Part II of a memorable day of wine tasting

Okay. Good wine conquers all, or you might hope it would. But does it conquer a car that goes kaput? A car that will not advance? A car that signals a serious shift in programming?

Well, it certainly helps. Yes, at 11:15 on Monday morning, my car decided it would not turn-over. Neither trying again, nor pushing it worked. So, we put it over to the side of the road, raised the hood and considered things. I had my handy dandy Iphone on me and started calling. By the third call I struck gold -- my fantastic friend and colleague Guy Brémond, the self-same chef-sommelier who has taught me soooo much over the years. He found me a tow truck (remorque) and sent him my way. In the meantime (we had a good hour's wait till he arrived), we spread out the picnic. Yes, for the first time this year I actually prepared a picnic for my guests (actually the second time). Phew! Imagine if we'd programmed a lovely lunch in one of my favorite restaurants??? Well, there was a pool at the winery that looked tempting...


Our friends at the winery offered a bottle (and opened it for us) to enjoy during our impromptu lunch. I promise, normally my picnic spots are chosen far from roads and cars! But this one was at least in the shade, and by vineyards...
And so we waited the arrival of our friendly tow truck man. And I called my insurance which assured me that the towing would be covered (thank you Universe, and former husband!). Of course this tower wasn't listed with them... but he was able to persuade the insurance rep on the phone and all was well.

Amazingly, he had his largest tow truck (well I do have a 9 seater... a small Prius this is not) and all eight of us fit (snuggly, I do admit) into his car. No seat belts of course.

Meantime, I was strenuously seeking a taxi man with a 9 seater vehicle (apparently quite rare). Of the fleet of 43 vehicles in Avignon, there was one 8 seater... and at long last he arrived. By 2:30PM we were en route for more wine tasting with a pleasant, extremely careful and slow-driving taxi man who took directions from me in a region he works regularly (got to love it, n'est-ce pas?).

He and I chatted a bit. I admired his collection of train conductor hats. Our pregnant passenger got the front seat and was thus not too squnched, and four (including two tall men, but slender, men) shared a not-too-ample back seat meant for three. The pleasant chattiness of our morning drive had definitely been dampened by the unforeseen events.

But the warm reception of Jean David, the funky and wonderful tasting room, the excellent wines, the tales of his history... this helped hugely. As did discovering the lovely wines of Gigondas, the gorgeous vistas, the hill towns around us.

It was not the perfect day I try to offer, but we all did our best. If nothing else, I suppose I proved I can adjust to difficult circumstances, grace under fire, flexibility when glitches appear, plans B, C, D, and more. And it might have been far worse... At least we had a good lunch, good wines, and lovely meetings. I met and got the card of a good tow guy (available even on holidays) and the local taxi service now knows me. But no, it was far from a 'normal' outing.

And my car? It was an electric cable that connects the starter to the motor. Once put back in place, soldered, etc., It was fixed within 24 hours for a relatively minor sum. Apparently I drove over one dirt road too many which likely dislodged the cable...Must have been that last visit to the beekeeper's.

Getting ready for the renters

Yes, it's that time of year. A glorious time to enjoy good weather (should and if we be blessed with it). A time to be with friends, and...

Oh yes, a time to prepare the house for renters, badger the kids to go through their stuff, clean from top to toe, behind, beneath, between and beyond. A time to go mildly insane (not helped by the fierce and chilly gusts of the unseasonal Mistral winds). A time to work till I drop, break finger nails, turn my hands into sand paper, and drop weight without noticing.

The first step is to remove things - from the bed rooms, from the walls, from the kitchen shelves, from the bathroom, from all over the house -- to render the house both more neutral, but also more open for its summer occupants.

So, out go all the winter things, into boxes all the fragile and personal objects/dishes/etc., streamline the kids' toys, re-align the books, purge the old, the used, the not necessary, sift through the sheets leaving only the presentable ones (perfectly folded). And then, when the surfaces are clear, the spaces nearly bare, begin to clean and clean and clean. Cobwebs off the ceiling, dust off the shelves, grease and baked on things in the oven, crumbs and spills from the fridge. A once a year scrubbing with bleach in the shower (with a septic tank, t'is not recommended)...

As I rent my house from the day after the end of school, it is all particularly stressful as here I am trying to put order into a space fully lived in. Never a pleasant nor easy task.

The change from last year is that rather than heading off to the winery with simply my summer clothes, necessary papers, and a couple of favorite cooking utensils in my car, I'm moving into a tiny camping car on the grounds of my nearest neighbor. Thus, I'm not moving far away (this is a bonus), allowing me to take care of my garden and pool for the renters rather than pay another person to do so. But, nor am I moving into a furnished space. I'm camping. Thus, what do I need? What will I use? Spices? Pots and pans? Linens? My rice cooker? Italian coffee maker? dishes, salad bowl(s), wine glasses... and food, olive oil, wine? What will I eat? Will I serve anyone in my more restrained circumstances?

And what about my wardrobe? I've already pared it down, but... it certainly seems to visually take up about 4 times more space than the tiny closet in the camping car. Dear dear... what's a girl to do? Five weeks of summer, future tango balls, hiking, biking, outings and more ahead of me... A girl needs her things, no?

Each day I go through more, sift out more, remove and pack up more. And, thank goodness, my neighbor has space in his garage to store all my things. But as the pile grows higher and broader, he says to me rather nervously, "you will be removing these things after the summer, right?" And I reassure him that of course I will, as promptly as I can.

Did I mention that there isn't a garage or an attic or a spare room in my house? I rent it all, and thus I do what I can to stash things under the stairwell, in handsome antique suit cases (which double as side tables), in trunks (that decorate the walls), etc., even under beds. But...

I remember that huge hanger/garage at the winery where so many things could lie forgotten from various past lives, children, etc., Here, this is not possible. We are all obliged to do a full Feng Shui (Fu Sui in Japanese) yearly. Do you no longer play with these? out they go. Do you no longer wear this? out it goes. Is it broken? damaged? out it goes. Make room, clear a space, relinquish, and banish.

Though this week is brutal, I know I'll be peaceful and content slowly and selectively moving back in at the end of August. I just need to get through this week, and then... The adventure of camping begins. This should prove to be a very interesting summer.

Watching the pounds, aka kilos reappear...

What is it about coming home for Christmas? -- or rather coming to your Mom's house -- that just calls to the pounds to coming fleeing back to my tummy/butt? After all that virtuous shedding (yes, it was heart-sick/chagrin related, but still) this fall, and my pretty successful efforts (salsa and tango helped!) at keeping them off till my arrival just a week ago....

Can I fast for the next two days? Not likely. Tomorrow I'm the appointed cook for the goose, my oriental spinach dish (recipe shortly with photos, if I remember), and -- of course -- my dark chocolate raspberry yule log (bûche de Noël). Back on US soil I don't seem to be able to get away from the kitchen. Strange, n'est-ce pas? I seem to have this reputation as the cook of the family.

Meantime, I'm having fits and starts as I recognize the way too many things I have in common with my mother. Don't get me wrong, she's a great lady. I'm reassured that she too forgets things (granted, not a small child, but still, when over-extended there are details/errands/etc., that fall by the wayside). If she could run a university with this level of over the hill multi-tasking (thinking of my daily life with 6 kids) then I'm okay, right?

However, the tendency to not listen to the end of a sentance, to not read to the end of a sentance, to jump to conclusions (not always the right ones) and to be adamantly right... Well, let's just say I've new reasons to work on my own personal tendencies towards an excess of impatience, doing things too quickly, skimming texts, etc., I don't know if perfection shall ever be in my future, but a higher level of thoroughness would be a good thing.

I cook

I cook and I nourish. This is an integral part of my being, of how I share with others and operate in this world. I've never made mashed potatoes from a box, nor an instant cake -- thankfully my mother didn't believe in them. For every school bake sale we pulled out the Joy of Cooking and made cookies or brownies from scratch. I don't reheat frozen pizzas and rarely use a store bought pie crust (French pâte feuilletée is the sole exception on this). Feeding my children real food from real ingredients -- the best I can obtain without too much trouble or funds -- is integral to how I'm raising them.

I am building their bodies, and their minds. Those reports from the English school system of the improved grades, concentration and behavior of children through the simple (but enormous) change of quality in their school lunches hit their mark in a person like myself. Now Jamie Oliver is attempting to convert a town in the US with one of the largest obesity percentages per capita. I wish him sincerely well, and hope that with Michelle Obama in his corner, not to mention much of the liberal media, he will succeed in shifting some towards better foods and to integrate cooking into their life. He is a far easier media celebrity to watch and relate to than Michael Pollan for the vast majority of the American population, much as I am riveted listenting to the latter speak.

During my childhood in the 1970s my parents, who both worked full-time, fed me nightly, home-made, sit-down meals. I don't remember it being onerous for either of them (they both cooked): a roast chicken or some piece of meat either broiled or quickly fried in a bit of butter, boiled vegetables -- generally two, and something starchy and white. Add to this a pitcher of whole milk for the kids and a bottle of wine for the grown-ups and you have our nightly spread.

What was once so normal is no longer the rule. It is now a revolutionary act to conscientiously feed our children. From Michael Pollan, to Joan Gussow to Jonanathan Safran Foer's new book on meat, it is becoming trendy amongst the intelligentsia to rethink our relationship to food. But, for the vast majority of individuals, cheap and easy, sweet, salty and fatty fast food still dominates the diet.

And taking time to cook. As Michael Pollan put it recently in the NYTimes, in countries where people make their own food from scratch, there is no obesity, or barely. If you had to slice, dice, soak, dry, pre-fry and final fry your French fries every time you wanted to eat some, would you eat so many as to give you cardiac failure?

So yes, I take the time to cook, and to cook from scratch. I offer this to my children, to myself, to my friends. It is time-consuming, but not in a way that is bothersome to me. I've no tv, I get my errands done as I need, my housekeeping is relatively light each week, and no, I don't work long hours at a job that requires a lengthy commute. I am coping (just barely) not doing so. Is it a sacrifice? professionally no doubt, but personally? Clearly, I've chosen this route, and so I live it. My act speaks louder than any winsome wondering words. Thus I can and do spend an hour or a bit more in the kitchen every evening to make a decent meal for the kids. I bake my bread every Wednesday/Thursday, and at least one if not two afternoons a week I prepare a batch of muffins or cereal bars.

To me it's faster than picking up Chinese or a pizza on the way home, and infinitely cheaper on the budget. My garbage is next to nothing: compost, some containers to recycle and perhaps one sac per week that actually goes to the bin.

But back to cooking, and the choice, need and desire to nourish. I like putting food in front of people. It doesn't have to be a big extravaganza -- though Thanksgiving generally is. And I do confess I enjoy getting a bit of applause for a particularly elegant dessert. It just feels right, and yes thankfully, easy, to whip out a quiche while I'm still a bit sleepy in pjs, chop some vegetables, bake a tart, set the table and then go back and take care of shower, work, tasks, children etc., knowing the arrival of my friends at noon will be delightful and easy, natural.

Politics and belief have affected what I serve my children. Of course I was influenced by my parents, but as a child of my generation, and one who reads, seeks to learn more, and operates with the local organic, agricultural world of Provence, I have gone beyond what they taught me. I cook and serve many whole grains. I bake my bread with my own starter to render it more digestible (long fermenting times). I serve lots of locally grown, in-season vegetables, with the occasional sprinkling of frozen peas in a fried rice. I get eggs from a local farmer. And, I rarely serve meat. I am not a vegetarian. I once tried to be and became quite anemic. I wasn't living in a situation apt to eat a balanced diet without meat, and neither did I have the knowledge and skills to do so. My compromise for the moment -- as for many people, this too may evolve -- is to purchase the best quality, and ideally from a local farmer who has raised his animals in humane conditions with good quality feed and local hay/foraging. This is of course not inexpensive, and thus as I mentioned, meat is a rare presence in the meals I serve the kids, no more than once a week, if that.

And so, in this fast-paced world, have I taken myself off the path to financial wealth and professional accomplishments commensurate with my fellow Princetonians? Yes, I think I have, unless a miracle happens. Who knows, maybe someday I'll be a super-famous novelist? In the meantime, by taking this other path I've chosen to place my bets on a different sort of retirement account: my and my children's physical health.

Limits

Limits: physical, mental, spiritual, emotional.

Do you work till you drop? Give till there's nothing more to give? Exercise till the body is melting with fatigue? Does the body indicate your limits by becoming sick? collapsing? sending out unambiguous signals.

Or, do you know when the work day is over. Give only what you have available. Offer only what you have to spare. And, physical health is a given, never a worry. Nights are calm, sleep is solid.

And if you put the two in the same room? balance? complimentarity? or complete miscomprehension?

Hmmm..

Coping on getting some work

I've got to get myself financially in the black this year. It is Monday morning, a week after I've put the kids in school, and, I've got to get my act together. No more leaning on Ma (thank you!), no more leaning on the French State (generous as it is), it is time to land on my feet. This was a far easier task fresh out of University, 22 years of age, with no kids. I just popped around and got temp jobs or whatever. I paid my bills, lived in a tiny apartment, ate minimally. No biggie.

However, I am now 43, divorced with two kids, and have a large mortgage on my house. I'm also living in a foreign country where I feel the permanent disadvantage of a not-complete mastery of the language (particularly the written aspect). And, just in case we weren't all aware of it, there is a world-wide economic crisis going on. Hirings are few and far between for many many industries. Will I succeed where others are struggling? At least I know I'm not alone.

Last year I spent time talking to a counselor appointed by Pole Emploi and also at the Nîmes-based CIBC-- Centre Inter-Institutionel des Bilans de Compétences, a hub of trained psychologists put on this earth to help you figure out where your strengths are and how to put these onto a visually punchy résumé and get it out there to potential employers. I took full advantage of this marvelous socialist system and its free (FREE!!!!) employment and life direction advice. I've been counseled for over ten hours (8 sessions) by professionals. So, I should have a clue.

Problem is, I've actually never gotten a job based on a CV and an interview before. People practice these things. They master interview techniques, self-presentation, key phrases, etc., Call me spoiled or blessed, but I've had many work experiences, but none difficult to obtain: I've worked for my mother helping to run a summer arts festival (great fun and very busy); for Princeton University Press (I was at school next door); for a photography gallery (I walked in the door and admired the Japanese photography on the wall, having written about it in my senior thesis); for a Japanese university (nepotism via Ma, though I must say, I was a good employee to them and they kept me on stipend for two years after my original job was finished, ostensibly to correct English text, but I think also to say thank you); for a Parisian editor -- this grew out of my internship at the Centre National de la Photographie; and then, I created the cooking school and b&b with Erick where I spent most of the past 14 years. Résumé? CV? nah, they were never necessary. I was told to just come in on Monday ready to work. OK.

And now, my means of earning a living in the most recent past, tourism, is not the powerful market it used to be -- which isn't such a bad thing, as much as I loved my clients and touring Provence, I don't miss spending from 7AM to 11PM caring for people other than my children. I'm still carrying around a serious guilt complex concerning my abandonment of my little boys to the care of others for nearly ten years. So, I'll still tour occasionally, but I'll fit these tours into the kids' school schedule, and keep them to a reasonable minimum.

I am facing the need to earn a living along somewhat normal lines, though excluding 9 to 5 in preference to being available to the kids (including my four boarders).

What to do when you're an ex-pat living in France? Well, I've always been told I write well, and thanks to my highly verbal and doctorate-educated parents, my grasp of the English/American language is something I can proffer to a potential employer. I enjoy teaching, I enjoy reading. I enjoy challenges. So, I'm seeking to do what I proudly did not do in Japan -- teach English. But I'm also hoping to get some more translations like the wine tasting notes I did last year, web sites, and hopefully some more cook books.

To this end, I'm polishing up the CV and writing letters -- which are then re-written by more eloquent girl-friends, as the art of writing professional letters in French is not yet a skill of which I can boast.

I've already had one interview with the Wall Street Institute in Avignon to teach English. Apparently I'm on the short list, but more than that, I won't know for a time. And today, I've sent off two CVs to the Rencontres d'Arles de la Photographie, a place I've interned in (that's how I met Erick in the first place) and where I've occasionally served as an interpreter for Japanese photographers. The second I sent to Harmonio Mundi, the editor of classical music based in Arles. I underlined my love and minor-mastery of the bassoon (I'm ok in a teen age orchestra, and playing chamber music with amateurs), and my participation in a singing group at school, hoping these little extras might catch their attention.

Thus, a somewhat profitable Monday morning. Pay bills, cope on jobs, care for Filou's hurt foot. Check.

SWF in her Forties Seeks Balance

Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel

There is a moment after a separation, divorce, splitting of a couple, when women start wondering if it really is desirable to be in a couple. I say this as for a man we change, we adapt, we aim to please (or at least, I've done this). Am I fully me when I'm pleasing a man? Why am I different when I'm with my girl friends, or my kids. When your girlfriends notice that you are not yourself, as they know you, in the presence of your man, what do you do?

What choice is being made? Is it necessarily part of being in a couple that you shift your priorities and your behavior? I'm highly sensitive to the people around me, and more than anything to the shifting moods of my children and the man I am seeing. (when I have clients beside me, I am equally sensitive to their needs and pleasures) If they're not well, nor am I. I'm no longer self-contained and simply me facing the world. I'm porous, sensitive to the other, worrying a bit, or preening as the case may be.

I'm proud to be a chosen one, I'm proud to be with him. I'm pleased to be attractive and to attract. I'm delighted to partner, to assist, to participate. But, what am I giving up in so doing?

I question all this as I'm a woman who is more often than not in a couple. I've just been that way since I first started dating at the age of 16. Rare have been the moments when I've stayed single longer than a year. For good or ill, such has been my pattern. I've also had the experience of having friends prefer me when I'm not with my partner. This is not -- I think-- a good thing. To me this says that my personality, my being shifts so that my friends are unsettled by the me part-of-a-couple, and at ease with the me on-her-on.

In my same situation (divorced, coping on my own with two kids) many of my friends have opted, by choice or not, to not date while they recover from a divorce. The world is not kind to single women, and all their energy is needed to raise their children -- often countering the lessons learned at the father's house --and to find a job that will cover their basic needs. The job needs to be juggled with school hours, after school activities, shopping, cleaning, laundry, yard work, dealing with leaks in the ceiling, what have you. All activities that are more easily shared by two, but in this case, become the sole responsibility of the woman.

Blending these necessarily wearying responsibilities with dating a man, pleasing a man, spiffing up for going out, adapting to another's needs, it just isn't easy and perhaps it isn't desirable? Love and passion are glorious, but they can also leave you drained, and weaker than before rather than stronger. How to cope on all that is waiting for you back at the house, if you're distracted and sleep-deprived?

In this world, as it stands today, is it possible to find a partner mid-life? What concessions must we make? Or do we turn our back on this dream, and live our lives, raise our children, cope as best we can on our financial worries. Is it simply better to accept that the world is so designed that we are very much alone to manage all this, and the sooner we see this the better?

I've had feed back on this question. Many, oh so many, women simply realize that dating and raising children on your own don't go well together. Studies of the difficulties of children raised in single parent households be damned. So there's not a man full-time in your household, perhaps kids these days need more feminine attention, and this is appropriate to our moment in human development? As Joan Armatrading sings, "if women ruled the world..."

Cocooning, Taking Time.

Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel

The divorce is taking time, for numerous reasons. Amongst these the slow motion of the French judicial system, but also, the high fees of the lawyers and notaries are not easy to pay this early in the season. So, it is taking time. But so am I. I am taking time to get my feet back under me. I am taking time to figure out how to cope in this new reality. And that in itself is a luxury that I am fully aware of. But, I don't find myself able to manage differently. Things are not finished yet. In particular, the b&b is not sold as yet. Many things are on hold.

There are days I charge through my to-do list, and accomplish--if at times breathlessly-- all those accumulated tasks. I keep on top of most of my banking, my filing, the kids' medical appointments (that reminds me, we all need booster shots of tetanus), the bills, food, cleaning (better some weeks than others). And then the next day I'll feel lethargic, and though I nearly never allow myself a "useless" day, it is tempting.

Patience is necessary with the children. Leo's reading is improving, but it is not something that will shift overnight. Jonas is becoming more social and trusting, but there too, constance and presence are necessary. I've been the one who turns on a dime, who finds the solution to the problem with a quick bit of thought, who has a plan B in the wings ready to put into motion. I'm one who has always been in motion, gathering others to me in my wake. And now? Why do I feel a disconnect with this version of myself?

I spent a moment re-reading the Rudolf Steiner ideas of the life cycles as presented by two American Anthroposophists, George and Gisela O'Neil in their book, The Human Life. Ok, it sounds a bit esoteric, but, with my children in the Waldorf school, I've plunged more than a bit into this world and the very interesting ideas and concepts it puts forth on the patterns of a human life, the directions we choose, the moments we live throughout our biography. Concerning myself, moving from 42-43 this year, I am coming out of one seven year cycle (35-42) during which I basically took a look at things, threw a crank in them, and jumped out -- not necessarily with my parachute prepared. This cycle is a time to look at the path we are on, to review it, revise it, and if need be, change it. Task accomplished. It is also considered to be the last period of our 'soul' years. Which you could relate to the will, one's direction, one's values. The need to be on a path in sync with your true self is either heard and followed, or submerged by the insanities and needs of our daily life.

42-49 is a time of struggle, but also a time when the exterior physical forces are diminishing, and the internal life-forces and spirit are strengthening. For those who resist this pull towards the interior, this period can be very difficult, and a physical weariness, or illness is the result. As I re-read these ideas it dawned on me forcefully that my mornings on the computer, writing away, communicating, thinking, contemplating, are inescapable. For years I've been a whirlwind of energy, swirling through my life, exploring, creating, doing. But more and more, I am drawn inward. I am drawn to declare more clearly my values, to accept my limits, and hopefully, to discover new strengths, new directions that tap what is in me, not simply what I put out into the world.

Hence, I am writing. Is what I have to say interesting? Can I resonate with others going through similar moments? Can I bring any clarity, or if not, amusement to the subject? How banal is my situation? A mom newly single, raising her two boys who she is in many ways still discovering, trying to figure out how to earn a living that permits her to raise them as she wants and feels she needs to (at least for the moment). I've an accumulation of life experiences, living as an expat in a beautiful part of the world, working closely with so many masters of their trade. These friends are there, helping me yet with my visitors, my book projects. As all this flows, the seasons play their part, the kids' school rhythms are mine. And into this, I'm trying to cope on having a love life.

There's a theory that a woman can't succeed in all three domains at once, these being motherhood, career and love. Is it so? it certainly isn't easy to juggle the three. And particularly in this world when time is just not extensible. The NYTimes recently published an article highlighting grandmothers who move back in to help with the childcare so their daughters can have full lives with careers and happy husbands, and not in this pursuit neglect the education of their children. Michelle Obama's mother was a prime example. Where possible, this is still the pattern here in Provence. But, as elsewhere, it is becoming ever more rare.

I think we're all scared by divorce, badly behaved children, messing up the tasks we've set ourselves, disappointing ourselves as well as our entourage. It should be possible to succeed in all three domains, right?

Time to go lunch with a good friend and discuss this out loud. And then, of course, more tasks await. My new resume for teaching English and translating. The chapter on the beekeeper for the teen cook book. I'm getting to them, just more slowly than I thought I would, and should.






Avignon cafe life in full swing. And bikers out in force. Next time, I'm leaving my car at home too!