At last we have sun, for how long I don't know, but what a relief to look out of the window and not see sheets of rain. Everyone is fed up with the wet, roses are rotting on the branches, potatoes have got blight which happens in very wet weather apparently, but the maize crops keep growing.
We have a field of maize next to us, and groan when we see what the farmer is planting. Last year it was corn, lovely golden field. More often it is maize, used as animal feed, which grows up to 7 feet or more , and completely obliterates any view. When it's harvested the field is left with ugly stalks and old maize cobs.
Brittany's agriculture is very practical. We have potatoes, beans, artichokes and cauliflower, but nothing beautiful! Whe we were in the Gironde I used to gaze for hours at strawberry fields, lettuces marching in frilly green rows, apple orchards, and best of all the enormous peaches weighing down branches. That region is famous for its Marmande tomatoes, which are huge. We are growing some now in the greenhouse, but they wont have that same sunkissed taste.
Back to Cornwall next week. Wonder what's growing there?

I can't get in to the Comments bit, I can't add a photo either. Bother. I dont know if it's my computer or the site, but it doesnt want to work for me.
I'm getting ready for a trip to England at the weekend. We are off to help a dear friend celebrate her 80th birthday. I cannot believe that she is 80.
Dear Ruthie came into our lives 20 odd years ago, when I was teaching full time and needed some help in the house. She arrived, full of joie de vivre, organised me and mine, took over everything, and was that amazing person...a treasure. Nothing was too much trouble. Every week she would come with another little offering, a new cake she had tried out, a little trifle (for your mum, dear, I know she loves it), it was as though she needed to be needed, and how she was needed!
She had an incredible history, had deen the 5th child of a butcher, and every night when she got home from school she was told..get in the shop and help your dad. She left school at the earliest, and went into a training scheme in a Children's home, from there going into what she called 'Nurse aiding'. Married, she had two children , fostered another two, and adopted a girl whose mother had died. Later she and her equally lovely husband went into service and the stories she could tell about working for the 'gentry' are hilarious.
They couldnt just retire, but both worked, Ruthie cleaning and her husband doing odd household and gardening jobs. If ever a lady deserved an award it is Ruthie, and we have been so privileged to know her.

Midsummer night

The 23rd june was our local celebration of Midsummer/ St Jean (St john the Baptist). Why a bonfire is lit on this night I'm not sure, no one has ever been able to explain it to me. But that's what we , in our little corner of the village, do. We are almost a village separate from the main part, as this was the original first part of the village, and although small, had a chapel, a manoir, a stone oven and a lavoir, where the village ladies washed the clothes.
So every year, Henri gets the tables out, puts them at the end of the lane, and the cheapest of sparkling wine is opened as an aperitif. Jo- jo brings his barbecue, half an oil drum, and hitches up his sound system to the nearest telegraph pole. the bonfire is laid but not lit till later. This is now the time for all our locals, numbering around 20, to sit and natter, to catch up with the news, to murmur a bit of gossip, and generally to pass the time of the evening.
Sausages, the dreaded Merguez, very spicy, are brought out and put on the BBQ, baguettes are sliced, and , voila, the repas is ready. We lose sight of the bottles of red lined up by the dozen on the table. Liliane arrives with the sweet child she fosters, who although unable to talk rushes around greeting everyone with abandon, hushed now and then by her foster mum. Neighbours drift out, extra ones appear from 'up the village', welcomed , but only because they are related to someone. Now and then Jean or Raymond goes and puts another twig on the bonfire, and at last the call goes up...We're lighting the fire!'
Which because of the rain rain rain, actually doesnt light at all to begin with, until applications of something flammable have been poured on. then we have blaze.
Sausages over, we turn to my contribution, 2 massive chocolate sponge cakes. This is a tradition, which is surprising when you consider what wonderful patisseries are turned out here. But they do love their English chocolate cake and it wouldnt, I am told, be right without it! Munching slices we all crowd round the fire, until Jo gets the music going and then it's time to see the Breton dances come into play. Two by two they jog around, gradually forming circles. We've got good at this over the years, but the Bretons learn their local dances from day one, and love to dance.
All over by 11pm ish, just the bottles left in a heap to be cleared the next morning.

Not 50 things...

I was thinking about Mousie's idea of writing down the 50 things you had done/wished to do. And realised I couldnt write them. Mainly because there are certain things that I know I will never do now (ride on Orient express, write book, etc). Is it the sudden realisation that as you get older, you also dont have that energy level? That illnesses and poor eyesight catch up with you? Is it that pensions dont actually keep up with cost of travel/designer clothes/lots of new books...!

And when you know that certain things just arent realistically going to happen you tend to feel sad, slightly disappointed in yourself for not making them happen, and a huge wish that you could just DO it, and blow the consequences.

But I can write some things that make me happy........

Walking through my path of lavender bushes and 'feeling' the smell as I brush against the plants.
A new rose just unfurling its petals.
A letter from one of my grandchildren.
The smell of a super meal cooking, and being able to offer hospitality to our close friends.
Going back to UK and shopping in M/S.
The feel of a new book just before I dive into its pages.
Letters/emails/phonecalls from my dearest friends, not just in England but all over the world.
The smile from my husband .

There, those didnt cost much!
And there are so many things we have done in our life together, which have surpassed my expectations. We have travelled many times to my daughter in Canada, been to Australia twice, seen ballet and opera in Sydney opera house, hotelled in Hawaii, Dubai, Penang, Bangkok. We have walked on foreign beaches, danced on the sand to a quartet playing romantic music to the tourists, wandered in the Yorkshire Dales, hosted an incredible party in France for my husband's 70th, to which all the family came ...I could go on and on.

So, even tho I'm not going to write the things I still would love to do, they remain in my dreams.

Champagne

Yes, I do love a glass of champagne. I cant always have one, as there is a limit as to how many bottles one buys. But a glass of sparkling wine goes down well on a warm evening, sometimes with a touch of cassis to make a Kir.
We went on year to the Champagne region of France, visited Rheims, toured the cellars of Piper Hiedseck on a little train. When I say cellars I mean miles and miles of underground tunnels cut into the cool rock. I have never seen so many bottles, stacked in dusty racks some dating back many many years. I think we were told that there were quarter of a million bottles there. there was of course a 'tasting' at the end of the tour.
In Epernay, which is the centre of the champagne making region we sat at a little pavement cafe, and drank a bubbling glass of champagne, sunshine, little plate of nibbles...mmmm! There are so many small producers that have tucked away vineyards. I want to go back and investigate them.

WE have electrics...well half

Well, Florian didnt, but Jeune did, and he is equally as good. the only problem is that he does love to air his 'English', so we have those weird conversations with me speaking French (faultless of course....) and he replying in strangulated version of our mother tongue. Not sure who understands whom.
Rain again today, gloomy skies, no sign of the sun. It would be a good day to don waterproofs and walk on a beach somewhere. Maybe we'll do that.

Waiting......

Once again we are waiting. It's what we do well here, waiting for French tradesmen...excuse me, 'artisans'. Today it should be Florian the electrician, whom I e mailed back in March, just to come and put a few things right, and to start work on the new room that will be a study. Reply to the e mail was yes of course he would ring to make a rendez vous. Nothing. The builder cant continue till the wires are in place. All is at standstill.

3 emails, and 2 cross and crosser phone calls later, and he has promised to come at 9am without fail, today. Well. it's 9.05 and I can feel the fury rising! I did suggest that if he didnt want the new work he should let me know and I would find someone else. The words needle in haystack come to mind, electricians are like hens teeth here, and they've always got at least 6 months work ahead.

So, we wait.

well, you asked...

I was asked what a churchwarden does. It may well be slightly different in France as we come under the Diocese of Europe.

We are fortunate to be allowed by the Catholic Bishops to hold Anglican services in France often in a Catholic church, and just about every region has a chaplaincy, staffed by a vicar, often a retired person. To support him/her, we have 2 Churchwardens, known as Bedeaux in France, maybe from the Old English Bedesman? Our duties are the basic ones of preparing the church, the altar table, making sure there is someone to serve the chalice at Communion, visiting with said Vicar, and even making sure that the service is run in an orderly fashion!

We, in this chaplaincy, are encouraged to take part in services, and lead worship,(terrifying the first time, and silly mistakes easy to make, hence the nervous giggles) usually with a vicar present. We have to be prepared to take a whole service in their absence, to take Council meetings, to visit the other 'sister' churches in the region.

Which is what I did yesterday, driving one of our retired priests to do a House Communion to a very ill person, and then on to a small church where a service was held for the 10 people who came.
It is often a life line for English people abroad, some of whom havent made contact with other English, some in hospital for the first time, and some just missing their home Church.

5 boring things about me

Well I just cant see more than 5 things that are even remotely interesting.

I am a major hoarder, and have 'memory' things going back to my great grandmother. Who is going to be interested in these objects when I am no longer here?

I am a churchwarden in the Anglican church (diocese) in France, very new, and slightly apt to giggle in the wrong place.

I have a passion for my garden, and want it to look like a Victorian chocolate box painting.

I dread flying, but do it, so as to visit my children who live in Canada and Australia. I can speak Canadian, and Australian quite well.

I have a Thai daughter in law who is the gentlest, most delightful girl. The Thai belief is that a mother in law must be revered in the same way as a mother, so I am spoilt!

I love cats, and my last tabby lived for 18 years. She was ever so slightly human.

Oh what else? I could yammer on about my old career as a head of dept for children with Special needs, maybe my heavenly second marriage of 28 years, my patchwork/cross stitch, my longing to return to england before I'm too old........... and so on. But enough is enough.

A bit sad

Tonight I'm feeling just a bit sad. We finally decided that the 5 or 6 boxes that have accompanied our last 2 moves had to be investigated, gone through, things thrown out etc. Be ruthless was the idea.

But, oh, what do you do when you're confronted by the little wooden doll's bed, played with so lovingly 60 odd years ago? the photos of childhood, teenager- BIG skirts underpinned with at least 3 net petticoats, growing up...then the baby photos of my children.Dozens of them.......photos, not children.

What about the collection of paintings, many of which my talented mother did, paintings of her grandchildren? The school reports, the little stamp collections, even...can you bear it, scribbly letters to Father Christmas.

Yes, I've been a hoarder. And too horribly quickly a time creeps up when you start to say, 'Who is going to want all of this?' Is this the time to minimalise? With one daughter living in Canada, one son in Australia, it is impossible just to send things off to them.

I think the hardest thing to find was a studio photo of me, taken on my 40th birthday. Can I scan it, I wonder, and let you see? How the years have passed. Downhill now.

What to do today?

Just occasionally there are days when there is nothing obvious waiting. I've done the ironing for the week...and it took me an hour, my fault as I'd left it to mount up. We had friends for lunch yesterday, so I dont have to think today. I've done any shopping that was necessary. I've looked at the lesson I have to read in church on Sunday. I've read the blogs. I'm not teaching today, hurray. I weeded the garden this week,not that it makes any difference as new weeds immediately leap from the ground shouting 'Watch me!'

I feel a bit like Pooh and Piglet, humming cos I cant think straight, tumpty tum....
Maybe.......just maybe, I'll go to the garden centre.

I was thinking today how like a school class we are, as a group. Maybe I'm wrong, but I can see so many likenesses. We have the gels who will always be at the front, extrovert, charming, likeable and with interesting stories to tell. (No, not teacher's pets, just more able to reveal themselves and tell it like it is.)

Then there are the more timid ones, who will partially describe themselves, maybe allow a little of their stories to be told, sort of in the middle of the class., never making waves, but usually with interesting hobbies and families.

Then last, there are those who will always be the 'quiet ones', the ones who will write about anything but themselves, no photos, no details, just nice easy blogs. Introverts? no, not really, maybe more afraid to show who one really is, might not measure up to all those clever ones?

I know there are no first prizes in this class, but as people we are always going to fall into one 'category' or another, and the hope is that others see beneath the shynesses to the real person.
Wonderfully, there are no bullies in this school, rather some very caring gels who are interested in others.

Rose garden revisited

Today we went to the rose garden which was so lovely last year. This year, thanks to extra sunshine, the roses were further forward, and all were in full flower. It's a garden that looks as though it just grows itself, but in fact, hours of work must be spent keeping the grassy paths cut, trimming, propping up elegant ramblers, and just making it perfect. In a way it's a bit like The Secret Garden, it's so 'unformed' but yet not wild. You dont know quite what is going to be round the next corner. the beds are full of perennials growing side by side with the old roses, and drifts of Wild Chervil make it look lace covered. Everywhere there are sweet smells...just lovely.
Sadly the advertised musicians didnt turn up, nobody knows why. They are from a local Music school and had a Fete to go to in the evening, but had promised to be in the gardens by 3pm. It must have been disappointing for the owners, who nevertheless produced what they called 'a tea aperitif' for us. They offered soft drinks, including eau de rose, pale pink, slightly sweet, and with added rose petals, had to taste it, and found it very good!
We bought a rose, Ghislaine de Feligonde, who is a beautiful deep pinky cream to begin with, then turns paler as she opens. I'm looking forward to finding a place for her in my garden.

1st June

Ist June signals the weekend when many of our gardens are open in France. Some of them are big municipal gardens and some are small private ones, just open for this weekend only.
Last year we went, and will go again, to a Rose garden....you know my passion for roses......which uncommonly for France, was a wilderness garden with everything growing as it wished. It was beautiful, and we wandered through the grassy paths lined with roses, the scents drifting through the afternoon sun. The garden lead down to a river, which was very picturesque, and under a large umbrella the hosts had thoughtfully left flasks of hot water, tea and cups!

The surprise of the afternoon was a small quartet of young musicians, who gathered under a tree in the garden and played for half an hour or so. Finally we were invited to take a small repas, laid out for us in the garden, and accompanied by a glass of wine.
I think we paid 2 euros for all these delights, not that it would have mattered had it been more. It was a lovely way of spending an afternoon, and we shall go back there tomorrow.