negresco

Later that evening, as we leave our nest in the hills, Katie and I make an extra effort to look stylish, stepping out onto the Boulevards, where glamorous figures like Bardot gave Nice the name of  'the playground of the rich and famous'.  Of course, we are neither rich nor famous, but one can always dream! And dream we do, as we saunter into the decadent hotel, 'Le Negresco' and savour its extensive collection of art, before sharing a cocktail in the bar, serenaded by a devilishly handsome young pianist in a tuxedo.

The Maeght Foundation

Day two finds us driving through the hills to Saint-Paul de Vence, one of the oldest medieval towns on the French Riviera, where we stop off at 'The Maeght Foundation' nearby. This amazing place houses one of the most important collections of modern art in Europe. Wandering arm in arm with Katie, we lose ourselves in its serenity, lulled by the song of the cicadas and intoxicated by the rich history of art that wraps itself around us. Finally, finding ourselves on the roof, we dare to stare down through the trees to the Mediterranean below and I think to myself, could it be, that somewhere inside I am falling in love with this magical place?

On our last night, sitting around the table in the shade of the ancient olive tree, my head is filled with images of hilltop villages overlooking the sea. Glitzy resorts like Cannes and St.Tropez, their vibrant colours reflected in works of art by Picasso, Matisse and Cézanne, complete the intoxicating heady mix of all that is the Cote d'Azur. In front of me, the table is laid with bowls of fresh herb salads, olives and tomatoes of every colour, from our trip to the market this morning.  As darkness falls, the sound of laughter around the table, under the stars in the hills above Nice, will return to me in my empty nest, along with the magic and colours of this beautiful place.

Chateau Noir Oil Painting by Paul Cezanne

The Family Return to Our Irish Nest!

As I promised in my last blog, you find my nest temporarily elevated to the magnificent setting of 'Ashford Castle' on the shores of Lough Corrib in the West of Ireland.  Why you may well ask, do I find myself in the sumptuous grandeur of one of the most famous hotels in the world? The corridors here are arrayed in pictures of the Hollywood glitterati, from Fred Astaire and Bob Hope, to, in more recent years, John Travolta and Brad Pitt, all of whom have been guests in this wonderful place. Well, the simple answer is one man and a dream to return to his homeland.

As a child growing up in the West of Ireland in the 1920s', dad's father had been acquainted with the owners of the castle and as a boy he had played amidst its acres of land and occasionally enjoyed games of table tennis in the big house. He dreamt one day of returning to the nearby village of his birth, where his childhood had been close to idyllic; swimming in the crystal clear waters of Lough Mask, fishing for trout and cycling for miles with his twin brother, on adventures straight out of 'Swallows and Amazons'.

He wanted to return, but not alone; he wanted to bring the whole family with him! And so it was that dad chose not to spend money on himself, but to treat his close family to a weekend with him in 'Ashford Castle'. Very soon, word spread to the extended family and all keen to return to their roots, the clan gathered in this magical place, from England, Ireland and as far away as Switzerland, all ready to share in our father's dream!

What a dream it turned out to be. We visited the old house where he grew up and in the local library, the librarian, who just happened to be involved in writing the history of the town, was fascinated to indulge dad in his countless reminiscences

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Later that evening, under the sparkling light of huge chandeliers, we dined in splendour, dad surrounded by his whole family, now a guest in the castle where he once played as a boy. Retiring to the comfort of the lounge after dinner, a grand piano provided the music and, after a quiet word with the singer, we all watched with a tear in our eyes, as she sang the words of his favourite song 'Danny Boy' especially for him!  The night drawing to a close, dad took to the piano himself and, lost in the music of his youth, played 'Danny Boy' until it was time for bed!

We finished our weekend with a boat trip around the 365 islands on 'Lough Corrib'. The weather was kind to us and, as the boat pulled out from the jetty, the lilt of Irish music filled the air. Below deck, my daughter ordered 'Guinness' for everyone and we all shared a taste of the black stuff, as we made a toast to dad's dream and to a perfect day.

There Are Still Good Times To Be Had In 'The Empty Nest'!

Looking back over the last posts, I hope you have been able to keep pace with the ups and downs of my thought patterns, as I attempt to make sense of our lives since returning from France. In the previous blog, I advocate the 'empty nest' stage as the perfect time to find oneself a new direction in life. Indeed our three years in France achieved this perfectly.  What I didn't realise was that, as I found the answer to one life changing event, another was waiting in the wings!   

Losing my mum while living in France changed the dynamics of life once again.  Returning to France after her death, not only did I struggle to cope with losing the person who had been my best friend and support, but I soon became very aware that my eighty-three year old father was now 'home-alone' back in Ireland. When the 'empty nest' stage was almost solved, the problem of an elderly parent was the next challenge to be faced. As you will have gathered, we explored the possibility of moving dad to France, which proved to be rather like taking a fish out of water; eventually we gave in and moved our nest back to Ireland. The intention to return to France is always uppermost in our thinking, but with my husband's mother now widowed, we find ourselves with two elderly parents to consider.   

I am sure there are many of you out there who find yourselves confronted with both these scenarios.  It is a time in one's life when you need space to rediscover yourself, indeed to rediscover the person you have been married to for all these years! This becomes increasingly difficult, however, as life throws yet another spanner in the works, metaphorically speaking! 

Looking on the bright side of things, however, during this time of forced incarceration in the place of my birth, I have started my journey as a writer and, when I am not busy editing my book or searching for a literary agent, I find myself sharing a close relationship with my dad, as he increasingly demonstrates to me how to grow old disgracefully! In my next blog post, I must share with you the wonderful time we enjoyed, as we took him back to the place of his birth on the shores of Lough Mask in the West of Ireland, where we spent a magical night in Ashford Castle.  Yes, despite the hard, emotional ups and downs of every stage of life, there are indeed, always good times to be had!     

Pushing The Boundaries Of One's 'Empty Nest'!

I suppose one of the problems facing 'empty nesters' today is that, as in my case, our children not only flew the nest, but they flew the country!  Now before making the rather comical observation that they were in fact just escaping their parents, I would suggest that success as a parent is teaching one's children to fly and, from our empty nest, my husband and I stood by and watched them soar, with a great degree of pride and a certain feeling of satisfaction at a job well done!    

In a way, it was their pioneering spirit and enthusiasm for exploring life that made us look at our empty nest, still perched in the country of our birth and dare to conceive the idea of moving it to a foreign land! Having been parents since the age of twenty, we missed out on the 'gap year' culture of taking a year out to explore the world and, as I have mentioned before, much time was lost due to my husband's illness.  I suppose writing this today, I just want to encourage others who find themselves in their early forties or older and in the same position.  Realise it is your moment and maybe for the first time since becoming parents, push the boundaries and in finding a new life, whatever direction that may take you, enjoy discovering the person you have become during the those wonderful challenging years of parenthood.

Our time in France, where relocating our nest, saw us renovate an old presbytery in the centre of a little French village in the Poitou-Charente region, was to become an experience that tested us on every level and like anything in life requiring one's heart and soul, rewarded us beyond all measure. Things I discovered about myself along the way? Well, I discovered I love open spaces, nature and wildlife, unlike my husband I discovered I have to work hard at learning a foreign language, but my love for people never stops me communicating. My soul is enriched by the beauty of Romanesque Churches, art and history and in the face of adversity I try never to give up. Oh! And of course, I also discovered it is writing that keeps me sane!  

Feeling Empty In My Nest!

Arriving back at my 'empty nest' this morning after walking the dog, I had as usual passed the time deep in thought! There are positives and negatives surrounding the whole experience of finding oneself sitting in an 'empty nest'.  In stark contrast to the riotous experience of the years spent being part of a family unit that to all intents and purposes seemed the most permanent of situations, there is most definitely a grieving process to go through.  Don't get me wrong, there is a whole new world out there, once you get your head around the fact that to a certain extent, it is time to reinvent oneself!

Recently, however, I found a poem I wrote when coming to terms with this difficult episode in my life, which at the time coincided with my husband losing his career due to illness and the death of my Mother.  It reminded me of my thoughts on the night I wrote it. So many things seemed to be lost, creating in their place a multitude of memories.  It was a cold January night and I stood at the window. Outside, snow fell heavy from a dark sky and, looking upwards in the light of the street lamp, I stood mesmerised by the multitude of flakes drifting silently to earth and in my mind...

I dreamed I lay on the ground one night,

When the snow was falling,

Swirling drifting flakes,

Like memories from the past falling from the night sky,

Becoming me, filling me,

How can there be so many memories, so many faces?

Reaching out to touch them, they melt away,

While inside, I feel so empty.

Stepping out of my nest, into the lights of 'Paris'!

I hope you will bear with me readers, as I jump from nest to nest, but you will probably have gathered by now, in the last decade I have moved my 'empty nest' between Ireland and France, and so, as I feather the empty corners and tidy the twigs, metaphorically speaking, reminiscences of recent adventures are never far from my mind!

With the summer coming to an end and the idea of winter leading me to ponder where I might be nesting this Christmas, my thoughts took me back to early December in my French nest, in our little village in the Charente region, of South West France. 

As usual, things were quiet, everyone having closed their shutters against the freezing temperatures outside, while life beyond ambled along, driven by the church bells' call to rise at seven and stop for lunch at noon. Bright lights and glamour were confined to distant memories of the big city, while here in the countryside the only visible illuminations to be found were in the amazing night skies, where shooting stars darted between galaxies of twinkling lights and the full moon alone illuminated the fields and hillsides below.

Just when my husband and I had become accustomed to wearing clothes as a matter of warmth rather than style and gained our evenings' entertainment from throwing another massive log on the wood-burner and sitting mesmerised, while watching the flames lick hungrily at the glass door.  Suddenly we found ourselves on the TGV to Paris, flashing through the French countryside, at well over a hundred miles an hour.  Where were we heading?  Yes, it seemed rather unlikely, but we were heading for a glamorous fashion show on the 'Champs Élysées', hosted by one of Spain's best known actresses, Victoria Abril!  

It's worth mentioning at this point, as one will find out eventually in my book, that many of the outstanding moments of my life can be traced back to the intervention of my amazing daughter, and this one was a perfect example, as it was Katie who had orchestrated this huge event to raise money for charity.

Having booked into a hotel; in the comfort of our luxury room, my husband and I sipped a glass of champagne, as we peeled off the layers of woolly garments designed for survival in subzero temperatures and for the first time in months slipped into our glamorous evening wear.  Stepping out into the street below, we hailed a taxi and set off into the Parisian night. Minutes later driving up the 'Champs Élysées', on either side of the car, trees covered in fairytale Christmas lights lined the streets and sitting spellbound in the back, I whispered to Ron, "It doesn't get much better than this!"

Finally, stepping out at our destination, in front of the illuminated white marble entrance to our venue, the Christmas lights bounced off the white walls, like the flashbulbs of the paparazzi, completing our final transformation, from French peasant to Parisian socialite!

'Writing for Survival' in my Empty Nest!

As you may have gathered from my previous blog, I live in my empty nest at the moment, with the realisation once again, I am not always the author of my own destiny.  Indeed it hasn't been easy to return to Ireland and find myself living just a few miles from the family home where I grew up, after finally at the age of 47 having had the courage to embark on a new life in France.  

My husband and I had survived his illness, resulting in early retirement at age 40, the same year in which our children flew the nest and after separating for a year, had made the life changing decision to put the past behind us and start all over again, with a new life in France.  We had three amazing years of an experience that surpassed our wildest dreams, as this beautiful country welcomed us with open arms and filled every day with so many adventures that the past was just a distant memory! 

It hasn't been easy therefore, to step back into the past again and finding a way to cope until we can move back to France, has been a process of trial and error for both of us.  All through my life writing has emerged at different stages, in the form of poetry or articles for local publications.  It has always been  something that would evolve almost like an extension of who I am and what I am feeling, after which I would feel released to carry on with my life; So when I started to write the story of our French adventure, I never dreamt I wouldn't be able to stop, that every day when I sat down at the computer, like entering the wardrobe and stepping into Narnia, I would be back in France reliving every moment.        

Eighteen months later to my surprise I have written a book and looking back the process has been my life line, as I realise I was in fact, 'writing for survival'.