CAN'T GO HOME AGAIN
Some of my favorite memories are from France. The twelve years we lived mostly there have been glorious. It is hard to find any single thing to account for this -- there are many.
The friends we had made, in our little village and in surrounding communities. The many evenings around a crackling fireplace, after a great dinner, relaxing with good wine and conversation. The Sunday farmers' market tempting with a myriad delicacies and having an espresso or a beer with friends afterwards. The walks around the vineyards or our hill in the afternoon. The beeches, watching windsurfers, frolicking dogs, nude sunbathers, or just the surf itself. Our 300-year old house (after we had finished all the work o n it) its three- foot thick walls, the view from the terrace, the swimming pool in the summer, the flowers in the garden. And, of course, the food. So I have really been looking forward to this visit a year after having packed up and left Sinsans. The chance to spend six weeks back in the neighborhood, taking care of a big, gorgeous house, while our friends would be vacationing in Palm Springs, seemed like a gift from heaven. To go on walks with their terrific dogs in the brilliant Provence sunshine. To revisit our friends. To cook and eat, and bliss in general. Alas, memories, fond or otherwise, play tricks. The weather in March shows little sun. It has been raining most days. The house, while big and attractive, is hardly heated by a few inefficient electric fixtures, and is a bit chilly even for me. |
And the dogs. They were a special attraction, expected to recreate our earlier life with a pair of Labradors. We knew these dogs. Belle, the black mutt we had almost adopted years ago, and who absolutely loved me. And Lolly, the Belgian Shepard, old, wise, and steady. Well, Belle is loving, cute, and independent. When she picks up a scent on a walk, she is off like lightning, and goes totally deaf when I call her. She digs after gophers, muskrats, who knows what, and goes into the stream swimming. She either comes home soaking wet and muddy, or does not come at all. She can stray around for hours and comes back only when good and ready. We have to go out to the gate again and again to see if she has graced us with her return. Last night, after walking and feeding the dogs, we were ready to go for dinner to friends, but Belle was not back. She had been gone two hours. When she finally returned, a Good Samaritan neighbor rang the door bell seeing her sit out front. We were an hour late for dinner... Good thing this is France -- it was not a problem.
Lolly is much better behaved. She stays with us on walks. But some other dogs tend to rub her the wrong way so she has to be put on leash when there is another canine in sight. Problems arise only when she can spot one before we do. Then there is a barking and snarling show from which she has to be dragged away by force. And she gets scared to death of any noise in the night. She kept us awake half the night twice so far while it rained a little. She hyperventilates and paces around the bed whining for hours on end. So the dogs have turned out to be a little less enchanting than expected... |
We also have a cat, Dinky. She is gorgeous, should be a feline supermodel. She has luxurious, ample fluffy and silky fur, and vaguely Siamese markings. Her eyes are huge and dark blue. She is very loving, enjoys being rubbed and massaged for any amount of time. But she too presents minor issues. Our instructions are to keep her three bowls filled at all times: one with ordinary kibble, one with expensive, special kibble, and one with a small can of cat food labelled "Solid Gold Gourmet". Problem is that she ignores all of this. She sniffs them all, then turns her nose up. Once in a while she will eat a few slivers of the special kibble. The only thing she willingly eats are shrimp, but only if completely shelled...
The birds are the least trouble. Some seeds every day, and water. Of curse, no tap water. We are to use only Evian, the choicest brand of bottled water. I suppose Channing House has a little to do with these slight disappointments. Living there for a year now, essentially like living on a cruise ship, with nearly everything provided without us lifting a finger, tends to spoil a mortal. So, less cooking than expected. |
And then there are the little annoyances one easily forgets. The really stupid design of French door handles, too close to the door jamb, so you easily crush your hand when closing the door. Or that the kitchen sink has a flat bottom which does not slope toward the drain, so water and debris do not go down. Or the mopeds ridden by kids of all ages, limited to a slow speed, but making up for the lack of power by hundreds of decibels. Or that all four wheels of the supermarket carts have pivoting wheels so it is impossible to steer them properly. When you try to turn one, especially when loaded, they just rotate and continue rolling sideways in the original direction while you run around them to get some leverage...
Not that we are miserable. Only dreams tend not to come through in all their glory. After this adventure it will also be good to be back home again. I wonder what disappointments await us there... |