Mid afternoon and a weak sun has driven off the fog.
Armed with the Christmas present secateurs (you can never have too many) I get myself outside and attack the tangled white wisteria which covers the side of the house that faces west. I'm sheltered from the cold east wind.
An iceberg floats on top of the water butt and a fluffed up robin chats to me from the washing line. He's waiting for me to finish so he can drop down and hunt for grubs in the disturbed dried leaves.
By the time I'm done, I'm hot and satisfied. A tidy wisteria in winter is a thing of beauty.
S. A. D. Moi?
Monday, 12 January 2009
Cold, Foggy January
Get up late. Light fire in kitchen.
Eat breakfast. Check emails. Read Total France Forum.
Split wood. Feed fire
Check post.
Eat cake. Read blogs of note.
Take Smudge for drive in car and walk a few yards.
Feed Smudge.
Eye dirty crockery and walk away.
Read more blogs.
Split wood. Feed fire
Eat lunch. Read Total France Forum.
Take Smudge for drive in car and walk a few yards.
Eat cake. Read more blogs.
Eye dirty crockery.
Split wood. Feed fire.
Make supper. Read Total France Forum.
Eat supper.
Light fire in lounge.
Empty washing machine.
Put dirty crockery in washing machine.
Feed Smudge.
Feed fires.
Watch TV 'til too late.
Go to bed.
Do same again tomorrow.
S. A. D.
Eat breakfast. Check emails. Read Total France Forum.
Split wood. Feed fire
Check post.
Eat cake. Read blogs of note.
Take Smudge for drive in car and walk a few yards.
Feed Smudge.
Eye dirty crockery and walk away.
Read more blogs.
Split wood. Feed fire
Eat lunch. Read Total France Forum.
Take Smudge for drive in car and walk a few yards.
Eat cake. Read more blogs.
Eye dirty crockery.
Split wood. Feed fire.
Make supper. Read Total France Forum.
Eat supper.
Light fire in lounge.
Empty washing machine.
Put dirty crockery in washing machine.
Feed Smudge.
Feed fires.
Watch TV 'til too late.
Go to bed.
Do same again tomorrow.
S. A. D.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Learning
Monsieur M. arrived yesterday morning by car with some wood in a trailer. His tractor is out of action - missing a piece. He told me what it was, but I've forgotten what he said. Probably wouldn't even understand what the piece is in English, let alone French.
Tod was at the dentist (again!), so Monsieur M. and I companionably emptied his trailer making occasional small talk. He had a good Christmas, but a bad New Year. He was ill and thinks it was a doubtful huître (oyster). The French love les huîtres. I shuddered and said I didn't like them and he laughed. In fact I don't even like the thought of swallowing a raw oyster - much too slithery.
When we'd finished, he said he would be back with another load after lunch. I told him Tod would be here but I would be at a (très nécessaire) French lesson.
As he got in his car he said "bon aprendisage" (sic) - or something like. I'd no idea what he meant. Usually when I hear a word I don't know, it slips away. But for some reason this one stuck and I was still carrying it carefully like a small gift in my head. I managed to shape my lips so it roughly came out right during the lesson.
And I learnt that he'd wished me "bon apprentissage" - good learning. I am. Slowly.
Tod was at the dentist (again!), so Monsieur M. and I companionably emptied his trailer making occasional small talk. He had a good Christmas, but a bad New Year. He was ill and thinks it was a doubtful huître (oyster). The French love les huîtres. I shuddered and said I didn't like them and he laughed. In fact I don't even like the thought of swallowing a raw oyster - much too slithery.
When we'd finished, he said he would be back with another load after lunch. I told him Tod would be here but I would be at a (très nécessaire) French lesson.
As he got in his car he said "bon aprendisage" (sic) - or something like. I'd no idea what he meant. Usually when I hear a word I don't know, it slips away. But for some reason this one stuck and I was still carrying it carefully like a small gift in my head. I managed to shape my lips so it roughly came out right during the lesson.
And I learnt that he'd wished me "bon apprentissage" - good learning. I am. Slowly.
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
Snow
I don't think snow figured in my dreams of living in South West France. Well, you live and learn!
Friday, 2 January 2009
New Year Sounds
The murmur of women's voices in the background. Tod has left the internet radio on and it's tuned to Woman's Hour.
The sshhh, sshhh, sshhh of Smudge's steady breathing. He was grumbling earlier but with a warm hot water bottle against his back he's dozed off again.
The fierce crack and spit from the chestnut wood in the kitchen range fire.
The shlop shlop of my slippers across the kitchen tiles. I'm still in sooty dressing gown and making Smudge's breakfast / lunch.
The distant whine of chainsaws. They're cutting saplings along the banks of the stream that borders the field which used to belong to Serge and now to Monsieur F. The bright sunlight means it's a good day for working. Another saw is running in stereo, in the woods that stretch to the east towards the chateau.
The soft whirr of the washing machine in the utility room behind the kitchen. It's been quiet over Christmas and the New Year and there's a full laundry basket to wash and hang out while there's warmth in the sun.
The clack of the latch to the old wooden door into the bathroom. I need a shower....
... and later the rasp of nail brush across my rough-skinned, grubby housemaid's knees.
A good start to 2009.
The sshhh, sshhh, sshhh of Smudge's steady breathing. He was grumbling earlier but with a warm hot water bottle against his back he's dozed off again.
The fierce crack and spit from the chestnut wood in the kitchen range fire.
The shlop shlop of my slippers across the kitchen tiles. I'm still in sooty dressing gown and making Smudge's breakfast / lunch.
The distant whine of chainsaws. They're cutting saplings along the banks of the stream that borders the field which used to belong to Serge and now to Monsieur F. The bright sunlight means it's a good day for working. Another saw is running in stereo, in the woods that stretch to the east towards the chateau.
The soft whirr of the washing machine in the utility room behind the kitchen. It's been quiet over Christmas and the New Year and there's a full laundry basket to wash and hang out while there's warmth in the sun.
The clack of the latch to the old wooden door into the bathroom. I need a shower....
... and later the rasp of nail brush across my rough-skinned, grubby housemaid's knees.
A good start to 2009.
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Christmas Eve
Tonight - just the two of us - we did what we do best together. We made a Polish Christmas Eve supper .....
- Borscht
- Monkfish with a mushroom, brandy and prune sauce
- Makowiec (poppy seed cake)
- with a fine French wine
- and candles
.... and we talked.
Links: Makowiec recipe
- Borscht
- Monkfish with a mushroom, brandy and prune sauce
- Makowiec (poppy seed cake)
- with a fine French wine
- and candles
.... and we talked.
Links: Makowiec recipe
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Winter Solstice
Glorious sunshine after days of dank cold grey. So warm I've had to come back inside and change my two sweaters for a T-shirt.
I'm finally cutting back the brown tendrils of the morning glory that smothered the trellis at the end of the veranda in the summer. They have intertwined with the bare stems of a white summer jasmine. The sun is hot on my back as I work. Tod is giving the swimming pool a clean - the last of the leaves from the apple trees have sneaked in under the cover.
A tiny lizard sunbathes on one of the stone pigs. I walk down to the derelict cottage and disturb a red admiral basking on a wall.
The météo promises this weather to Christmas Eve. There's a chance I'll get the rest of the pansies and tulip bulbs planted before it turns cold again.
It's so warm, I've let the fire go out in the kitchen range. I'll light it again this evening and, joy of joys, the new Godin stove in the lounge.
I'm finally cutting back the brown tendrils of the morning glory that smothered the trellis at the end of the veranda in the summer. They have intertwined with the bare stems of a white summer jasmine. The sun is hot on my back as I work. Tod is giving the swimming pool a clean - the last of the leaves from the apple trees have sneaked in under the cover.
A tiny lizard sunbathes on one of the stone pigs. I walk down to the derelict cottage and disturb a red admiral basking on a wall.
The météo promises this weather to Christmas Eve. There's a chance I'll get the rest of the pansies and tulip bulbs planted before it turns cold again.
It's so warm, I've let the fire go out in the kitchen range. I'll light it again this evening and, joy of joys, the new Godin stove in the lounge.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
I hardly dare breathe it ...
... but Smudge is finally getting better.
I blithely posted something similar nearly three weeks ago and the following night we were woken by his whimpering and crying with pain. At three in the morning I e-mailed our vet and deleted the post in fury and frustration. After all our love and care how dare he have a relapse!
But now, finally, he wriggles vigorously when we lift him in and out of the car, rather than hanging limp. A wriggling Airedale is a splendid armful. He sits sphinx-like on the Indian rug in the kitchen keeping an eye on breakfast proceedings, rather than just going back to sleep. Good, that means he's hungry.
And he walks - painfully slowly and with a limp, but still he's walking: along the veranda and all the way round the back of the house; down towards the derelict cottage, now being restored, where he found (and sat with) our two workmen eating their lunch in the tin-roofed shed; twice round the empty patch of mud in town where the tatty circus sometimes pitches, because once round was not enough; across the town square, down the street with the pizza restaurant that has cats, along the side of the church where it's not clear who has right of way and back past the pharmacy on the corner where they speak English and would only sell me his incredibly expensive antibiotics one packet at a time, "just in case".
In the end, it was not leukaemia, or an autoimmune disease, but toxoplasmosis which crashed in on top of his immune system already weakened by the tick fever. Finally, this week, the blood test results are negative.
This evening I'm taking him to Dr M. who will murmur sweet nothings to him and give him osteopathy and maybe acupuncture. Our vet who has supported us through all this emailed me this morning: "Give Smudge a hug." You bet - lots!
Links:
A Further Week
Toxoplasmosis
Tick fever
I blithely posted something similar nearly three weeks ago and the following night we were woken by his whimpering and crying with pain. At three in the morning I e-mailed our vet and deleted the post in fury and frustration. After all our love and care how dare he have a relapse!
But now, finally, he wriggles vigorously when we lift him in and out of the car, rather than hanging limp. A wriggling Airedale is a splendid armful. He sits sphinx-like on the Indian rug in the kitchen keeping an eye on breakfast proceedings, rather than just going back to sleep. Good, that means he's hungry.
And he walks - painfully slowly and with a limp, but still he's walking: along the veranda and all the way round the back of the house; down towards the derelict cottage, now being restored, where he found (and sat with) our two workmen eating their lunch in the tin-roofed shed; twice round the empty patch of mud in town where the tatty circus sometimes pitches, because once round was not enough; across the town square, down the street with the pizza restaurant that has cats, along the side of the church where it's not clear who has right of way and back past the pharmacy on the corner where they speak English and would only sell me his incredibly expensive antibiotics one packet at a time, "just in case".
In the end, it was not leukaemia, or an autoimmune disease, but toxoplasmosis which crashed in on top of his immune system already weakened by the tick fever. Finally, this week, the blood test results are negative.
This evening I'm taking him to Dr M. who will murmur sweet nothings to him and give him osteopathy and maybe acupuncture. Our vet who has supported us through all this emailed me this morning: "Give Smudge a hug." You bet - lots!
Links:
A Further Week
Toxoplasmosis
Tick fever
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