Soar-Dream-France

Snail Lessons Learned

 

I've known ever since I bought the Chatette more than 20 years ago now, that I would have to do something about what I came to call the "addition." The addition had been separating from the Chatette even before I bought it.

 

It always looked to me like it had been slapped onto the house and didn't really fit.

 

 

Back in the early days of here, it was on my list of things that needed to be done, but was not at the top of the list. That was the list that began in 2002 and was thrown to the wind when Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. The former friend/contractor who was working for me here, was also working on Columbus Street after the storm.

 

 

To make a very long story short, he walked off the job in New Orleans in 2007. 

 

 

Every time I looked at the addition, I was reminded of being left high and dry, friendship betrayal, and almost financial ruin.

It hurt too much.

The projected plans for the addition were set aside.

Since then, I avoided dealing with the addition at all. I used it for storage only.

 

 

 

 

 

In the meantime, it separated more and the roof was beginning to cave in.

By the end of 2019, it was serious. It had separated further, the roof caved in more and the floor was destablized.

It was dangerous.

 

 

 

You may be wondering what took me so long: my Dad passed; COVID hit; and, Hurricane Ida hit New Orleans. Any money I'd set aside for this from Mom and Dad, had gone to cover roof damage on Columbus Street during Ida and to paint Columbus Street. It took me finally selling Columbus Street during July of 2022, to have enough money to make these decisions and do some other work around here.

 

When the demolition began on Tuesday, I was a little weird.

 

 

It was such a long time in coming.

I knew the barn would be more visible.

But, there was no way to know just how truly "opened up" we would become.

By going back, we were going forward.

I was also letting go of the negative energy that swirled around this brick and mortar.

 

 

I was elated.

I knew we had done just the right thing.

I had paid attention to the communication with "our" place.

When I'm still in the silence, I listen and the stone speaks.

I've learned that even in the most heart wrenching and breaking times, the soul and magic of the centuries of this place never let me down.

 

 

Patience is required.

 

This Melody-Cette Melodie

 

When all my goodies arrived last week, I asked everyone to guess what was the first song I played? I'd given it all a lot of thought. Afterall it has been almost six years with no music here besides me and my Monsieur. So many memories and feelings are tied up in our music. I could go on and on, and I might at some point, but today it's Julien Clerc and This Melody that have center stage. They were my first choice for our new music in our New Book of here...the second twenty years!

 

During 2010, I was in the process of buying the barn. I wrote about the barn here on the blog regularly. I still do today. At the time, it made no money sense, but made all the love, passion, romance and immortal magic sense in the world to me. The barn and this place speak to me.

 

 

One of my friends, Jennifer Borel, sent me the email above and attached this song. It was such a great gift. I loved it so much that I made this collage to include in the "Barn Book," that I'd made for my Mom and Dad. They were never able to make it here in the flesh. Their barn book has since returned to me. They visit in spirit regularly.

 

 

This song makes me happy. It makes me think of all of the life, love and living that I have crammed into this place of my heart. I am loved back. I'd often sing it to the barn. I'll put a YouTube selection for you in the FB post.

 

 

 

We are back.

 

 

 

We are Cette Melodie!

 

Decisions

 

When I first came back to the Chatette and Cadrieu during March of 2018 after Christmas of 2017; I was still living in the apartment in Cajarc while the repairs were being made after the November fire.

I would ride my bike back to the house and wander around to see what was what.

Was there anything I could do?

It was projected that I could be back "home" at the end of April, probably at least a month away.

 

 

There was so much...so many feelings, so much to decide, so much to miss...of which, Sam was the biggest.

 

 

My piano was important to me. It was under plastic. I had been told by one person it was "dead" and another who came from Cahors wanted 10,000 euros to repair it for me. While I was in the states, I connected with Philippe Jolly who told me we should be able to do something together once I  got back and they were in the valley as well. My Monsieur was his baby too.

I told Eric what I was up to.

 

Eric was Eric. I told him how sad my Monsieur Winkelmann was, as were most things. I told him that we were "empty," except for me and my Monsieur. I'd already sat on the front stoop with my empty house behind me and felt that even as is; it was enough for me.

Eric said: "all you really need is your piano, a chair, a coffee pot and a place to sleep."

We were off!

 

 

In that "so much," I'd decided that : the windows were works of art bare; I had my Monsieur and didn't need a stereo system; the walls and the stone were works of art on their own; and, that I didn't want to clutter us up. 

 

 

After Katrina, I remember riding in the car with my friend Barbara.

We were on our way to the Napoleon House because it had opened. I got the first post-Katrina Reuben Sandwich they sold.

 

I told Barbara: "you could look me in the eye and tell me that I was missing a leg, and I would look back at you and say: oh really, that's nice. I'll think about it another time!

 

I recently realized when I was reading about grief, that the best thing that you can do for the people you love who are grieving is to just do something nice for them on your own initiative. Don't ask. Grief is not made for decision making. Asking our friends what we can do for them, or telling them to let us know, is one more thing that they probably just can't think about.

A huge light went off for me.

 

Lately, I've made some big (or maybe just different) decisions. As I've been: buying my new stereo system; picking out some "replacement and new" CDs; and, choosing special curtains for all of the windows in the house; I was asking myself why now?

 

At that time, it was easier to decide to do nothing...I didn't need a new stereo. I didn't need new curtains on the windows. I didn't need to replace all my CDs that went up in smoke. Call it triaging. Call it self preservation. I just couldn't think about it at the time. 

It's almost six years later.

 

 

 

 

Apparently, we're ready now.

 

 

Feeling the Wandering

 

 

What do you do when you know you're not yourself, but you aren't really sure what you are?

I've known that I've been wandering through my life for the years since the fire.

 

 

I accepted it. I rolled with the lack of energy and immobilization at times. I didn't like it, but I knew that: losing Mom in 2016; the fire and losing Sam in 2017; BREXIT; losing Dad on New Year's Day of 2020; COVID on the heals of that loss; selling Columbus Street; and, I knew I had to roll with it all the best I could and certainly NOT beat myself up for anything I felt and did or didn't do.

 

 

Often, clarity comes for me in hindsight.  

Interestingly, getting "us" empty of all the useless stuff left over from the early days in the addition, the useless stuff on the terrace and the vernissage cave, cartons, and boxes; gave me new perspective.

 

 

 

It isn't always easy to get things done over here. I expected to just have yet one more dumpster in my life and I would slowly get it all out. I did some research. Asked for some help. And, Christiane found me Monsieur Julien Lascout, who would do it all for me.

Turns out, he didn't need a dumpster and finished everything I'd asked for and more between 10am and 16:00.

 

As I prepared for yesterday last week and then saw yesterday's results; I realized how it wasn't just the memories and losses that were weighing me down, it was the stuff.

 

 

As yesterday went on, I felt like I was back.

When Julien finished, we sat out on the terrace and had a coffee together.

I told him he gave me back my life!

 

 

 

We are moving forward!

 

Resurrecting Memories

 

Early days of here sometimes feel like another lifetime ago for me. I'm so grateful I write in many forms, and that either I, or others, hang on to much of what I've written over the years. Interestingly, we have done a very good job of safeguarding our story of here in ways that easily bring it back to life for me.

With the warmer temps and days of more sunshine, I find myself out on the property. Sometimes I have particular jobs in mind.

 

 

Others, I just wander around in my overalls and work gloves with my pruner(s) in my hand. (And yes, Dad...sometimes I even have a hammer in the hammer pocket of my overalls.) 

 

Last week, I was out at the point with the new manual lawnmower. I inspected the work on the tracks down there. I usually cut past the opening in the wall in the photo above.

As I sat there, I remembered a night on the point when I sat right there drinking Pastis and looking at my beautiful place with the lights on. I wrote to Mom and Dad about it. I have an excerpt for you here:

 

 

There's nothing like sitting out in the dark at the break in the train wall, basking in the lighted glow of the house, while you nibble on swiss cheese and salami and wash it down with pastis!

It's fun when I find my memories are even more detailed and fun than what I might have written!

 

Close Enough to Touch

 

As the new Voie Verte is becoming a reality; I'm realizing that I am grieving the train all over again. It hadn't really hit me until I heard that the tracks will defintely be raised to lay the new path.

It got me thinking and looking back at photos, journals and old letters. This one is particularly fun, and I'd like to share it with you...

 

                                                                                                                                                Mardi, le 27 aout 2002, 8pm

Bonsoir Mom and Dad-

     Well, today's the day and it's been grand. I spent the morning on the terrasse polishing and waxing my table and chairs and I've found a brand new use for Q-Tips. While I was working the Quercy Rail came by close enough to touch and the conductor opened his window to wave and then hollered "Bonjour!" It was an "aha" moment!

 

Me and Thomas Wolfe

 

Back when Dali, Sammie Cat and I came here to clear our heads after Hurricane Katrina so I could make some difficult decisions; I read Thomas Wolfe's "Look Homeward Angel" for the very first time. The meaning of "home" had escaped me living in my flood ravaged house on Columbus Street.

 

 

 

 

 

My Dad said:

"Go to France, Laury."

 

We did.

 

I still struggled with home.

By Christmas of 2006 the decision had been made.

I was in France. Columbus Street was being repaired so I could rent it out and be able to live here in Cadrieu with my Dali Dog and Sammie Cat.

Of course, it wasn't that easy.

As I was reading Thomas Wolfe, he spoke to me.

Fogs cleared. I didn't struggle so much.

 

 

But when I did, I'd found something wonderful that helped me. I won't make you look for it yourself. I'll put Wolfe's last page, last paragraph, right here for you:

 

--Yet, as he stood for the last time by the angels of his father's porch, it seemed as if the Square already were far and lost; or I should say, he was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he has left, yet does not say "The town is near," but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring ranges.--

THE END

 

When I did struggle, I'd often picture myself upon a high place above a place I'd just left; holding Thomas Wolfe's hand.

Visualizing was usually enough.

But when it wasn't, I had more than enough high, beautiful places to go.

 

 

High or low, holding Thomas's hand or not; the Lot always brought me home.

 

Begin Again

 

 

This is a post to say that I am trying to feel my way with how I want the blog to fit into what truly does feel like a new and different life for me. All of this change has been on the wind.

If I'm totally honest, my first twenty years of here were more about working towards and building to this second twenty years than I ever could have known.

 

 

It is the new book.

 

 

I've made a couple of changes here that are small but feel huge. Huge in the difference that often screams at me.

I am not changing SOAR-DREAM-FRANCE. Doing that rearranges too much with the blog from prior to now. I have, however, removed "Melange-ing France New Orleans Magic," and changed the subtitle to: "Lot River Love Song-The Next Twenty Years!"

I expect these years and this new book to be more here and less the states. It means more France and French.

It means moving forward in this adventure in ways that were just not possible before.

Both of my feet are planted here.

 

 

 

I am even more deliberately putting one foot in front of the other, petit a petit. My feet are where my head and heart have always been, here.

 

 

I am centered, focused, and closely paying attention to the "lots in the Lot!" I am also feeling a senses of freedom, wonder, excitement and some awe, that I'm not totally sure how to put into words at the moment!

 

 

I'm planning on letting go to enjoy this ride of these next twenty years, and marvel at every step along the way. I'm not really sure where it will take me. I'm hoping you'll come along.

 

Loving into the Answers

 

I love taking photos of chairs. There is a lot that I love.

These days, I'm finding myself struggling to settle into a wonderful new life or the "new book" that no longer has the structures, constraints, and musts of old. I am paying attention. I am watching myself. I am feeling my feelings. I am learning a lot more about myself in a whole new way.

What do I want these next twenty years to look like?

The list of what I have given up in the last couple of years is even longer than I had been aware of. Whether it's loss or my own decisions, the reality of the GONE has been an interesting one to ponder. I could go into great detail on each of the "gones" and the impact and changes in my life. Some are huge. Some are more subtle.

 

 

One of the recent ahas for me has been that I no longer need to get onto the laptop every day. Some of that is that I have my SmartPhone and my Fire notebook, that allow me to keep up without full laptop capacity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another part of that is that I am no longer "working" in any capacity. Keeping up my social work license and offering workshops meant that there were periods of time when the laptop was attached to my hip.

 

That isn't necessary any more.

 

In that "gone", I have found that there are some days that I don't even want to turn the laptop on.

It feels good. 

That also means, that I'm not blogging as much since I blog from the laptop and not the other devices.

I am also realizing that these days, I prefer to journal than to blog. Putting pen to paper, holding it in my hand, watching the ink travel the page of whatever pretty journal I've chosen to use next; all make it more enjoyable than pounding the keys and fighting computer and program glitches with my photos.

This "gone" is leading me to re-evaluate my blogging.

I don't want to stop completely, but I want to find my way back to loving it like I used to and blending it more naturally into this new life.

 

 

It will come, probably rising out of the space left by one or more of the gones.

 

 

Here's hoping you'll hang with me!

 

Happy Sunday!

 

Much More than Perspective

 

 

Throughout my professional life, I've done more exercises in "perspective" than the law allows. The old tried and true in a workshop is to have a participant stand on a chair that then gives them a "different view." Living in a valley as I do, there are many opportunities for new and different perspective.

Heading over to see Jean-Luc and Odile yesterday morning, it was the first time I drove "Mikey" over for my visit. Usually, I'm on the bus. The freedom I feel is amazing. I told someone that I feel like a teenager again.

What I noticed yesterday, was the huge difference in how I saw and felt the valley and route to Tour de Faure from Mikey.

 

 

I often think about the difference in the view between the bus and cars. Then there is always walking and on bike. All. provide different feelings and experiences of this route and the vallee.

Riding with MIkey took my breath away yesterday. It felt like we were right in the middle of everything and everywhere we passed. Since I know the route well, I enjoyed every minute of it. We were immersed in the valley and this place I love so much. I have never felt this way before in any of my other modes of transportation.

 

Overwhelming feelings of the huge NEW saturated every sense.

How wonderful!

Happy Sunday!