What drives us to write?

Welcome back, to all my friends who occasionally drop in on my ramblings.  You find me in the study this morning, sheltering from the heat, an unusual occurrence in this part of the world, but an excellent opportunity to share with you some of my thoughts on writing.                  

Like many of you, my interest in writing can be traced back to an English teacher, who spotted in me the ability to tell a story.  Mrs McIvor was an inspirational teacher, whose love of language and literature was passed on to me seamlessly, as if by a process of osmosis. At an age when I was forming opinions on just about everything, writing  provided me with an outlet to channel my emotions.

As my life has unfolded, I have used this outlet many times as a means of survival, getting my feelings down on paper, often by the medium of poetry, has helped me cope with life's highs and lows.  Indeed, it is the therapeutic quality of writing that has, much to my surprise, resulted in the completion of the manuscript for my first book. I didn't set out to write a book; in fact, the idea would have seemed too daunting and something I would never have had the confidence to set out to do, but circumstances dictated otherwise.

After three years living in the south west of France, where my husband and I renovated an old presbytery in the centre of a tiny French village, our adventure was brought to an abrupt end due to the death of my mother. With no choice, but to return home and support my elderly father, I was forced to take a step back in life, something which is never easy to do. After living this incredible adventure in France, I found myself back in a country with a generally dull, wet climate, where I no longer had family or friends.

At first I threw myself into various pastimes, and indeed, achieved an A star grade in French at my local college, but nothing fulfilled me like my life in France. Eventually, after walking the dog each morning through the changing seasons of my third year back home, I began to think about writing the story of my French adventure.                                      

I started off with enthusiasm, but genuinely thought I would soon run out of steam. Until something extraordinary began to happen; I found an escape from my mundane life.  Each day after walking the dog,  I couldn't wait to get back to my writing and relive every moment of our wonderful adventure.

The manuscript is finished now and it is almost two years since I sat down and thought I might just manage a few pages.  The book is an incredibly vivid interpretation of a wonderful time in my life and I thank my old English teacher everyday for instilling  in me, the joy of writing.

It made me wonder, what it is that inspires you to put pen to paper?  Have you too found writing to be a life-line? I would love to hear from you.

Living in the moment!

This morning, while listening to a voice on the radio extol the virtues of ' living in the moment', I was compelled to pause and ask myself how often would I stop and do just that? Caught up with organising our move to France, I have to admit much of my effort is put into planning and worrying about the future.  

So I decided to take a few minutes out, stop what I was doing and sit quietly in the cool of a room tucked away from the noise and bustle of daily life.  Slowly the silence drew me in until the only sound I was aware of was the rhythmic tick of my watch.  Taking a deep breath and letting it out gently the tension I had been unwittingly carrying around all morning silently ebbed away. Each tick of my watch marked a moment in time I would never experience again and I savoured them one-by-one!

Yes, I can't wait to enjoy the slower pace of life in France again, but in the mean time I intend to take a few minutes out each day and return to the moment, will you join me?

Still 'Head over heels' in love with France!

Hi everybody, you might have noticed a gap since we last had a chat and you would be right. In my previous missive, full of the joys of life, I encouraged you all to get out there and celebrate your freedom.  Well, shortly after completing my enthusiastic ramblings, I contracted a nasty virus and have only just felt well enough to get back to writing today. Indeed I am way behind in finishing my book editing, but I just thought I would touch base with you all, lest you wonder where I've gone!

With spring arriving, my husband and I have set about putting the house to rights, before hopefully placing it on the market as a first step to returning to our beloved France.  The plan this time is to move to Burgundy with a view to being nearer my daughter and her husband. Like everything in life, however, our plans are not without worry, as I have my elderly father to think about this time, but we have decided to go ahead in the hope that taking things a bit at a time, problems will be solved as and when they arise. You may well be aware from previous blogs that we have made this move before; so we know exactly what lies ahead of us.  This, one would think, would be a distinct advantage, but on the contrary, it seems harder the second time around, as we are aware of the amount of work involved in relocating! The housing market here remains very slow, however, so no doubt we will have plenty of time to make our plans.

While convalescing over the last few months, I have passed my time reading  and in the process enjoyed various genres, from the classics to comedy, the latter of which helped me laugh my way through some of the darker days.  Always eager to read of others who have made the move to France, however, the travel memoir has been hard for me to resist and so I found myself turning the pages of  'Head over Heels in France' by Samantha Brick. 

I had seen Samantha on television, when as a journalist she dared to write an article on how difficult it can be to be beautiful, for which she found herself heavily under fire from the general public on Twitter, the majority of whom felt it lacking in modesty to admit to such an opinion of one's self.  I was, therefore, interested to read her own story, an honest account of her descent into depression after her television company went into liquidation, leaving her with no job, no home and virtually no money.  A chance encounter during a break in France sees her life take a new turn, when she falls in love with Pascal, a gun toting, stubborn and ever so macho Frenchman.  I found the book well written; some of her descriptions of the 'Lot' countryside in France proving positively eloquent, transporting the reader to join her as she explores her new environment.  As someone who has lived in France I was fascinated when she moved in with Pascal to have an insider view of the French way of life; something I have only glimpsed through my neighbours up until now. The book ends with her marriage to Pascal, when the villagers finally welcome her as one of them. 

An interesting read which I enjoyed.  As for my opinion of Samantha herself, well, her glamorous life in television has obviously meant her priorities have evolved around appearance and the importance of a designer label. Although this is all in the past, as she becomes embroiled in French country life, I find myself asking the question, 'You can take the girl out of a pampered life, but can you ever take the desire to be pampered out of the girl?'  When all is said and done, I like Sam and wish her all the very best in her new life, as I  look forward to the sequel to her book.  She, like me, has discovered the lure of French country life that captivated me during my three years there and like Sam, has prompted me to write my own story.

Why not take a 'Gap Month', from your Empty Nest?

This morning, I want to celebrate with all you 'Empty Nesters', who, having mourned the loss of your child rearing years, have stepped out into the sunshine of a world waiting to be discovered.  Just think of all those times when the idea of travel, writing, exploring history and art, were something you were too tired to contemplate, and, even if one did, it was only to concede that there were nappies to be changed, home works to be done and in the latter years a taxi service to provide!

Well, it's our time now, and like children in a sweet shop, life is laid out on the shelves in front of us and we have time to savour it!  Just this weekend, for example, I stumbled on an amazing documentary 'The Riviera: A History in Pictures', narrated by Richard E. Grant.  Having missed it on television, I caught it on iplayer, a great resource for learning and catching up.  This heady mix of the story of modern art, intertwined with the history and development of the Riviera, taught me so much and has inspired a return trip to the region, with the benefit of enlightenment.

On a recent stay in Burgundy, I learned the art of wine appreciation.  Accompanied by my son-in-law, an expert on the subject, my husband and I came to understand the importance of terroir, the ground in which a vine is planted, climate and the slopes on which the best vineyards benefit from the warmth of the sun.  During our final night, as we sipped a glass of chilled Chablis and watched the sun set over the vines, I looked forward to learning more about the world of wine and discussed our plans to move to the region in the spring.


At Christmas I received a card from my cousin, who decided to take a 'gap' month from her empty nest and set off alone to Africa.  She spent the first three weeks helping the local people build walls around their wells, to protect them from damage by elephants. On her last week, she travelled with a guide right up to the Angolan border in the north, across deserts of mind-blowing vastness and slept under the stars, waking up to sunrises indescribable in their beauty.

There are so many things to explore in this new stage of life.  They don't have to be big things; it could be learning a foreign language, taking a course on the 'History of Art'.  Maybe you have some ideas? Why not let me know what adventures you have had, since you found yourself in your 'Empty Nest'!

A Lovely and Surprising Outcome! in my 'Empty Nest'.

Welcome back readers, after what I hope was a very happy Christmas for you all! Surprisingly, my nest is looking quite spacious, since a six foot Nordic pine was extracted from the front room, and as I embark on a de-clutter amongst the twigs and debris of 2012, I feel an optimism creep into the nest, energising me to meet the challenges of the new year head-on. 

During 2012, you may be aware, I completed the travel memoir of my French adventure. Since then the manuscript has been with my son, Richard, who in his capacity as a proof reader has just finished the lengthy process, returning it to me for my amendments.  I would love to take a moment to share with you how Richard's involvement, besides being useful to me, has had an interesting knock on side-effect... 

Like all adult children, having flown the nest, his opinion of mum would be something seldom pondered upon, except perhaps to acknowledge in passing my reasonable efficiency as a mother and  home maker.  The years I spent in France would certainly have passed him by in a bit of a blur, whilst during this time he was engrossed, rightly so, in the important business of establishing an independent life for himself and his new wife.

Proofreading the book, therefore, has allowed Richard an insight into his mother's life and thinking, that would otherwise have been unavailable to him and the lovely and surprising outcome has somehow enriched our relationship.  Through the book he has come to see me not only as a mother, but as some one who has taken on an amazing adventure, the story of which, for him, has been a really interesting read, providing him with the opportunity to get to know me as a woman, as well as a mother.  We now share a healthy respect for each other as people, and a phone call recently, during which he expressed his admiration for me as a writer, is one of those moments I will treasure for the rest of my life!

So, as I embark on the arduous task of finding a publisher for my book in 2013, I draw on the 'Joie de vivre' my passion for France has instilled in me and throughout the remaining long dark days of winter, I will share with you more of my French adventures, from the comfort of my spacious 'empty nest'.

My French Christmas, at the 'Old Cognac Farm' in south west France. A festive full nest!

It's almost Christmas again in my empty nest, time to deck the twigs with sprigs of holly and illuminate the darkest corners with coloured fairy lights. Very soon the Christmas tree will twinkle in the corner, its sparkly baubles no longer rearranged by tiny hands, mean it will remain perfection. Taking the fairy from her box and dusting off her feathery wings, I am reminded of Christmas at the old Cognac farm in south west France, where, from the top of her tree, this pretty little fairy presided over the most magical Christmas I can remember....

In the huge oak-beamed kitchen, silence sits softly everywhere, interrupted occasionally by the crackle of logs from the wood burning stove.  Through windows, set into the thick stone walls, shafts of late winter sunshine slant across the room, illuminating tiny particles of dust, causing them to dance on an imaginary stage.  Outside, two grand palm trees, flanking the fan-lit front door, stand petrified in the still icy air, their green leaves edged in white lace crystals, hang motionless in the frozen landscape.

Inside in the grand sitting room, I place the fairy on top of the tree.  My Dad has already arrived and, later this afternoon, seven more will make up our Christmas party, as my two children bring along their partners and three of my son's future in-laws.  We need not worry, however, as the old Cognac farm with its two guest cottages, can accommodate us all, with room to spare. You may remember this beautiful place at the 'edge of the world', from my earlier blog post, 'Nesting in an Old Cognac Farm', when I explained my husband and I are house sitting here for the winter.

Just as dusk begins to fall and the room is lit only by huge logs burning on the open fire and the lights of the Christmas tree reflected on the glass of the windows, the sound of cars outside announce the arrival of our guests and the beginning of Christmas.  In the lamplight cries of "Happy Christmas!" fill the air and amidst a sea of hugs and kisses, we whisk our guests in from the cold to the warmth of kitchen beyond. There are nine of us in total and my heart leaps for joy, as my nest fills up for the festive season.

Christmas Eve night is spent around the open fire, as we get to know Richard's future mother and father-in-law and brother-in-law John.  We have only met once before, but they are the most lovely of guests and soon we are all one big happy family. Conversation dwindling as the evening draws on, we join in carol singing and, looking around the room, faces lit by the amber glow of the fire reflect what Christmas is all about, while from the top of the tree the little fairy seems to nod in agreement.

At eleven thirty, everyone wraps up in layers of warm clothes and stepping out into the night air, we set off for midnight mass under a galaxy of twinkling stars.  In the nearby village of Petit-Villefranche, the church bell rings out for Christmas and the open doors invite us in to the warmth of the candle-lit interior.  Side by side with our French neighbours, we celebrate the true meaning of Christmas and, as the service comes to a close, disappear back into the cold night air, the cries of 'Joyeux Noel' still ringing in our ears.

Christmas morning finds us gathered around the huge kitchen table, the smell of hot coffee filling the air, as we enjoy a hearty breakfast. Outside a winter wonderland beckons and, those brave enough, don their warm tracksuits and gather in front of the house for a run to the 'edge of the world', before returning to open our presents.  In the garden, the ground beneath our feet is rock hard and covered in a thick white frost. All around, the air hangs in a heavy white mist over the fields. Trees, their branches covered in white ice crystals, need no festive decoration; nature alone has worked her magic, while all around, nothing moves.  Only the sound of our breathing fills the air, as clouds of warm breath follow us up the hill to the 'edge of the world'.


Murphy, my little dog and I reach the edge first, where the land drops away on every side to the valley below and a stark cross marks the old pilgrim route of  'St Jacques de Compostelle'.  Soon  all gathered at the top, our visitors gasp at the scene opening out below them.  The white mist hangs over the valley, and, as if above the clouds, we look down on the frozen landscape, from where we stand on 'the edge of the world'!

Back at the house, the smell of cooking is already emanating from the kitchen, where my daughter's French partner is in charge of 'la cuisine', while around the log fire we disappear under a sea of wrapping paper amidst whoops of joy.

Christmas day finally reaches its climax around the dinner table, where we are treated to festive fare with a distinctly French twist! The turkey cooked in red wine and herbs is the best we have ever tasted and from my place at the table with my husband, children and my growing family all around me, I soak up the magic of Christmas at 'the old Cognac farm' and, the joy of a full nest once again.

Flying my Empty Nest for a weekend in Paris!

Sitting back in my empty nest, not a twig out of place or a feather ruffled, so to speak,  I sip a warming cup of coffee and smile to myself, as I remember back to early December of the year 1999.  My nest, at that point in time, was only empty when both children were at university in Scotland, but the emptiness was a new concept to me, and I missed my brood!  Katie was spending her year abroad in Paris, and, as I shut the door for work on a cold and frosty December morning, I dreamt of sharing an espresso with her, in a little café in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

Placing the post on my boss's desk, I wait for his usual preoccupied acknowledgement, but this morning he looks up over the rim of his tortoiseshell reading glasses and enquires, "Your daughter is studying in Paris at the moment, Heather, am I right?" Rather taken aback and, quite pleasantly surprised that he had remembered, I reply, "Yes, indeed, Mr Williams." "It's just I heard on the radio, while driving in this morning that one of the budget airlines is offering return tickets to Paris for £7.50."  Thanking him for his kind observation on my behalf, I return to my desk and share the news with my colleague, Jane. Needing no further persuasion, I make up my mind to go for it and, to my surprise, Jane announces she has never seen Paris and would love to join me. A quick phone call to the airline and we find ourselves booked in and scheduled to depart two days later, all for less than £10!

Leaving the runway behind as we take off for Paris, I confess to Jane that flying is not my forte.  With a twinkle in her eye, she reaches for my hand and laughingly suggests I think of it as a roller coaster ride at the fair. For the first time I get just what she means and, throwing caution to the wind, like 'Thelma and Louise' we head off to join Katie for our French adventure.

In her little flat in the Opera district of Paris, I hug my daughter and looking around, take in this tiny but oh so Parisian space. In the living room, a long window looks out across the narrow street at a similar architecturally beautiful building opposite, mirroring the ornate wrought iron work adorning the façade of Katie's apartment. The floor is of ancient dark wood with a rich sheen from years of polishing. Over an ornate mantle piece hangs a shabby but chic mirror; the mottled spots of age only adding to its allure. Jane and I, quick to absorb the French ambience, 'fait le tour' and inspect the rest of the flat.  It doesn't take long.  The bedroom adjacent to the living room is about the same size, with two beds and similar French charm, although this time somewhat hidden under the clutter of student life! A tiny kitchen looks down onto a small courtyard below and finally, a minute shower room approached by two steps, completes the tour of this bijou Parisian pied-à-terre.

Over the next few days, Katie shows us the sights of Paris, as we take in the shops on the 'Boulevard Hausmann'.  Laughing under the sparkling lights of the 'Galleries la Fayette', we try on designer outfits one can only dream of buying. Later, queueing for hours next to the famous glass pyramid at the 'Louvre', we bathe in the splendour of the old masters, each of us trying unsuccessfully to mimic the famous enigmatic smile of the 'Mona Lisa'.  Later on, worn out by walking, we share an espresso at the café 'Les Deux Magots'. Sitting in the same seats once frequented by the most influential writers and philosophers of the 20th century, we discuss Sartre and the meaning of life, until it begins to get dark.

On our way back to the flat later that evening, Katie takes me by the hand and whispers, "Follow me, Mum!", as we disappear down an alleyway off the busy street, closely followed by a curious Jane.  Passing by the walls of a huge ornate building we finally turn the corner and step out onto a huge terrace.  The view in front of me is something I will never forget, for there, stretched out before us, is the whole of Paris lit up against the night sky. Right in the middle, the 'Eiffel Tower' rises up, announcing the year 2000 in bright iridescent lights. Standing to one side on my own, I look out over the city in wonderment, while welling up inside a feeling of elation fills me with hope for the new millennium, and love for 'la vie française'!