Soar-Dream-France

And Now About the SOARing...

During my month-long stolen visit in 2004, I was sitting on my front stone steps painting my toenails fire engine red. It was early morning, so my bird symphony was blasting away and blowing by for visits. My chore finished, I looked up and there was a huge bird with its wing span totally extended, gliding gracefully and effortlessly above the treetops and the river...not one flapping wing in sight!  First, I thought about flying and how you have to let go of the ground to fly at all.  Second, I thought about how you have to flap your wings before you can soar like that.  And then that there are flappers and soarers.  Every soarer flapped first, but not all flappers find their way to soaring.  I don't know about you, but me...I want to SOAR.  Soaring is about being the best that you can be and having worked hard to get there...feeling the ecstasy of success!  

As we began our lives here more full-time in 2006, my soarer paid me a visit when I was designing my workshops and consultation offerings.  So now you too can SOAR: Social Work Opportunities And Resources to Success at the Chatette.  I look forward to sharing more with you about the SOARing of a social work nature that goes on around here in the future.

Soft Morning Light

I've discovered that there were a lot more reasons than money, that made going without the central heat this winter a good decision.  I'm clearly living my life closer to the source-there is no machine between me and my heat this year.  I touch it with my hands every day! My cheminée has become an old friend and guider of my winter life.  The other perk is the silence is back.  There is no boiler turning on and off constantly to intrude upon the peace of our lives here.  I can hear my Sam sigh as she sits on my knee.  The clock and coffee pot tick or click from time to time and Dali doesn't have to knock down the door to let me know she wants to come back inside.  The other thing I've come to enjoy is writing by candlelight.  I've been journaling pretty much every day since 1997, and there is something timeless and boundary-less about sitting at the table, fire blazing, no lights on in the house except the five candles on the table to write by and a few other sprinkled around in other rooms.  The softness brings a peace that lends itself to ponderings and writing my way into a new fresh day. Inevitably, the gratefulness rises as I feel a more natural easy flow to the rhythm of our lives in the Lot.  Everyone has been worried about me here this winter not using the central heat.  Each had a suggestion or plan for me that was not mine.  I had to know if my plan was going to work for me, and it has.  On New Year's Eve a gang of us went up to Christiane and Jean-Paul's to celebrate together.  Jean-Paul knows I like to put candles in wine bottles and gave me a couple more. I teased that if I ran out of wood-I could just line all my wine bottle candles up and stay nice and toasty!  We laughed.  It hasn't been necessary and I'm very proud of my plan, my wood, living life closer to the source, and becoming what my debris removal man called "Paulette Bunyan".  Oh, and only 20% of the cost of last year's gas (that I'm still paying for) didn't hurt either!

Illusions-The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah

The third book on my beam is Illusions, by Richard Bach.  This book was also a gift, but very different from my gift from Father Henry.  I was back in St. Louis for the holidays and was meeting an old flame at a bar in the West End.  I got there early, as I tend to do, so I sat at the bar and had a drink. My neighbor had just finished reading this book and put it down to chat.  I remember him being very tall, dark eyes, shoulder-length brown hair..."handsome" by my standards.  We talked some about meant to be and being positive in life, but then my friend arrived. As I got up to go, he gave me the book and said: "Here, this is a book that should be passed on.  I hope you enjoy it."  I didn't know what to say other than thanks and went on to my visit.  I remember thinking later that this book was by the same author that had written Jonathan Livingston Seagull, a book I had avoided because it seemed to be way over done during those times.

I finished Illusions during that trip and knew it was an amazing gift from a stranger.  I loved the simple, direct, sweet approach to another story that needed telling.  Many of Bach's quotes that appeared from the Messiah's Handbook spoke to me, here are two favorites:

"The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof."

"You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true.  You might have to work at it though."

Since then I have given Illusions as a gift many times. The most recent gifting was to a friend who was in New Orleans after the storm removing debris.  He had told me he was afraid that he had "hurt my feelings". It reminded me of a section where Richard says: "We are all free to do what we want to do, as long as we don't hurt somebody else."  I thought he might enjoy that section of the book, especially because it goes on to say: "We choose ourselves, to be hurt or not to be hurt, no matter what."  I found Illusions at the Octavia Street Bookstore on my lunch hour one day.  Sitting right next to it on the shelf, was Jonathan Livingston Seagull.  I had since read all of Bach's other books, except this one.  I went ahead and picked it up for myself and finished it that afternoon.  My debris removal man and I used to talk a lot about being different and not being like other people.  Jonathan Livingston Seagull said to me: "It's okay to be different!"  So, my debris removal man got 2 Bach Books with his Easter Basket in 2006.  Should I have been surprised that it was Jonathan Livingston Seagull that was his favorite?

This last photo is a shot of the view out my window from where I'm writing.  I don't think it gets much better than this.  I don't expect to see Jonathan Livingston Seagull blow by here, but I have an incredible blue heron who speaks to me from time to time and meets Dali and I on our morning walks along the Lot.

La Vie En Rose

   

As much as I love listening to music, actually being able to play it yourself magnifies the pleasure. You already know that Moon River is a favorite that I've been playing since I was a child, but once I got here I decided that I needed to learn to play La Vie en Rose.  I found a rather jazzy version in a book called French Melodies for Piano and purchased it in a music store in Figeac.  I began to learn the tune early in 2007 and was doing pretty well with it right up to the time before I left for a visit to the states. A two week visit turned into six, when I encountered too many problems to tell in New Orleans. Returning to the Lot in July, I found that my piano progress with La Vie en Rose had gone in the direction of what I had hoped was going to be our life in France.  I continued to have my ups and downs until the house and apartment were finally rented that November, newly discovered plumbing problems were remedied, and it appeared everyone (including me) was settled for a while.   

I've teased that my ability to play La Vie en Rose on the piano reflects more than just the notes.  The tune has been my barometer for the settling in of our life in the Lot.  I play it every morning and remember where I started.  I savor each note.  I don't rush.  When it changes keys and picks up the tempo now, I'm ready.  And when it closes with a chord that would have been unnatural for me in the past, it feels good.  I'm learning new and different in the Lot and in our life in France.  It is a challenge.  I'm not perfect.  Maybe there will come a day when I sit down at the piano and I play a perfect La Vie en Rose, but I'm not waiting for that day.  I'm living my life in the Lot like I'm learning our tune.  I'm taking it a step at a time.  I'm having fun.  I'm learning from my mistakes and laughing at myself and moving on.  The best part is when my friends laugh with me!

Poppies if You Please!

It really is a toss up between my family and friends, whether poppies or sunflowers are their favorite!  I've found that poppies are very delicate, not happy in a vase, and quickly lose their color when the air gets to them when you try to press them.  Never the less, if I know you are a poppy lover you are sure to get a pressed poppy in the mail, or find one in some fruit collage and pastry paper present that I'll make for you for some special occasion or holiday.  When I return to the states, I love being in Mom's kitchen because she has all the poppies I've sent her taped up to the window panes.  They look like stained-glass windows by now with all the flowers up there, and they make me feel like France and Home aren't very far away. It's not quite spring here yet, but you can bet I'll be out there on the road with my camera in my pocket when those first poppies are popping.  Pictures are the best way to capture them, but I'll be picking them too.  Mom's got a few more windows in the kitchen to finish! 

Full Time France...Feelings of Permanence

Pondering yesterday's firsts for me in France that spring and summer of 2005, carried me to memories of settling in here with Dali and Sam during May of 2006.  It was difficult to know what to bring with us from New Orleans,  because everything was dangling. Even though I had everything I needed and had to have here, I found myself making small purchases that said to me we were here to stay-purchases of permanence.  Of course, the Winkelmann was the biggest one, but I had always wanted one of these pretty tablecloths and a special comforter set for my bedroom.  I was not "tableclothless" or "comforterless", but choosing something that I really wanted said to me that we were here, we were staying, this was home, and I was going to invest more in being here than I had in the past.  I didn't realize what a difference these small things would make.  I'd frequently say to myself "We live here now", and was reminded of the Dr. Seuss character Horton-with his "whos" in his nose who would scream "We are here, we are here!" 

Thinking about Horton always made me smile-and I hadn't been doing much smiling in New Orleans. I came believing that I would be able to clear my head and make difficult decisions.  I thought I'd repair the house and apartment and keep the apartment for me, but as time went on I decided to rent both and try to stay here full time if possible.  That presented a whole new set of problems in the "stuff" department. Before I returned to New Orleans that November to close up Columbus Street to have it repaired and ready to rent, I made a list of all the things I had and put them into categories titled: bring to France, take to Mom and Dad's, give away, or put it in the dumpster in front of the house.  It became a very handy list that gave form to one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do...dismantle my life on Columbus Street. As I watched my contractor throwing all my stuffed animals out the upstairs bedroom window onto the driveway, I couldn't bear it anymore.  Here is a photo of my solution..."Free to a Good Home" became the solution for more than just the stuffed animals!

"Chatette"...Is That a Word in French?

As you can see from this photo, what I had originally thought was a "little cottage" in the woods isn't so little and isn't in the woods.  When I showed some of the first photos of our soon to be place to my friend Kelly Kerr (the smiling red-head to your right) he said: "Laury, it's a Chatette!  You know, not quite a Chateau!"  I began calling it the Chatette and it was only a matter of time before everyone else did too.  I couldn't find the word in the French dictionary, and my "French" French tutor at the time, Msr. Patrick, assured me that it was fun and not to worry. 

Leave it to my friend Wendy who says: "Laury, people are going to think that it's a cat house...you do know that 'chat' is 'cat' in French don't you? You're going to have men lining up at the door if you're not careful!"  I laughed and didn't take her too seriously...she had also just told me that the foxes pee on blackberries. Then one day, I was in Point P (One of the Home Depots of France) and gave a card to the man at the desk whose smile spread rapidly across his face. He pointed "chat" out to me and we chuckled together.  It can be fun to always be the crazy American.  It's amazing what you can get away with!   

One of the difficult things about having a place like this, is that you are only able to enjoy in stolen moments from your "real life".  Unless you're a full-timer, you miss the plum tree blooming in the spring, the accidental pumpkins in the fall and that opportunity to take pictures while it's snowing on Boxing Day to use for your Christmas Cards the following season.  In April of 2005, I saw my plum tree bloom for the first time. Little did I know that I'd be back in June with plans to stay for four months.  I'd see my first plums, excavate my first stone terrasse, and begin a collage technique with my plums that had my friends and neighbors hiding all of their pulpy fresh fruit when I came around.  If they didn't hide it, they'd invariably ask: "Now if I give it to you are you going to eat it or make collages with it?" I didn't always tell the truth! 

 

Butterfly Lessons

 I am sunning myself to Mozart and sweating Cahors wine from the white plastic chaise lounge in my friend Wendy's garden in the Lot Valley.  My journal is open to August 20, 1998 and balances near the edge of the long walnut dining room table.  Inspired by sun-drenched sips of Cahors wine, I periodically run up the stone steps through the French doors to capture these moments.  I began making "pastry paper" art on this trip.  Butterflies are my favorite.  They are everywhere.  Relaxing with eyes closed, I believe a gentle breeze is tickling my tiny leg hairs.  My eyes open to a beautiful, resting butterfly balancing near my ankle.  The breeze, the sunshine, Mozart, Cahors wine, the butterfly and I bask in each other's company.  I am still.  I am patient.  I am a voyeur.  I want the butterfly to stay.

Before it departs, my butterfly dances on my leg as delicately as a tiny ballerina in rhythm to many Mozart moments.  I run in and write:

"I'm not just 'making butterflies', I'm making butterflies in my life.  I sat with a butterfly.  I marveled at it.  I enjoyed it.  I watched it until it was ready to fly away.  The time and the patience were important.  I want butterflies in my life." And then-I ballet danced to Mozart on butterfly wings.