My Friend the Horse Whisperer

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


Mireille is passionate about horses. She always has been. And unlike many little girls, this passion did not go away when she grew up. Not originally of the region (she comes from the Jura, near the Swiss border), she early adopted a Camarguais pony and trained it with the horse-whispering technique. They learned together. She has since translated a book from English (this technique is particularly popular and developed in the US and Australia, but rare on the continent) for the publishing house, Actes Sud on the subject and pursued a few workshops to deepen her skills.



The past five years have been at times horribly difficult for her (divorce, terrible financial straits, struggling to cope with her two kids very much on her own, finding a new job, struggling to manage on a very small salary...). But, manage she has, and with joy and love she has kept her passion for horses and this gentle technique a part of her life. I'm not sure she realized when she signed up her little Alexandra for riding classes ages ago, that the centre equestre where these classes take place would become a second home to her. But now, she counts the director amongst her closest friends, and Alexandra roams freely here, where they've become known to everyone.



She has been able to persuade the director to permit her to work with the "difficult" horses that no one else feels comfortable dealing with. The first had been badly broken, and bit. She worked gently and calmly with him, gaining his trust and then, when it was time, handed him back to his owner to train for riding in the club. In need of another horse to practice on, she noticed a large draw horse in a back prairie, and questioned the director of the centre. Oh him? Well, when we put the plow on him he went insane and destroyed numerous posts in the paddock. So we sent him to Uzes, to the experts, to be properly trained, and payed over 3000Euros to do so. But when he came back six months later, he was as skittish as ever, and we've been rather hesitant to try again, and truth to tell, we've not really had the time.

Hmmm she thought. Would you permit me to work with him? Well, sure, go right ahead.

It has been not quite a year now that she has worked to gain the trust of this horse, to exercise him, to work him on the lead, with the halter, to de-sensitize him to touch and the sound of crumpling plastic bags (this comes in handy when she uses one to remove the stinging flat horse flies that so bother him). Yesterday, for the first time, she ran with him in the paddock. But also, he did a very tight circle around her, completely "en liberté" with no lead holding him in. It was the horse's choice to come in closer to her, and you could see he truly wanted to go to her, but awaited her signal to come in for a pat and a caress. He keeps an eye on her at all times, focused on her no matter the sounds and activities (of three small children and myself) on the periphery.



She is working towards being able to re-introduce the horse, Nestor, to the plough and its harness. The little old man who owns the horse has been afraid to even come near him, but now, as he watches Mireille work, he is ever so tempted. However, he is also quite of the "old school" and as such is loath to admit that a woman can be so skilled (he'll never say it aloud, but in his eyes you can see a softening) with a horse. But he has also learned patience, and that the earlier efforts by himself and so-called experts had simply hurt an otherwise very capable animal. Mireille put him at ease suggesting that they begin the work with the plough when no one else is present at the centre. Thus, allowing them to go slowly, at their and Nestor's pace, and without the curious eyes of others looking on.



She tells me that she begins by requesting gently that the horse do as she'd like, she invites him forward, then she lets him know she'd like him to move forward, and then, that he is going to move forward. She never goes further, but will repeat these three levels again and again, like a mosquito, never letting up, till at last, he moves forward (or trots, or backs up, or moves sideways, or brings his head around... you name it). It is a lesson in constance and patience and keeping your calm. In a test of wills by force, Mireille couldn't win, but with patience and constance yes, the horse eventually wants to please her.



I've written before that this is a favorite technique for her kids too... And, I can tell you from experience, it works. And what a relief to yell less (no one's perfect), and have my boys do as I ask, and want to please me. Win/win.

The Garden Blooms and Bears Fruit

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

I feel almost simple-minded in the pleasure I take in my garden. I realize that I live in a particularly rich environment. Past floods have gifted this island with ground in which everything grows. A few major thunderstorms this spring have put water deep into the ground, and from it is bursting growth.



My strawberries are not only pushing higher into the air, they have many berries per plant. Ok, that doesn't meant a huge harvest, but daily foraging in our little patch is rewarded with a sweet and flavorful mouthful or 6. It's a battle to get there before the snails, but it seems that my trick of putting down some wood ash is working. There are fewer half-consumed strawberries than in other years, and the humidity level is as high as ever.



My cherry tree is now two years' old, and has two cherries. Yippee! It is most definitely alive and beginning to bear fruit. I can't complain.


The lemon verbena is pushing out new branches and leaves from what had looked like a bundle of dead sticks just two weeks ago.


And yes, my roses. Ah my roses. Is it my English roots? or simply the little girl who likes pretty things that goes gaga at their glory?

I rarely succumb to the urge to clip them and bring them in, but with friends for lunch, a mixed bouquet seemed perfectly within reason.

Asparagus: a meeting of two cultures at the table

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



It is asparagus season. Every market, every farm and nearly every table are at this moment laden in asparagus. White, green, fat and thin. Being that we've not many other choices of spring vegetables other than fresh peas, lettuce, sorrel, and? Asparagus is the handsome, delicious, seasonal choice.

When at the cooking school, this was the season for Asperges à la sauce Maltaise. Every class from early April through May cooks the following dish, a favorite of Erick's, and t.

The basic recipe is a home-made mayonnaise, stretched to make a sauce with fresh squeezed orange juice.

The proportions we worked with are:

one raw egg yolk
1/2 teaspoon smooth Dijon mustard
1 squirt of lemon juice
a pinch of salt
1/2 - 1 cup of buttery/fruity olive oil

once, the mayonnaise is made - 1/4 - 1/2 cup orange juice

With a smooth sided mortar, or a sturdy mixing bowl placed on a slightly dampened dish cloth, we would use a fork (yes, of course, whisks are fine, but... when you're visiting non-cooking friends, or out camping, do you always have a whisk on hand? why not work on acquiring a new skill?) to beat the drizzle of olive oil slowly and surely into the egg yolk/mustard, lemon juice mixture and salt. Gradually, we would build our mayonnaise. Contrary to thought, the more oil, the stiffer the mayonnaise.

Once the mayonnaise has a nice stiffness, add the fresh-squeezed orange juice. There again, play with the texture and flavor and add from 1/4 - 2/3 cup of juice as you prefer. We like it to be thicker than heavy cream, to nap the back of a spoon, rather akin to the texture of a crême anglaise. You can spice up the sauce with another squirt of lemon juice, or keep it pretty mellow with just the orange juice.

The name of the sauce comes from the variety of oranges that we can find on the market at the moment, the Maltese.

The asparagus to go with this sauce is prepared very simply -- either steamed till tender, or boiled in bunches till tender. I try not to go over 6 minutes, and blanch them quickly in ice water to stop the cooking and hopefully keep the lovely green color. In general, if you are served asparagus in Southern France, it will be very cooked. The locals eat it tender. They do not appreciate it crunchy.

However, that said, in my own home I'm bucking the trend a bit. I'm chopping up my lovely stalks -- after peeling the bottoms, and snapping off the woody bottoms-- and stir frying them with olive oil, minced garlic and squirts of lemon juice.

I toss them into a hot frying pan with oil, and give them a minute or two all over. Then I add a half cup of water and cover for a couple minutes so they cook and soften. Then I remove the lid and let the water steam off. I toss in the minced garlic, keep turning the asparagus, then a few squirts of lemon juice, some fleur de sel, and serve. My family rather likes this preparation as does the Japanese intern at the wintery. JP's mother, however, was quite dismayed to eat uncooked asparagus, and made this very vocally clear.

Ah well, you can't please everyone all the time.

French Women and 'Pouvoir' in its Many Senses

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

I spent yesterday at an all day seminar for women concerning their relationship to power. Remember, the French word "Pouvoir" is not just power in the sense of strength, but can also be defined as ability, and to be able.

I'm participating in a fully subsidized program for women to help get their lives together, their finances under control, find balance in their lives, put together their resumes, re-evaluate their abilities, find the right job, or put into motion the project that best fits them . . . and much more. It is fascinating. It is run (and the funding was put together) by a team of psychologists who work for a structure called the CIBC (Centre Interinstitutional de Bilan de Compétence), of which there are 100 or so in France. The CIBC is at the root of the "bilan de compétences" which is the program into which both the unemployed, never employed, employed and more can work closely with a professional to figure out what they know how to do, what they want to do, what they have the aptitude to do, etc.,. In general, the CIBC likes to work with people who have outside entities paying for them (your job, the various funds into which employees pay yearly, the unemployment office, etc.,). I stumbled upon their offerings when I attended a meeting with JP who'd done a full bilan de compétence there a few years back. After speaking with a couple of the women who work there, we decided that as I didn't have an institution to pay for a full bilan, that wouldn't be possible, but that they have two programs that are fully funded into which I would fit.

The first is a program for women. And the second is a program designed to accompany me in putting my business project together, finding the information, classes, seminars, advisors, legal structures, eventually funding. I'm still working with the business ideas I've had (and I've put into motion) over the past 10 years with Erick, but this would be, if you will, perhaps more firmly built, and structurally more coherent. And hey, I never refuse advice freely and intelligently offered.

So. Women and Pouvoir. A fascinating subject, no? We began the day discussing key dates in the history of women's rights in France.

The date whereby women were granted the right to vote in France: 1944

(By comparison: New Zealand 1893, Australia 1898/1901, Finland 1906, Norway & Denmark 1913, Russia, Canada, Germany and Poland 1918, Holland, 1919, USA 1869 [Wyoming Territory]-1920, Britain 1918) by the UN to all women 1948.

The date whereby women were granted the right by law to run a business in France by themselves (without the husband's permission): 1965 (If there is an equivalent in British or US law, I'd be curious to know when it is, I'm having a hard time on the internet googling this).

However, as an interesting tidbit, in 1902, an English woman, Rosa Lewis bought the Cavendish hotel in London and ran it herself.

The dates whereby women were granted the right to open their own bank accounts without their husband's permission: 1962

The date when the discussion of equal pay for equal work first was initiated: 1946
The French still do not have an equal pay act, though in the US we passed it in 1963, although few would dispute that it is not always observed.

The date when women were granted the right to take the baccalaureat exam: 1919
The date when women were granted the right to take the same baccalaureat exam as the men: 1924
The date when women were granted the right to take the exam without their husband's permission: 1938

And across the Channel:

At the beginning of the 20th century it was very difficult for women to obtain a university education. In 1870 Emily Davies and Barbara Bodichon helped to set up Girton College, the first university college for women, but it was not recognised by the university authorities. In 1880 Newnham College was established at Cambridge University. By 1910 there were just over a thousand women students at Oxford and Cambridge. However, they had to obtain permission to attend lectures and were not allowed to take degrees.

Without a university degree it was very difficult for women to enter the professions. After a long struggle the medical profession had allowed women to become doctors. Even so, by 1900 there were only 200 women doctors. It was not until 1910 that women were allowed to become accountants and bankers. However, there were still no women diplomats, barristers or judges.

(found on the web site: http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/Wuniversity.htm)

The date when women were permitted on the French stock market floor: 1967. However, they had been banished from it by royal decree since 1724. In the US, women were permitted from 1943 onwards, whereas for the English, this date came later, 1973.

Money = Power

You can imagine that these questions -- as we were asked to guess in each case -- provoked quite a bit of discussion amongst the 40 some odd participants. France is not Scandinavian. The senate is not half women and half men. Parity is an idea, but far from the reality. Salaries for the same position tend to be 20-25% less for a woman than for a man. Women are less likely to get funding for a business project, be it from a bank or from family, etc., We are a long way off.

But what is power to a woman? Power to change the status quo? Power to flaunt and shock? Power to earn and invest money? Political power to govern and affect the public sphere? Power over her own body (the right to abort is a big one, the right to have children how and when we choose to do so). So much is so recently gained. There is no question that women have power over the domestic sphere. And yet that is not considered "work" and the choice to stay at home to raise one's children can result in financial disaster and professional jeopardy. Certainly there is no country in this world that guarantees a woman a decent retirement fund for choosing to spend her strongest working years raising and educating her children. Society benefits when she does so, but it does not reward the woman.

Power is choice, and belief. Power is finding the perfect balance that works for each woman, and ideally, not being punished for your decisions. If you work full time, and love that, and do it well, power means finding people to help you keep the house in order, pick up your kids from school, get meals on the table, and as necessary, educate and raise those kids. If you stay at home and raise your kids yourself, power is having some level of external respect and recognition for your choice. Both should be possible.

I was reminded of a colleague of my mother's, a woman in her 70s who juggled raising her kids, mostly as a single mom, worked part-time, then full time, and finally, when the kids were grown, was able to truly concentrate on her career. She worked her way to the top of her profession, running foundations that focused on education grants for high school programs. A powerhouse in her field, she nonetheless came to it relatively late compared to my generation. But what I remember very clearly was her telling me that she knew how to read a woman's CV. She knew how to interpret the skills honed by a life juggling limited finances, carpooling, initiating group activities, running the PTA, organizing home-work groups, getting every member of the family to each of their multiple after school activities on time. Simply being organized and on the ball enough to keep a complicated household running efficiently. When you really look closely, why couldn't these women transfer these validated skills in budget management, scheduling, people management, time management and multi-tasking into running a corporation or a foundation, or a school or ???

I tried to convey this point of view to the women with whom I lunched yesterday. I think they were rather mystified by what I put in the air. And yes, I know I come across as a rather eccentric, enthusiastic and a bit naive American. And, I realize that they will rarely have in front of them women like Joan, who know how to read a woman's resume. And what a shame that is. Women need mentors to advance, and they seem (from my biased eyes) to be few and far between here. However, I correct myself, the team at CIBC are, and are quite marvelous: positive problem solvers, seeking to bring to the fore these women's skills and attributes as few others in their entourage know nor are willing to do. May they succeed.

Somehow nothing touches me more than wasted resources. And smart and capable women are only too often in this category.

One promising element: my young boys are mystified by stories about little girls whose fathers won't let them inherit a thrown, or who need to be saved by princes. If we could let their generation inherit the earth without the historical baggage we're bringing with us, would they see things differently? For them, at least now, of course girls are as smart, nearly as fast, as adept at climbing trees, bicycling, tossing a ball, what-have-you as boys are. But of course! How silly the past was, and how strange and unfamiliar. And no, I've not yet spoken to them about the Taliban, nor have we particularly discussed veiled muslim women. That will come.

Living Close to Avignon

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

My home, my much-loved and cozy place, is just 5 minutes from the walled city of Avignon. I live in the countryside of the island known as Ile de la Barthélasse. Busy here, and enjoying the calm, I confess that I don't go into town that often, but, there are definitely times when the urge hits for a lovely café in a café, a bit of people watching, or, to visit the chic boutiques for a bit of shopping.

Avignon is an easy town to navigate on foot, and, off season on bicycle. In warm weather, I do prefer to come by bike, but then I'm sure to take the smaller side roads, and to avoid the heavily trafficked pedestrian walks. Parking is a bit nightmarish if I choose to bring the car (when it's cold, raining or windy). I'll park right outside the Place de Crillon, or along the ramparts on the inside, or, if there's no other choice, on my side of the river and I'll just walk across the bridge to town.

When I bring friends to Avignon, we do a bit of a whirlwind tour. I will guide them to the Place de l'Horloge, the center of town where the town hall is, many a mediocre cafe, a decent and small cinema, and the perpetual merry-go-round. Then we wander past the street sellers of jewelry and very bright poppy and lavender laden paintings to the Palace of the Popes, and the huge square in front of it. If we are roaming during the month of July -- the month of the theatre festival--we will be accosted by actors in costume with flyers for their plays, or, we may stumble upon an outdoor presentation by a Japanese mime, or a theatre troup playing out scenes from Hôtel du Nord or another classic of the French cinéma répertoire.

If we've a couple of hours to spare, it is worth it to do the audio tour of the Pope's Palace. If you like history that is, and vast, enormous empty spaces. Can you fill your head with the hundreds of velvet clad bishops and church dignitaries, the many supplicants, the miles of tables, laden with food of the richest and most exotic? I love the descriptions in Terry Jones' The Lady and the Squire. Somehow, a former Monty Python just hits it right. The pope was here for nearly 100 years, running away from the Northern hordes who over-ran Rome, and briefly, being a bit more centralized to his vast domain. There is a wall of portraits of the popes, and the dates of their lives, and their reigns. I'm a bit surprised that in general, they were chosen old, and died relatively quickly. Those who lasted more than ten years in their seat were the rare exception.

Back out into the sunlight, out of the underground shop filled with cards, tapestries, local wines, pottery, etc., and around the curving stone path to the tiny square where the hotel/restaurant La Mirande is situated. Now, if a girl wants to feel chic, she goes here for afternoon tea with her girl friends. It's not cheap, but oh, the service is lovely and you do feel ever so elegant. It's rather Breakfast at Tiffany's for me. An exquisite hat and pumps would not be out of place. There is also a dark and brooding full bar where menfolk can smoke their cigars over a whiskey straight up. As you please.

If at the Mirande, don't hesitate to go down that tiny spiral staircase in the corner of the tea room. You'll be in the bowels of the building, but also, beside the fantastic cooking class room that they've installed, with the ancient wood burning stove, copper and pottery to die for, and a cozy and warm atmosphere. It's not too claustrophobic as there is a tiny garden beside that room, so windows let day light in and enliven the senses.

As I leave the hotel, I'll choose the street to the left of the Mirande (as you're looking at the Pope's palace), into a lovely square with cafés, restaurants, tiny shops, etc., There's a pleasant b&b down here as well. For me, it's now time to wander and discover. Eventually, I'll find my way over to Les Halles. Leo loves it here as there is a store called l'Oule (or something like that) that is very dungeons and dragonsish, with magic cards, pokemon cards, etc., This is his destination if and when I permit him to take his own bike (with a friend along) into town. I like the restaurant Françoise across from the Music Conservatory. Good soups, salads, chocolate brownie and tarts, coffee, tea (it's a tea salon), with a hot spot for my wifi. If guiding my friends further, I'll then drift down to the Rue des Teinturiers with its water wheels, theaters, tiny restaurants, and tempting Asian rug store.

As I've had to cope on my bureaucratic life here, I've become acquainted with the social security office, the health center, the family affairs' office, my lawyer's address, the Post Office, Leo's guitar teacher's string instrument repair shop, and more.

More fun is exploring the cinémas, the shops, the remarkably friendly cafés. I once forgot my computer in the café across from Monoprix on the main boulevard. I returned a couple of hours later, and the lady behind the bar was tending it safely for me. Ahhhh. I truly freaked out that I'd put my life in jeopardy. What would I do if I lost my Macbook? Too scary to contemplate.

As I return to a parked car, or bike back out of the city to my island, I'll window shop down the chic shopping street just beside the Place Crillon. Oh, here I get in trouble at shops like Cotelac or One Step. Funky, interesting, feminine, flowing clothes. Just the sort of thing to tempt me to pull out the plastic. But no, I'll wait for the sales in July. I'll be good, this time.

For wonderful photos of Avignon, please take a look at Nathalie's blog noted alongside, Avignon in Photos. She captures the quirks, the beauty, the light, the strange moments, in a marvelous way. My own shots don't compare. Speaking of Nathalie, she's recommended some restaurants for me to try... La Brocantine looks just lovely, tucked away down a teeny side street by the Place de Crillon. It's only open for lunch, with an ever changing menu. I can't wait!

A day in Uzès

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



Rick Steve's writing partner Steve Smith contacted me the other day to help them with the Provence updates for the guide book. And, having worked with them before, and liking them both, I said an enthusiastic YES! He wanted me to take a look at the pages on Avignon, Arles, the Camargue, St. Rémy de Provence, Nîmes and Uzès, as well as Shopping, Children, and Wine tasting. As I live here and I've kids and I've received Rick Steve's clients for years in the b&b, they know that I've a good idea as to what would please these folks, and yes, I've gotten to know this region called Provence (or Southern France) pretty darn well after 15 years of touring around and simply being curious and interested.



So, I set up a few days' of visits and wandering into my schedule. Uzès is a city I've recommended many times, heard good things about, but truly had never been to until spring last year when JP took me there. His cousins live right beside it, so, when the request came my way, I got on the horn and said, Astrid, would you be free to do a day of touring about the region and Uzès with me? help me find some good restaurants, see what's fun for kids, etc.,? She was willing and planned a wonderful day, excepting only b&bs and hotels. Something that locals rarely know much about. So, that will be for another day.


A creative designed planter in Astrid's airy and light kitchen.

Astrid proposed Tuesday last week. A day when Leo was at handball practice all day long, and Jonas with me. Jonas, with crayons, snacks and promises of cookies and cakes, is easy to travel with, so, off we went. She had prepared a super day. Truly, a great friend to have. We headed to the Toy Museum first where we were sadly disappointed, as the super display of kid-sized trains that went through a three dimensional map of Languedoc was no longer. The museum had been burglerized and all these glorious trains were gone. And so was the chance for children to view their region from above. Apparently it had been marvelous, taking the kids from the Pont du Gard, through the cities, the Gorges, the Cévennes hills, to the sea, the salt marshes, Aigues Mortes, the fountain garden in Nîmes... Ah well.



We skipped the Musée de Bonbon -- an effort by Haribo (think gummy bears) to tempt kids into their world (it works). Jonas had already been there with his brother for an earlier birthday with their dad, but it's good to know it is there, right on the road from Remoulins as you enter Uzès.

We visited the Hara center -- a research and traditional stables that has as its aim to maintain the bloodlines of as many of the horses of the world as possible. There is even the room where stallions are tricked into giving up their sperm. Many events happen throughout the year here, and for horse lovers, it is a must-see.

And back to the little city itself of Uzès. There are little to no major monuments to see here. That's not why you come to Uzès, but it is truly a lovely town, beautifully renovated, with boutiques, restaurants, good wine bars, marvelous markets on Wednesday and Saturday (the same days as Arles, hence a reason I'd never been here). Had I felt a bit more flush, my credit cards could have gotten a nice workout in the boutiques.... yes, nice flowing, pretty, feminine clothes, just my style. Of course an elegant lingerie boutique, a super toy store, and even a bistro burger -- good charolais beef burgers (for 10E) or vegetarian options. Not bad at all, though for the record, they weren't making the smoothies advertised on their menu, and the fryer was broken, so no French fries, nor fried cheddar sticks for Jonas. Ah well, the waiters were super nice.



The square has a lovely fountain in the center, where kids of all ages congregate, and stray dogs and cats come by to affectionately beg a bit of their lunches. As you walk about the town -- it is quite small -- there are walls to look over, and a wonderful ancient terrace that is in the happy hands of a stylish Italian pizzeria. There are arcades, lovely vaulted ceilings, attractive stone work, and pleasant, often bi-lingual shop-keepers. It's a city for sitting in cafes, shopping, feeling medievally French, finding lovely plays of light to photograph, admiring stonework. Just come with an open mind and feeling relaxed. A good book in hand would be perfect, or the desire to taste local wines at a funky wine bar. Perhaps the Bar à Vins Du Chai d'Uzès owned by Thierry Ploy.



After lunch, we headed back out to the countryside along some lovely tree covered roads, under aqueducts, and to a spot where we could join a GR (Grande Randonée -- the nationally identified hiking routes) out to the cliffs overlooking the Gardon River. Jonas had a bit of difficulty on the walk -- 1km5 or thereabouts, but not steep. He managed to get out there, but was very happy that I was willing (thank you yoga) to carry him on my back on part of the route back to the car.

Once there, we looked down to the lovely river, and I looked longingly at the hiking paths leading either in the direction of Collias -- a tiny village where many kayaking companies have set up their businesses -- or to Uzès. Astrid had done the path to Collias with her husband on bicycle. They took their time, stopping to explore wind mills, Roman ruins, and more along the way. For me, the Gardon river is the best place to swim in the South. I love the sea, but if you can't shower off when you get out, you go home covered in the dried white salt on your skin. Whereas the Gardon is fresh and clear. Chilly yes, it is a flowing river, but so refreshing. Erick took me to Collias early in our marriage, and when Leo was little we would sit along its banks with a picnic. I was the only one of the three of us who would get in. But I loved it.



For many of my teen groups, we've done the kayak trip from Collias to the Pont du Gard. I adore the look in their eyes as they paddle under one of the most glorious wonders of the world! It is pretty amazing to have that aqueduct up there over your head, huge, solid, still standing after 2000 years.



So, yes, I've some good addresses in the region now. I can't wait to try out the restaurant le Tracteur in Sanilhac, between Collias and Uzès, and to go back for that hike. I also want to spend a market day there in the future... but when I've a bit more cash in my pocket to spend. I'm sure that classy as that town is, the various options, be they pottery or clothing, flea market finds, or other, will be a bit pricey and very tempting.



The classic route from the b&b in Arles is to leave in the morning and visit Aigues-Mortes (the crusaders' city of St. Louis, the 12th century king who briefly was wed to Eleanor of Aquitaine). Then to the Pont du Gard (perhaps taking a dip in the river), then to Uzès for lunch and a wander. Returning by Nîmes for a bit of Roman history (the maison carrée, the Roman fountains in the gardens, and more) perhaps dining here in one of its many restaurants alongside the locals. Then, back to Arles in the late evening. It's a full day, but quite doable. The other option is to spend a night in one of the many b&bs in the Duchy d'Uzès (yes, it was the city of a duke) and thus move more slowly through these wonderful cities. This route is as easily done from Avignon, but in this case, you'd probably skip Aigues Mortes.

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..."

Rediscovering Motherhood by Necessity

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

Sometimes I feel I must be "waxing poetic" a bit heavily on the pleasures (and trials) of being a mother. I have an excuse -- if I need one -- and that is though I had my children by desire, I was, however, in the midst of working very long hours and endless days on a business I loved and gave everything to. My kids came, I was able to nurse them for a good long while, for which I'm grateful, but I wasn't there to raise them, no matter that it was a home-based business. Or so it seems in retrospect and so quite a few of my au pairs would independently confirm I'm sure.

While we ran the businesses (b&b and cooking school), I worked from 7AM to 11PM more often than not. First the breakfast shift, then dishes, then laundry (never-ending laundry... sing it to the theme song of the Never-Ending Story), then emails, then more laundry, then shopping/prepping for a cooking class, then a brief break, then cooking class, feast, dishes, and bed. On other days I was up at 7, making a quiche, preparing a picnic, coming out to be sociable at breakfast, then out the door at 9, driving from 30 minutes to an hour to our destination, visiting/hiking/wine tasting (things I very much adored), lunch, then back to the b&b. While the clients rested I was on email, paper work, then the kids would walk in the door, and I'd cross them as I went down to the cooking class, dinner, dishes, bed.



Where did the kids fit into all this? In fits and spurts. From November till March we were more available, but from Easter through October, mostly not. The result -- which rather hit me in the face a couple of years back -- was children who had minimal to no table manners, chaotic schedules, too little sleep, anxious behavior in school, and the beginnings of the syndrome "tuning out all around me."

Hard to limit TV time when you're not there to turn off the tube and propose a game of Monopoly. Hard to insist on reading if you're not there to encourage the early efforts. Hard to insist on green vegetables when you're not at the table. Hard to teach them what it is to converse, be considerate, wait to speak, say please and thank you... if you're not there. Social skills come from being socialized. Civility comes from being a part of civilization. School and au pairs can't do it for you.

So, as I saw myself unhappy in my marriage, I also saw the beginnings of a nightmare with my two children. This is not what I wanted in my life, nor intended. I did not put these two beings on this earth to badly raise them. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Subtlety was never my strong point.

When I first moved to Avignon -- in the winter of 2006 -- it was the first time the boys and I were alone together. No father, and no au pair. Being "off-season" I had four months to instill a schedule, expectations, rhythms. These were regularly put into jeopardy by our weekends back in Arles. But nonetheless I persevered. However I had need of au pairs still. Though not at the b&b on weekdays, I still held to my position as the person who did all the day trips, and orchestrated the adventures of our culinary travels. As such, my au pair handled the home base, school trips, etc., and I headed south to Arles and my clients from April through the fall. And, as might be expected, the kids regressed to spoiled brats (sweet spoiled brats, but, spoiled nonetheless).

No matter that I would want the au pairs to help the kids clean their rooms by themselves, or to eat vegetables or whatever, that is a lot to ask. When faced with stubborn and lazy children, how many young women have the fortitude to insist? So, they cleaned for, not with, did for, etc., Be it dishes, laundry, cleaning their room, putting away their clothes, it was easier to do it themselves then to fight stubborn little boys.

When present I would lay down the law. When with my mother, she would help me. But again, can you raise kids in fits and starts?

Since last year, I've worked far less, and completely passed the b&b to Erick (until it sells). I still love doing the day trips, visiting the food artisans, tasting wine, hiking in the wonderful countryside of Provence. I very much want to continue my business, but, on a much smaller scale. I'd rather cut back my financial needs, work when my kids are in school, and be there for them when they are home.

For the first year in many, I've no au pair. No au pair, and three extra bodies to feed and care for! It's a handful--an exchange of sorts. But, the teen boarders are equals to my kids. Together we've put together weekly schedules of household tasks. My kids no longer mistakenly think they are princes to be waited on hand and foot. They understand that we are a household where everyone pitches in.

And, if I weren't seeing impressive results in their behavior, their gratitude, their willingness to help, their socialization in public, their eating habits... I perhaps wouldn't be as militant in my unwillingness to leave their education to chance again.

Hence yes, I do wax rhapsodic on the wonderful moments. I try not to think of the many special times I no doubt missed out on. Life is lived in waves and stages. It took a while for me to fully acknowledge and accept my state of motherhood. The career-woman in me had a hard time contemplating putting work on the back burner. But now that I have... it is my obligation to raise these boys to be civil, considerate, healthy and happy adults. It's visceral, if not all-consuming.

I don't see myself as truly off the treadmill, just re-adjusting my priorities (and thus my income) till a certain task is finished. Hopefully, doing lots of yoga, staying fit and able, working more at 50 won't be too difficult.