Soar-Dream-France: The Little Cottage in the Woods...

And now for the rest of the story...during the fall of '97, Wendy picked me up at the train station in Cahors and said: "We're moving to Belgium, can't you come and stay in our house for a year?" I laughed and said something like: "Are you kidding? I have a career, home, pets, and a life I can't just stop!" But by the end of the trip, I was trying to figure out if something that looked impossible could be possible. It didn't happen for a year, but I was able to come and spend 5 weeks in her place and then rented an apartment in Paris for another 3 weeks at the end of the summer into fall of '98. For a sixty hour a week workaholic, community volunteer, no personal life person, who spoke no French...this was a huge, scary step.

During that time I got to know Wendy's artisan Stuart Brown much better. I'd met Stu on an earlier trip, so I was pleased to see him come walking down the road from where he parked his truck from my perch on the wall. Before I left for Paris, Stu took me on a tour of the countryside and showed me his house that he'd been renting out since he and Madeleine were together now in Cahors. I returned to the Lot every year for vacations after that summer, but never quite captured the peace and magic that I had found during '98. I was afraid that maybe I had lost it for good. Early in 2001, I was sitting at my computer drinking red French wine and eating Cabecou Cheese wondering if I was ever going to be able to recapture those times...asking myself what it would take, could it be possible and then I remembered something Stu said the last time I saw him: "Madeleine and I will come to see you in New Orleans when I sell my house." I remembered Stu's house as a tiny stone cottage on the river which might be in my price range. I called Stu and we began talking. The price was right, but I had been self-employed since '98 and wasn't sure if I could get a loan. We decided that I needed to come over and see the house again-so I set up a trip for April, 2001. Before I actually got here to see the house I wrote this "bedtime story" for a March writing prompt in Writer's Digest Magazine:

Once upon a time there was a beautiful stone cottage beside a road in the woods overlooking the river. It was ancient and set below the castle in the village. The village people thought it to be magic because it had such history and it told its stories in remarkable ways. For the last few years the stories had stopped. It was quiet. The village people looked for the usual signs by the river, under the stones, near the fountain, listened to the whistling wind and rushing water but the cottage did not speak. Then one day an American bought the cottage and began to make it her own. She tended the garden, painted the windows, and cleared all the dead and dilapidated pieces away. While she worked, the village people saw the sun shine a little brighter and heard the music on the wind and down the river. The cottage was alive again and happy to have someone to love it and take care of it. The stories returned, and even though the woman couldn't live there all the time, the cottage spoke to the village people and to the friends of the woman who came to visit from all over the world. The cottage was surprised to find so many people to love it. Everyone left part of themselves behind. This went on for many years and the cottage glowed a little brighter and the symphonies on the wind and down the river were a little louder. Then one day the woman came and stayed. She brought her pets. She brought her car. She brought her whole life with her forever. And she and the cottage lived happily ever after together...for as long as that can be.

It turned out that the "cottage" was much bigger than I had remembered it. It had been difficult to see because it was so overgrown. I knew that I wanted to do everything possible to find a way to purchase the house. My house in New Orleans was almost paid off, so I was able pay it off and take out another mortgage. That mortgage allowed me to buy the "Chatette" outright. So, my house in New Orleans has the mortgage and the Chatette is mine. 2001 was the year of 9/11, the change over from francs to euros at the end of year, and tenants who didn't want to leave until their new home was finished. In November, my sister and brother-in-law came over with me and I signed the intent to purchase the house. I got my bank account set up at Credit Agricole and was as ready as I could be. By February, we were ready to close the deal. The "Chatette" and I became a "we" on February 22, 2002. There are the stories of the early times when I was squeezing out as many visits as I could and trying to find ways I could come and be here more often and longer. I struggled to balance life in New Orleans and life here. I always felt like I had my feet in both places. I got to a point where I had simplified my life in New Orleans to the point that life there was closer to life here. And then in 2005, I was set to come from June through October since I was offering workshops to social workers here and had people scheduled for June and September. I was also looking at employment in Great Britain and had an interview set up for that period as well. On my birthday, August 27, 2005, I got the call from my housesitter Gaynell that a hurricane named Katrina was heading to New Orleans and it looked bad. Dali was evacuating with my brother Tom and Sammie Cat was going to be staying with Gaynell. And now that I think of it-there is much more to the rest of this story. It will be difficult for me to write, but it is important. Those Katrina times are the bridge times to here and now.