Holding On When You Want to Let Go.

If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. Lao Tzu

There has been a prolonged silence from Eiffel tells – nothing said since  mid September.

Dreaming of more of this and ...............

Pourqui you ask? A lot of self-reflection and soul searching has been going on here.

Too many years of multi-tasking and angst have taken their toll...... Then there is my newly acquired tinnitus as well as a few other body parts that no longer function properly, creating daily tests for my patience; nothing life threatening, but niggling enough to make me review where I am and where I would like to be at this stage of my life. 

Definitely time for a change of direction. 

After much thought, and unsolicited advice from friends who have already trodden similar paths, I've decided the best course of action would be to change from full time employment to part time, and further develop the skills I need in order to “follow my passions” .

......... and this 

As a mother and wife who has had a career, I’ve put the interests and needs of those whom I love, my friends and my employer first, leaving very little time or emotional energy for myself. Now it’s time for me – in theory, but alas not in practice.

Last month, my employer refused my request to work part time next year– an unusual response as many of my colleagues already have part-time status and most of those who applied concurrently with me to reduce their hours of work, were granted their requests. There has been no explanation for my application being refused. A compromise appears to be feasible, but it’s not to be an option – for me. I have been with my current employer for 25 years.

I haven’t the courage to resign, and to be honest, I’m not sure if it’s feasible and will not know for quite some months. What would you do if you were me – cautious, and nearing the end of your professional life with a burning desire to change direction, but lacking the knowledge or confidence to do so?

Yes, I know I am fortunate to have such a dilemma, but I am no ‘spring chicken’ and the other hens of my age have already flown the coop. It’s lonely being the oldest chicken on my perch and I’m being sapped of energy just by trying to hold on to the damn thing.

The Fool

There has been a flurry of emails sent to France this week with very few responses making their way back to Australie.  My despondent-odometer has been rising as my faith in the promises and professionalism of others declines. 

Yes, I am a dreamer and a fool. I chanced upon a description of my state of being ..... and no, I'm definitely not into tarrot cards, but "if the cap fits..........."

THE FOOL.  In medieval courts, the court jester was someone who was not expected to follow the same rules as others. He could observe and then poke fun. This makes the Fool unpredictable and full of surprises. He reminds us of the unlimited potential and spontaneity inherent in every moment. There is a sense with this card that anything goes - nothing is certain or regular. The Fool adds the new and unfamiliar to a situation. The Fool also represents the complete faith that life is good and worthy of trust. Some might call the Fool too innocent, but his innocence sustains him and brings him joy. In readings, the Fool can signal a new beginning or change of direction - one that will guide you onto a path of adventure, wonder and personal growth. He also reminds you to keep your faith and trust your natural responses. If you are facing a decision or moment of doubt, the Fool tells you to believe in yourself and follow your heart no matter how crazy or foolish your impulses may seem. 

Today is bathed in sunshine. Time to put aside work, France and the internet and get a big dose of vitamin D while pottering in the vegetable patch ..... Simplicity..... Bliss.

Bonjour France: French Lessons 2

French lessons at School continued..............

..................The following year my Form 1 French teacher, Fanny Bligh, is superseded by the young, dapper Mr Nicomidis. Immaculately dressed in navy waistcoated suits and pointed-toed European shoes, he cuts a striking figure amongst his tweed-coated peers. Despite his small stature, this newly arrived immigrant has presence and palpable enthusiasm.  At last, French spoken with a European accent, albeit Greek.  But Mr Nicomidis’s passion is soon thwarted and our learning stunted, due to his immaculately groomed hands. The nails on his little fingers are inexplicably long and filed into a neat, point. Strangely, these two fingers are at a permanent angle to their neighbours and used to point and poke the surrounding air.  The distraction of his hands becomes unbearable and Mr N starts to loose control of his charges. “You” he shouts pointing to an offender with a crooked little finger, “copeee the parrrrrge”. A page of text is thrust at a student. 
The class heart throb, George Konstansis, takes delight in devising new ways to raise Mr N’s blood pressure. Consequently George often finds himself locked in the classroom cupboard from which we hear muffled demands to be let out. Little progress is made in Form 2 French.

A new year and I move to a single sex school. Despite my protests and obvious lack of talent, I am to persist with French due to my Father, who speaks the language fluently.

Thus begins the dark days of Miss Ball, a small rotund woman with massive breasts, which obstruct her view, sensible lace up shoes and a very short haircut. The fun is over. Miss Ball is a linguist with an exclusive interest in those students who show flair in French or who are “pretty” -  qualities I don’t possess. I am quickly assigned to the marginalised group at the back of the classroom, where I am intermittently lashed by Miss Ball’s sharp tongue. My formal French education comes to an abrupt halt.

Decades later, the scarring caused by the ferocious Miss Ball still persists, heightening my nervousness as I organise our departure for France and contemplate speaking French with other adults who are actually French! 

Ignorance is Bliss?

It is said that “ignorance is bliss”, to which I can attest. From a person who, since aged 9, used to religiously devour the daily newspaper from front to back, I’ve become a selective reader of the arts, epicure, travel and occasionally the financial sections only. Being confronted daily by reports of grim events over which I have no control is emotionally demanding. And then there’ s the question of where the truth lies. As a firm believer in the multiplicative effect of the power of one, I feel that I’m shirking my civic responsibilities by adopting the ostrich principle when it comes to the news and current affairs, but I feel much happier and more content for it.


However, ignorance has definitely not resulted in a state of bliss when I overlooked the faint tick, ticking of my constant companion, M. Laptop. Unfortunately he ceased to function – permanently – last week; hard drive full and body parts, worn out from overwork. I first noticed his malaise when he was slow to boot up, but it was too late.  Tick…… tick…… gone.

Currently there appears to be some parallels between my life and that of my laptop. My hard-drive is jam-packed – full of facts, useless information, names and faces. I’m certain that its functional storage capacity has been trimmed over the years by intermittent bursts of cortisol. Mid-conversation a word can temporarily take flight . Names, once my forte, are now my “Achilles heel”.

An aching back, clicking joints, an impaired knee, (a skiing injury), and the odd problem with my gastrointestinal tract suggest to me that my body parts are tiring too. Is my dysfunction a temporary condition of modern day living or am I heading the way of my laptop? Better listen carefully for some tick….. tick …… ticking.

When I took this image I was in a state of utter bliss.
I experience the same emotions each time I visit this magical location in Switzerland.

Wand in Hand.....

We won't be sleeping in this
room for quite some time!

For the uninitiated to the Harry Potter world, seeing me  gesticulate madly with a wand in hand while chanting accio, accio accio will have little meaning. This incantation, which can be used over long distances,  is a summoning charm that supposedly sends any object (or hopefully, Mr M, my man on the ground in France) directly to the spell-caster.....Desperate times lead to desperate measures! 

Mr M has had the keys to my property for 12 months now, and also a contract to project manage its renovations. Nothing has happened. Not one nail removed, not one door rehung, not a floor repaired, not a spouting replaced, not  a tile inserted , no utilities connected not a ditch dug. Not even a single quote for works has been sent in my direction. 

My Man on the Ground has become increasingly invisible, and when (after months of effort) he is located, he is  progressively more creative with his excuses. 

His Houdini act has sorely tested my patience and the patience of others ........3 sets of keys have supposedly been sent to Switzerland and Australia on 3 different occasions but have never arrived, (until recently when one set  turned up in Switzerland), meeting times at My French Folly with my representative, (a girlfriend who was holidaying in France) were organized then cancelled, which definitely didn't add to her positive holiday experience or my confidence in Mr M, ........the list goes on.........and on........and on.

Just as a generous friend, who has renovated in France, starts to pen a terse letter with heavy legal overtones to the possessor of the keys to my house, he surfaces via email......His  olive branch! 

After 12 months of hopes being raised then dashed, I think that a whole dammed olive tree would have been more appropriate!

Apparently my house has " fallen through the cracks" due to the unforeseen, rapid expansion of his business, coupled with staffing problems!  Perhaps he should invest in a a few "how to " books......... Good Business Communication for Dummies or How to Efficiently Run a Business for Dummies. And concurrently, I should purchase How not to Lose Your Retirement Savings In a Global Recession for Dummies. 

I've started to think that my cup is half empty instead of being half full...... and it is all my own doing!

Pinocchio
Original art by Enrico Mazzanti

Keep climbing to the grenier

Post script: Just as Mr M started to dash my faith in others, 2 wonderful people with houses in France.....you know who you are.....have restored it, with offers of help. Now hopefully Mr M will help to maintain it, by keeping to his word and revised renovation schedule.

Corridor to the bedrooms -first floor

Advantage 1

Mid-life has its advantages - one of which is that I tend to assume less when communicating with others. 

"Assuming in communication is misunderstanding waiting to happen." 

Hair Behaving Badly....thank you

Thank you for your kind offers to exchange hair and also for your wonderful comments about hair behaving badly (Bad Hair Days....Months....Years) Most reassuring.  Perhaps the grass always appears greener on the other side? 

Michael Leunig

Swapping my tangled mass for very straight locks is appealing…I would be able to jump out of bed and go for a jog or whiz to the shops for an ‘emergency litre of milk' without having to first douse my frizz in water and apply product…..a real challenge in the depths of winter!

Would I switch my voluminous mop with Annie’s  (Plum Siena) very fine, very straight hair?  Surely this option must be better than having a cranial duvet, especially in the hot summer months when I am too vain to be shorn in order to keep cool?

Courtsey Google Images*

The problems of humidity, greying, "texture", hairdressers who don’t listen and actually finding a hairdresser who can cut well, appear to be universal.

As Karin (La Pouyette) observed, "whatever country, Germany, London, France... hairdressers are the same all over! Nobody seems to be concerned about the days of depression after a coiffure visit".....For me it has been years of emotional "ups and downs"  at the hands of hairdressers.

For anyone thinking about a career move, there appears  to be a professional niche waiting to be filled by psychologists specializing in “hair trauma”.


Post script: 
Please visit the comments to last week's blog, Bad Hair Days....Months....Years - very entertaining and so true.....and sometimes a touch sad (to which I can relate.)


Courtsey Google Images* - if you are the owner of this image, please notify me so you can be acknowledged.

Addendum.

1. Still with husband, who kindly gave me advice about how to minimise the damage to Roger if I have a repeat encounter with a stationary gatepost ........... Something to do with turning the steering wheel in a particular direction when dismounting a steadfast object.

2. Insurance cover is generous after the excess (not so generous) has been paid.

3. Just avoided having a horrific car accident involving a truck and high speed, which puts the French kiss incident into perspective.

Thank you for your advice and encouraging words during this period of emotional disquiet.

Image courtesy of freeware.

An Unfortunate Event - Kiss and Tell?

Despite being brought up in the Presbyterian church, I have a need to confess my wrong doings. Perhaps it's a legacy of my distant Catholic ancestors (whose allegiance to the Holy Roman church abruptly ended when my great-grand father took to a priest with a shovel).    
     

1 hour ago, I badly dented the rear right-hand side of Roger, my husband's beloved black Land Rover Discovery. .......He is yet to find out. I am riddled with guilt and just can't summon up the courage to tell him, so I am confessing to you with the bizarre hope that it will alleviate some of my remorse. 

Yes I am a coward. There is no one to blame but myself - one sedentary brick gate-pillar and one moving car . I wish I could report that Roger lightly caressed the gate post as he passed it, but unfortunately the encounter was more like a French kiss..... involving 2 interlocking tongue rings. Merde! 

The internet informs me that extensive repairs to one back panel and one side panel of a metallic coloured Land Rover is equivalent in price to the renovations of our bathroom in France. Mon Dieu....... And I can't covertly locate the relevant insurance policy, due to The Husband's unique filing system. Consequently I don't know the nuances of our insurance cover and my possible out-of-pocket expenses.  Perhaps I'll be bathing in a bucket when we eventually get to stay in My French Folly?  The appropriate businesses which could remove the evidence of my wrong doings are closed for the weekend .......my stomach is "in knots".

Poor Roger, poor Husband. And financially poor me..........?

Never lend your car to anyone to whom you have given birth or married.

Photographs courtesy of Land Rover

Où sont les clés?...French Keys Please?

Oh where, oh where,

Have my sets of keys gone?

Oh where, oh where, can they be?

On a ring so large,

Keys rusted and worn,

Oh where, oh where can they be?

Despite having purchased My French Folly 10 months ago and completing the sale 7 months ago, I do not possess a set of house keys. The only set resides with a company whom I have engaged to project manage the connection of the essential services to the house.

4 months ago I requested 3 copies of les clefs de la maison to be made…. one set to be sent to me, one set to be sent to Switzerland and the other to be posted to Dijon, which is about 65 km away from mon résidence secondaire.

Apparently this was “no problem”, but no keys appeared. …. No replies to my emails inquiring to their whereabouts. Silence from their end. Concern at my end, and a dwindling lack of confidence in my appointed project mangers.

An urgent email was dispatched late May, stating that I needed the keys as soon as possible.  A French friend, Louis, had volunteered to video My French Folly - he was departing de Australie en France on 20 June. A delayed response. The keys has been copied but lost so further copies would be made and sent toute de suite!

Tenth of June and still no keys. Apparently they were lost in the French postal system. In transit to Australia, Switzerland and Dijon? This does not auger well for my future use of their postal system or for the project management team.

An olive branch…. Louis would be given a set of key prior to his departure from Dijon. Then a correction…. Louis would be met at my house and given the keys.

I received an explanatory email .…of sorts….

We were very sorry about the keys and had tried to pick up another set of keys but the shop closed Saturday, so the owner could go to a wedding and did not open again until Tuesday.

Unfortunately (this is) the French way of life, which is relaxed and laid-back and seems perfect for most of the time, but has its downfalls when you need them to work out side their comfort zone. If our job was easy dealing with these little “French ways” then we would be out of a job.

July and I still do not have a set of key for mon résidence secondaire …..but there is a set in Dijon. Enough said! 

Back at the Blog!

Perhaps a bookshelf of diaries?

No. It's a wooden sculpture of a life-sized

bookshelf, on display in a Chateau of the

Loire Valley, France.

Yes, mother was right - my handwriting is illegible - even to me. The on button of the computer has been pressed and my newly acquired diary has been cast to one side.  I am of an age where my memory is less reliable so what is the use of recoding my thoughts and observations if I can't read what I have written? I suppose I could "ramble on" in a word document, but then I would be denied the pleasure of browsing my photographs for a purpose. Blogging also provides an effective means of “updating” friends en masse without the complications of social media.The recent claims made in the press, that internet friendships are superficial and often of a bogus nature, are a gross generalization ......At least they don't apply to me -  a sample size of one.  For many of my generation emailing has replaced the long, hand written letter to family, friends and pen pals from our youth.

 In this time-poor age it is rare to be able to sit with friends and colleagues to discuss issues . And when we do, the conversation is usually superficial.

Seldom do we give a detailed description of personal observations or thoughts about events that are important to us……………but writing an email, particularly to people in distant places, often necessitates these omitted verbal details in order to communicate clearly.

Two friendships I value highly have been nurtured over the Internet. Jo I met briefly in France. Despite living in different hemispheres we regularly have “a cup of tea and a chat “ via email. Rosemary is a professional travel writer whom I contacted after she had published an article about the region in France in which we have bought our "renovator's opportunity with great potential".

Both of these women write beautifully.  And enhance their  photographs with well-crafted descriptions.

The old vine at the gated entrance
of the B&B where we met Jo, her husband
and le vulcan, Terrance Gelenter

Jo knows me better than my colleagues with whom I have been working for 21 years! I consider both of these women to be real friends who have been honest and open in their communications with me about many aspects of our lives. Thank you Jo. Thank you Rosemary. Thank you technology.

Norfolk Island Medical Dictionary - by Anon (Thanks Jo)

A French artery

Too frantic to write and a touch disheartened by my recent 
photographs. I'm having difficulty mastering my new camera 
lens. Not sure if blogging is for me.........It's probably more 
time efficient to pick up a pen and write my thoughts in an old 
fashioned diary..................If only I could read my scribble.
At least Easter is approaching - a time for contemplation 
and chocolate. 


Definitions from the Norfolk Island Medical Dictionary
 Artery......................The study of paintings

 Bacteria................... Back door to cafeteria

 Barium.....................What doctors do when patients die

 Benign.....................What you be, after you be eight

 Caesarean Section......A neighborhood in Rome

 Cat Scan...................Searching for Kitty

 Cauterize..................Made eye contact with her

 Coma........................A punctuation mark

 Dilate........................To live long

 Enema.......................Not a friend

 Fester........................Quicker than someone else

 Fibula........................A small lie

 Impotent....................Distinguished, well known

 Labor Pain..................Getting hurt at work

 Medical Staff...............A Doctor's cane

 Morbid.......................A higher offer

 Nitrates......................Cheaper than day rates

 Node..........................I knew it

 Pelvis.........................Second cousin to Elvis

 Post Operative............ A letter carrier

 Recovery Room........... Place to do upholstery

 Rectum....................... Nearly killed him

 Secretion.................... Hiding something

 Seizure....................... Roman emperor

 Tablet......................... A small table

 Tumor.........................One plus one more

 Urine.......................... Opposite of you're out

A Sicilian cat scan

                          

 from Anon

When Being Gorgeous Is Not Enough

My husband is gorgeous, wonderful and a whole host of other superlatives, but it is not enough: he can be infuriating. Although highly intelligent and mentally well organised, he is happy to live in physical chaos.

The 2 car garage, minus the cars, is his official Shed in which he works, or at least spends a few hours per week when he wants to lie low.

The roller door to his secret world is opened at one’s own peril, as it is more than likely that some object, often large and heavy, will lunge at you from an unsuspected angle. This door is the only entrance to the Husband’s sanctuary as the other thresholds can no longer be crossed due to the machinery and clutter which abut them. To enter this chamber of confusion, one has to shuffle in sideways along planks of wood which lie on the floor. At the far end of The Shed there is a cleared space, about 1 m square, in which sits a stool in front of a pile of tools that hide the work bench: husband’s bliss, wife’s nightmare.

Being an engineer, the Husband is a great problem-solver: he is a “hard worker”, enjoys physically challenges and can do anything around the house - with direction. And this is where we become “unstuck”.

Dust and clutter don’t appear on his “radar” and his tendency to put his belongings down anywhere in the house adds to our domestic mayhem. Batteries are recharged on our bedroom floor; accounts and important papers are dumped in the bottom of his wardrobe, squirreled under his side of the bed or mounded on our dressing table. There are computer parts and tool boxes in the family room machinery parts and hoses in the hallway and the pile of man things at the bottom of the stairs is now becoming a “death trap”.

In our domestic environment The Husband is “practical” whereas aesthetics and order - as well as the protection of my beloved Persian carpets and antique furniture - are my priority.

His generosity and adherence to his Queen’s Scout oath can also be a source of contention. He is always there for others, frequently downing tools, while working on one of my many mandated domestic projects, leaving them in situ, to run to the aid of family or friends.

I am no angel when it comes to tidiness; however, tidiness and order are mandatory for me to function effectively. As an employed professional, I feel exhausted shouldering the responsibility of organising this adult family, and the domestic chaos poignantly indicates that I am not really effective in carrying out my duties.

Why do the rest of my tribe need directions? Where’s their initiative? Part of my problem is I tolerate the status quo until I am at breaking point then I snap.  Result – mass migration – husband to his Shed and adult children to their sacred no go zone upstairs. So I am abandoned – left wallowing in a sea of frustration and inaction which saps me mentally and physically of the situation that appears impossible to rectify.  

Status and money are not the Husband’s priorities in his life – he wants for little. A happy, well adjusted individual, about whom I would have little to criticise, if it weren’t for my burning desire to “see the world”, and dabble in photography, both of which necessitate more zeros than we have in our bank account.

I want a man to complement my shortcomings; not enhance them.

Frank discussion is no solution to our domestic disharmony. Unlike the metro men of the Y generation, my baby boomer husband is not willing to workshop our issues. At the slightest hint of such an occurrence, he disappears to his shed.

Clearly, living with a gorgeous husband is not enough when I am not perfect myself and, despite the passage of time, we haven’t quite mastered our communication skills.  

Would I cast him off or trade him in? Never.