If you only had one… What would you do… With that day?

0910d(Cute (Little gazebo in the walled garden in Marley Park)

I have lots of old magazines. I brought three with me to France to use in my collages and montages. I didn’t really think three would be enough, which reminds me of the glue and how enough that was… Anyway, it turned out three was more than enough and I’ve decided not to break into my big magazine stash until I really, really need to. Maybe keep them for my course (details here!)

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(… and nice door…)

So yesterday I was paging through one of the three – an Image magazine from 2010 – and I was selecting colours and pictures and I stopped at a page with a photograph of the fashion designer Paul Costelloe. He was smiling, surrounded by lovely models. The headline of the page said “if I only had one day…” and the text was full of the things Paul Costelloe would do on his perfect day. You’re probably way ahead of me in terms of what he wanted… It was simple things, like cycling in his scruffy jeans and eating fluffy potatoes!

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(… and strange carving….)

Something made me stop on this page. When that happens usually I start thinking about it but my time spent in France putting my attention on big picture thinking (creativity) has had an effect. So, I got out my tools and started to play with the page. I tore it out and roughed it up a bit with paint, ink and sandpaper. Only then did I notice his hands… In the picture he’s clapping, as they do at the end of the runway when all the models have modelled a new collection and everyone is clapping the designer and the designer is clapping too. So his hands were up and I could see the palm of one hand. There was a long jagged cut running down his thumb to his palm which was covered in plasters. He must have hurt his hand.

Medlars

(…and a Medlar tree  – thanks to the Happy Pear for the name)

It turns out I had some preconceived notions about this man and they fell away as I looked at his hand…The story I was believing was about a famous man with loads of money, who could do anything he wanted and he had it easier than me… And now? Now I was making up a new story about him… about a man who worked hard, his job caused him some pain, in fact it might not be easy, it’s possible he found it hard to drop everything and do some things I take for granted. Sure, he still had money but now I was wondering what my perfect day might hold, because simple things like scruffy jeans and fluffy potatoes are well within my price range.

So… what would you do with your perfect day? Mairead.

Where do all the clothes come from?

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(We had no idea there was a lovely walled garden in Marley Park, about 30 minutes from home)

Right so we’re back where we started, everything’s the same but nothing’s the same. And my most pressing question is… where did all the clothes come from? I spent the weekend washing and drying the clothes we brought to France. Lots of clothes. Plenty for a month of warm, little chilly, warm again (in other words, mixed) weather. But as these clothes were washing and drying there was still a wardrobe full of other clothes that we had not taken to France. Somehow we had survived without them. Somehow we didn’t need them. Then what are they for? Why are they lurking in our cupboards? If I packed them up and put them in the attic for a few months would we even notice? Probably not.

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(…with a fountain)

But I’m not going to do that. I already have a ton of other distractions to fill my time, de-cluttering will have to wait until my schedule allows…. ah and therein lies a problem. I need a schedule…. a schedule that allows for stuff that can’t be ignored and yet gives the important stuff (creating stuff) high priority. A schedule that notices when I am tired and insists on rest. That notices when I am spending too much time wandering around having great ideas and not enough time implementing the previous great ideas and insists (gently) on focus. Complaining bit in next paragraph, skip if you’re having a nice day and/o you have real problems and don’t need to hear my “problems”….

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(… and hens! And a cockerel…)

It was so easy when I was away….

  • Grocery shopping only once a week.
  • Lovely coffee and croissants.
  • Waking in the countryside.
  • Nowhere I needed to be.
  • Able to ignore notices from Revenue.
  • In fact able to ignore all the post – what post?

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(… and pigeon houses…)

Ok I’m back… I need a schedule… hang on I just realised something. I can have all (almost) of those things I’m lamenting. Right? Ok you’ll have to read the previous paragraph after all… First, I can go grocery shopping once a week – we’ll call that Eat the Fridge. Second, the coffee won’t be a problem until we run out of the supplies we brought back (probably a month)  – we’ll call this Cold Brew at Home. Third, walking – just walk – we’ll call this Just Walking. Fourth, where do I need to be? Probably not as many places as I think…. We’ll call this Staying Home. I could so ignore Revenue but we’d probably have to call it Paying the fine. So instead I could open the post once a week? We’ll call this Friday feels like the best day for post. Sorted – no problems.

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(… and flowers)

I feel better now, oh hang on what about all the clothes? Mairead.

Last one in France, sniff, sniff…

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(Blue door)

This is probably the last blog post from France (this year, probably…) I got the idea to include photographs of some of the walls and doors I had taken. Don’t know why but I was reading a book about the differences between the right and left hemispheres in the brain and it seems I don’t need to know.

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(Stone city wall)

Well, the book’s not mine and I have to leave it here today, so I had a quick read of the introduction, the end of part 1 and the conclusion. Oh and I looked at the pictures. The book is called The Master and his Emissary by Iain McGilchrist.

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(Stone wall with hook)

I might be wrong but.. I think he was saying that the right hemisphere understands stuff while the left hemisphere feels the need to explain that stuff. (Note to self: Maybe you should read the whole book before you share your thoughts?)

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(Stone wall of church)

So, I have jumped to the conclusion myself. That the doors and walls of France will somehow explain how things are with me today… provided you access your right hemisphere. Ok? Do let me know what you come up with.

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(no. 19 wooden door)

We’ll be on our way to the port when you read this, looking forward to a lovely calm crossing. Hopefully yours, Mairead.

My bottle of Glue…

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(There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light get’s in – Leonard Cohen.)

I bought a bottle of glue before we left Ireland. It’s almost empty. It has been the best glue I have ever used. Not that it’s much different from any other glue I’ve used but it’s been here with me through every creative effort, every insight every page of my journals. In a way you could say it’s really stuck by me – too obvious? Even so, it has. That glue kept me focussed on the thing I wanted to be doing.

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(Green, white and gold – must be time to head home)

But back in week two when it was half-full (or half-empty…) I wondered how I would get some more here in France. I hadn’t seen an art and craft supply shop in the local town or even in the bigger towns we had visited. How would I manage without glue? And not just any glue, this particular magic kind of glue.

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(All that’s left of my glue)

That worrying thought spent a lot of time wandering in and out of my thinking, distracting my focus, interrupting my intention. Should I cut down on my consumption? Should I order some from the internet? Should I ask one of my friends to post me a bottle of glue? I had heard there was a craft supply shop more than two hours drive away, should I go there?

0110d

(Free wind and heat to dry the sheets)

Fortunately, I got bored with the discussion (I was having with my thinking) and completely forgot about how little glue I had left and went back to focussing on what I wanted to be doing. And the glue rewarded my efforts and is still here with me in this last week (second last day…) It won’t be enough for next week but by then I will be able to get some more.

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(Enough flowers for the bees)

And that got me thinking… What if there’s always enough. Enough glue, enough time, enough money, enough energy to do what needs to be done. No more that just enough. But also no less.

Could it be true? And what difference would it make if we believed it was true? Mairead.

The Green Venice

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(The embarcadère in Coulon)

When we picked this area in France for our September Retreat, I had noticed something on the map – the Marais Poitevin and in particular The Venise Vert  (the Green Venice.) You might remember how much I loved the real Venice, so I thought I might also love this French and green version.

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(Wrong way, paddle backwards…)

The pictures showed tunnels of trees (and you know I love tunnels of trees) over narrow canals with flat-bottomed boats. But it turned out to be a bit of an elusive spot, ok, not the whole area. To be precise I had a very particular picture of what it would look like (mainly the tunnels, sigh) but each time we drove to La Rochelle and through the Marais Poitevin area we would pass canals at the edge of the road with flat green farmland on the far side. Something wrong with that picture. No trees, no tunnels, not even one flat-bottomed boat.

30 09b

(Heading for my river bank… shriek, shriek, paddle, paddle…)

And so with only a week to go (I know, I know, 4 days isn’t a week) it was now or never! I set to work on Saturday evening attempting to pin down the exact location I had seen in the pictures (oh and disaster, I couldn’t find the pictures any more…) It was not an easy job, but I did locate a town possibly very close to but not exactly the right place. It would have to do. So on Sunday afternoon we put the name in the sat nav and set off to… Coulon.

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(Sigh…)

On the way we got a bit side-tracked when we found another of the places the French people go on a Sunday afternoon – car-boot sale or an empty-your-attic sale, there were no signs and I don’t know the difference. Suffice to say there was lots of very good bargains to be had. Can you guess what I got for €1 each? More tea towels. And they’re linen. And they have sweet little loops for hanging up. Did I mention that I love fabric? (Tea towels are fabric!) Especially in bundles. The very nice French lady who was selling the tea towels had ironed and folded each one and tied a little ribbon around a bundle of six. (Yes, I did buy six more tea towels. No, I’m not going to use them for drying dishes.)

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(Sign)

Now, even if we didn’t find Green Venice, all was well in my world. But we did! We arrived in Coulon and my investigations had indicated that we needed to find the area of embarcadère (I think it means where you get on the boats.) Long story short: we parked, we had lunch, we checked out the flat-bottomed boats.

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(Sigh…)

Finally, we found the perfect boat and got in holding a paddle each. First, it’s very funny. One person rows a bit and then the other person rows a bit and both people laugh a lot. But if one person is stronger or more competitive the boat soon starts heading towards the other person’s bank of the river. Huge shrieks of laughter from me and a smidgen of panic. Instructions from Denis. Paddles in the water again, huge smiles.

30 09g

(Sigh…)

Eventually, we started to match each other’s strength and competitive force and we stopped working so hard and the river took us along. And it was so cool and, really, really peaceful. And because each of us had our hands full and our feet firmly balanced it was almost impossible to think of doing anything else, except being there. We stopped wanting to take pictures. So we took very little. Instead, we had the experience, of floating, on the water, in the canals, built by 13th century monks. Sigh…

Sigh, Sigh, Sigh… Mairead.

Île de Ré, France

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(Buildings in the port town of St. Martin de Ré)

Very busy weekend. On Friday we went to Île de Ré (thank you little brother for the suggestion). It’s an island joined to the mainland (at La Rochelle) by a beautiful 3 km long bridge. It’s a toll bridge and we were very fortunate that the toll people think September is winter! Because… the toll is only €8 in winter (€16 in summer) and you only have to pay going in one direction! I suppose you could call it a return ticket.

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(One of the lovely shops)

My brother had helpfully sent me a link to some information about the island and we decided to pick one of the little towns, St. Martin de Ré and wander around there. There’s really only one main road going around the island and lots of walking paths, cycle paths, beaches and little towns. They harvest sea salt, so there’s lots of that too.

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(Cute chocolate with my coffee – café style)

The bridge was built in 1988 and before that transport to the island was by ferry. So there’s a lost in time feeling to the place, no big buildings and everything has a shabby chic look (I read that in the tourist office…) St Martin de Ré is a port town with the sea on one side and fortified walls around the other sides. It’s very pretty with lots of cafe’s and restaurants and little shops.

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(There was (inexpensive) ice-cream!)

I found an adorable little antique shop (really an old-stuff shop) and I couldn’t resist a little something within my price range – an old tea towel with the letter embroidered on it for €4.

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(Window shutter, I think this is shabby chic… but it could be just shabby. I really like it whatever it’s called)

We went to the Green Venice on Sunday, but that’s for tomorrow, Mairead.

Happy Friday – The Art of Coffee

As well as experimenting with art and Just Pudding (formerly know as Bread and Butter Pudding) I am now experimenting with coffee. As I’m on holidays I have been indulging in my coffee joy. That is, one coffee per day on holidays. It’s easy enough to keep off coffee at home because although I always like the smell I don’t always love the taste. But France (and Italy) have amazing coffee that both smells and tastes great. So, on holidays I get coffee every day at a café or bar.

But, if you’ve been following along, you’ll know we are in the middle of the countryside – no café. So our kitchen has had to become the café. Denis was prepared for this… I was not. He brought along a coffee grinder (I kid you not) and a coffee-for-one plunger type thingy called an aeropress. He willingly made me coffee with this for the first two days and then he taught me how to use it myself… but it was such a palaver I was doing his washing up duties just to get him to continue making it for me.

Then I was reading a book called Homeland and the character was talking about cold brew coffee. He made it sound very interesting and I thought I’d give it a go. My resident internet investigator looked up the How to… while I gathered the tools. We were missing some tools so a few days passed before we could begin. But now I can tell you the experiment is well on its way and we are discovering how to make the best cold brew coffee in all of France (because I bet no one else in France is bothering.) I helpfully took pictures so you can experiment along with me if you like.

Here we go….. (Oh by the way, if you start to think that cold brew is also a bit of a palaver… you might be right, but sure I’m having fun!)

1. Buy ground coffee (so much cheaper here)

2. Get a big jug (there was a 2 pint one in our china press)

Coffee 1

3. Fill the jug up to a quarter with the coffee (yes, it’s a lot of coffee – remember I said how cheap the coffee was here?)

Coffee 2

4. Pour water – cold water – into the jug, filling up to top

5. Stir, carefully.

Coffee 3

6. Cover jug with cling film and leave for at least 12 hours in a quiet corner (don’t know if the quiet corner is important but it’s been working for me)

Coffee 4

7. Photography some flowers, do some crafts and go to sleep

8. Come back when more than 12 hours have passed

Coffee 5

9. Take one large bottle (we used one from a jus de pomme (apple not potato) drink)

10. Take one coffee filter holder (we could hardly contain our excitement when we saw one of these in the Hyper U – up until then we were draping the coffee filter over the rim of the bottle)

11. Put one coffee filter (we used size 4 – more excitement when we realised the coffee filter holder was size 4 also) into the coffee filter holder (as you would)

12. Put coffee filter holder on top of bottle (we would have been ecstatic if the coffee filter holder had fit neatly into the bottle, but we made it work….)

Coffee 6

13. Take a roll of masking tape (yes I brought masking tape to France) and tape the coffee filter holder to the bottle

Coffee 9

14. Using a sieve (if you have one bigger than ours, that’s nice for you) pour the jug of coffee and water mixture into the coffee filter (which is in the coffee filter holder on top of the bottle) slowly taking care not to disturb the coffee grinds too much

15. When the sieve gets clogged up, stop to empty it, then continue pouring until there is only coffee grinds in the jug

16. Is there anyone still reading?

Coffee 10

17. Wait until all the water has dripped into your bottle and then put the cap on and put it in the fridge.

18. Clean up.

Coffee 12

19. Have a lovely cup of coffee – by pouring a quarter (or one-third) cup of the liquid from the bottle and adding boiling water – yum. Or you could heat a cup full (strong) in the microwave. Or you could have it on ice, if you like iced coffee (yuck, yuck, splutter, splutter.) If I was on my own here (just saying) the bottle would probably last a week but now Denis has stopped making his plunger stuff and we’re sharing mine.

There you go… hmmm… just nineteen short steps to a lovely cup of coffee… Mairead.

The Tunnel I love

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(Leaves and seed. I pick something up every time I go walking)

I went on my walk this morning (of course I did!) a bit earlier than usual because it’s not so pleasant to walk in the heat. Anyway, there’s a stretch of the road which I call the tunnel (or tunnel as I like to say in French) and I absolutely love it. It’s dark and incredibly quiet in there. You can just about make out the light from the sky in the distance. This morning I had to stop and get a good feel of its magic.

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(Duck. From the riverside in Vouvant)

I never bring the camera out on my walk, much too much distraction, but two nights ago I had my phone and I took a picture. It might not be very clear but I wanted to give you a visual sense of my tunnel.

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(My tunnel, sigh)

So… I’m standing in my tunnel this morning and the phrase the darkest hour is just before the dawn comes to mind. And it got me thinking… my tunnel is such a comforting place to be, I wonder how it would work if the next time I’m feeling down, I imagine myself in my tunnel. A place to be held safely in the dark until it’s time to venture out into the sun. I’m definitely going to try it. (By the way, in case I forget and you notice I’m needing my tunnel, could you remind me please?)

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(Love this quote from Maya Angelou, it’s now in one of the journals I’ve been creating here)

With only a week left (I think I’ll keep saying that every day from now on….) I’ve been thinking of all the things I want to do before we leave and on the very top of the list is… getting a video of the hens running to me (their surrogate mother…) So far we have a startled looking hen standing very still so hopefully they’re not camera-shy. If we do manage to capture momentum I’ll find a way to share it with you.

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(Very cute sign in Vouvant)

From the sunny swing, Mairead.

Being Grateful

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(St. John’s Gate – Parthenay)

I’m sitting on the swing as I write, in a little bit of shade, it’s way too hot out there under the bright light for my pale complexion. The really surprising thing about a hot day here is how cool it is inside in the cottage. It’s almost like there’s air conditioning in there. I think it must be the thickness of the walls. Caves are like that too, so it makes them a constant temperature year round, cooler than the summer heat and warmer than the cold winter.

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(Half-timber house – Parthenay)

I realised a moment ago that we will be starting our journey home in just over a week. It was starting to feel like we could stay here forever! So it makes me think about some of the things I am grateful for here… The warmth – it’s been very hot this week and I love how sparkly everything is in the sun, including the spider’s webs (some photos of those would be nice). The garden – it’s lovely to be among green growing things. The peace – it’s so quiet, not silent, there’s buzzing and I can hear some neighbours chatting. I think I hear a farm machine in the distance and every now and then a bird singing. The trestle table – it has been (and will continue to be for the next week, I hope) fantastic to be able to work outside at this big wooden table made by human hands and planks of wood.

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(Very cute house – Parthenay)

The distance from a retail hub – well, this was a big surprise to me, that I could be grateful not to be near a village, town or city. How would I spend my days? How would I fill the time? Where would I get some chocolate or croissants? Where would we eat? For as long as I can remember I have lived in a town (or a city) and always very close to (either next door to or a few hundred yards/meters away from) a shop. In Cashel where I grew up as a child besides the shops there were so many amazing places to visit (really, they did seem amazing!) There was the Rock of Cashel where stone staircases led to turrets that let up to the battlements, hundreds of feet up in the air and unprotected… Any parent’s nightmare – fortunately our parents never knew we were up there! And Hoare Abbey, an old ruined monastery, protected by huge cows (I was/am afraid of cows, so I only ventured in when they were eating the grass round the back). The town of Parthenay reminded me a lot of Cashel.

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(Steep, unprotected steps, at the castle – Parthenay)

So I have come to understand that having no shops and castles and monasteries next door to wander around has actually been an advantage to me. Instead, I can wander around glue and paint, paper and canvas, scissors and fabric.

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(See the seashell? Symbol of Camino – Parthenay)

I am also grateful that the only cows around here are firmly behind fences, Mairead.