Stepping Out of my 'Empty Nest' into the Lights of Paris..... Revisited!

I was thinking how I might celebrate Christmas with you all and decided, what better way to do it than to share with you once again, the blog that you have made my most successful post ever! It's the true story of a magical Christmas experience and I have had fun revisiting it, hopefully you will too.....

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!

To enjoy more of my French adventures and read the true story of my life in France, click on the link top right to buy the book or, if you are feeling lucky, enter the Goodreads competition to win one of ten free copies! Bonne Chance!

A Visit to my Daughter's New Home

A study in style,

In which I melt effortlessly into the background

As if hidden by the artist

In a wash of grey and white

Around me design is at the forefront of the space

Functional, linear, abstract

Inspiring a lifestyle

Efficient yet chic                 

Captured in its modernity

A stage for life

Where I watch my beautiful daughter

Fulfil the potential I dreamed for her

The figure at the forefront

Of a contemporary canvas

She exudes instinctive style

In how she works, how she loves and how she touches lives

With the eyes of a mother

I smile to myself

And think, my beautiful daughter

She wears life well !    

Our Last Winter in the Old Cognac Farm!

Autumn is well and truly here and, ankle deep in bright red, copper and gold leaves, I walk my dog, Indy, through the woods near our home.  It's only a few months now until we move back to France. Breathing in the rich earthy smells of the season, I am transported to our last winter in the old cognac farm in south-west France. 

The huge kitchen with its oak beams and stone floor, wrapped itself around a massive wood burning stove, ensconced in the grate of a baronial fireplace. The silence of this dreamy place was punctuated by crackling logs and lit by the shadows that danced across the floor from its licking flames. 

I can't help but remember one particularly cold February morning, when we woke to a winter wonderland. The trees outside bedecked in ice crystals, stood motionless in the iron hard landscape, while alas in the kitchen below, the last embers of the fire from the night before, died peacefully away.  The shadows no longer danced across the floor and, in their place, an icy gloom hung in the silence. We had run out of wood.

Feeling like an Arctic explorer, I pulled the hood of my heavy warm coat over my woolly bobble hat and headed out into the frosty landscape. I was on a mission.  The ground was treacherously slippery, as I grabbed the two metal handles of our old wheelbarrow and set off purposefully up the lane, in the direction of a small dilapidated barn on the brow of the hill. Slipping mercilessly as I attempted to keep the wheelbarrow up-right, I struggled with its weight, only aware of my breathing and the goal ahead.

Reaching the barn, I wrestled with the ice cold bolt on the ancient wooden door and wrenched it open. Inside, shining the torch over rusting farm equipment and  broken barrels, I could just make out in the corner a pile of old decaying wood.  There were cobwebs everywhere, but undeterred, I started to climb, falling occasionally when something gave way below me. I broke the silence with the occasional yelp, but kept on going. Finally, pulling and hauling trapped logs from the pile, I hurled them with all my strength towards the door, not stopping until the corner was empty and I could begin to extricate myself from the dust and debris.

On my way back down the lane, I no longer felt the cold. I was surviving like the old cognac farmers before me, by pitting my wits against the elements, and it felt good.  Later that morning, my wet coat hung by the door, dappled in the dancing shadows of flames from the fire, while the crackle of burning wood echoed my new found connection to the past.

I look forward to reconnecting with nature, when I return to France for a new life in Burgundy.  Having finally submitted my book, 'Bonne Chance!' A Second Chance in the South of France, to a publisher, I hope that someday you might be able to share in my wonderful French adventure. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed our trip back to the old cognac farm.

Book Buying, Enjoy The 'Feeling'!

I got up this morning with books on my mind.  At my bedside, the book mark in my latest Internet purchase indicated it was almost time to cast it aside and order my next piece of literary escapism - that was until I stumbled upon a gritty, new literary website, www.thebear-review.com .  Reading its 'no holds barred', punchy essay on modern reading habits by Ray McGahan, I was reminded - The ease by which we obtain our masterpieces determines how much we care about them.  

Passing by the bookcase on my way to the kitchen, I pause to run my fingers down the spines of some much-loved tomes and I muse on the pains to which I went to acquire them.  Some, after a lengthy search through the shelves of a quirky backstreet bookshop, others found perusing the offerings at my local charity shop, and then again, some the results of a lazy afternoon in my local Waterstones, when I languished over choices, grasping in my hand those treasured Christmas book tokens.

 

Back in the kitchen my husband enquires, "Any ideas for this afternoon, dear?" and I don't hesitate. " Yep, let's spend the afternoon in our local bookshop and soak up the atmosphere, the feel, the smell of the books and maybe grab a coffee while we mull over our choices!"  

And so, we passed the most de-stressing afternoon in a long time, amongst like-minded people, immersed in the 'real' world of literature, not the online marketplace, where authors' hours of creativity are churned out to readers with no physical connection to the product.

Let me encourage you all not to miss the opportunity of connecting with books!  If you have small children and you are wondering how to amuse them this summer, why not plan a morning out to your local bookshop. Bring a friend and share a coffee, while your children learn to love the physical experience of buying their own book! Look out for 'The Day The Crayons Quit' by debut author, Drew Daywalt and international bestseller, Oliver Jeffers and watch as they laugh and look at playing with crayons in a new way!

Maybe, you have a story about where you bought your most treasured book? I would love to hear about it. My husband and I returned home after our day out, clutching two new books. When they have been read and enjoyed, they will join the other novels in our bookcase, special because of the magical day we spent browsing the shelves of our local bookshop.

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.