Month: July 2011

Vide or empty. I couldn’t resist one final post about the apartment on the rue Truchet as I found the structure of it so interesting once all of our things were gone. In the kitchen, the Baccarat goblets were nearly forgotten in a top cupboard, retrieved at the last moment. The floors were scrubbed, the marble polished. The glass floor of the cellar swiped clean so as better to admire the Roman ruins one last time. The wooden doors and baseboards washed with savon noir du Marseille. And then, amidst a soft summer rain, the keys were handed over to the real estate agent and the door was locked.

Vide or empty also describes how I have felt the past few days. Caught up in sentimentality and waves of emotion. Neither here nor there in time nor space. Remi and I realized that we had worked non-stop–and I am talking about very physical activity–for one month between renovating our new apartment and leaving the old. My hands ache and are scarred with nicks. But I am not complaining. Sometimes we have to push hard against the present to open the next door. And open it is.

I am sitting at the Bistrot Arlesien as I type in a rounded wicker chair. Filling myself back up with two café crèmes (two!) while finally attacking the long backlog of emails and blogs from friends who never cease to inspire me. This simple, every day French act is something that I never did while living at the rue Truchet. Not one time! Why would I when I had my lovely garden to hide in? And yet it feels absolutely fantastic to be a part of this haphazard mix of tourists and locals (an elderly pair of farmers are rattling on behind me: “All of these American tourists can go…themselves!”– I wanted to remind them the income from tourism makes up 70% of the town’s income but another time). So this is something that I will do now. Remi and I are aware that our very elegant former apartment was quite isolated despite being in the heart of town and that its massive wooded beams and stone floors carry a psychological weight as well. 

Empty then but light as air and floating in the light of the new. 

Hello from the depths of movingdom! Oh my, has it been a long week and it is far from finished. We have until Monday at 3pm to clean our old apartment and then we will turn over the keys. So I am taking advantage of having internet to give a little glimpse of how things are coming along. There is still so  much to do but we have already carved out little areas of normalcy amidst the boxes. It will be fun to see how the décor evolves! 

*An important note to my professional design blog friends: I know that you will see me making rampant mistakes. I know it will be painful, but in no way am I looking for free advice from any of you! No! I am just happy that you are here. :)*

Thank you to those of you that expressed concern over Ben. I have never seen our dear boy so perturbed, even though he went through a move only a year ago. We went to visit my close friend Claire, who just happens to be Ben’s vet. She kindly suggested a pheromone collar to calm him (naturally) and as you can see, it is working!

Opulence reigns in the Jardin de la Fontaine or the Garden of the Source where couples stroll with their dogs to escape the heat. It was here that remains of the Roman baths were uncovered in the 18th century and recreated, albeit with an entirely and utterly baroque aesthetic–flying fat cherubs are everywhere!

The Temple of Diana, which is thought to have perhaps been a library, is all that remains in the gardens from Roman times. Here, finally, a little well-earned dust and patina. Much more to my liking. The red scrawls, the broken stones, a lost worship.

After a short nap on the pelouse, or lawn, we were ready to make the slow descent back to Marie’s apartment where we were rewarded for our efforts with what? More rosé, of course! Not to mention the remains of the day’s luncheon. We sleepily picked at the the last of the toasts ambivalent to the arrival of evening. It was with a heavy heart that we tread back to the car, having spent nearly twelve hours (!) in the fine company of our charming, Nimois friends. In the midst of so much change in my life recently, it is wonderful to know that there are some things that I can always count on.

Isn’t it funny how our oh-so carefully constructed worlds can fall apart in a day? Luckily, I am just talking about an apartment and nothing worse but still couldn’t help but smirk over all of the times that I moved a statue two millimetres to the left or right while looking at this mess. Today was my first day doing boxes and I am proud to say that I did all that you see and then some. My oh, we do have things. Some, like Remi’s slides, are a living testament (literally, for if you don’t know, film is actually alive, I love that) to our world and how it is changing on several levels. As are we. Remi woke me at 7am yesterday so that we could take over our best paintings and such to the new apartment before the traffic restrictions in the  Centre Historique hit. How interesting that so many of our pieces don’t interest me in the slightest anymore. They were for another us, somewhere else.

I am on the fence with some of my books. It is a luxury to keep them, trophy-like, on a shelf. But I am not sure that someone as nomadic as myself has the right to hoard so many words. And the clothing, the highest heels of another life altogether? Well, I guess I am not entirely ready to let go of that alter-ego just yet. 

At one moment when my muscles were screaming so that I had to take a break over a glass of water in the kitchen, I spied a green dragonfly perched on the windowsill. Remi believes these crystalline creatures are the harbingers of good luck and so now I take it so. Surtout because at that moment, my random itunes was blaring the famous duet from Delibe’s Lakmé. Something so gorgeous in the midst of such chaos and yes, I’ll take all of the encouragement that I can these days. Frankly, I am just grateful to not be at the new apartment, where we have been painting/cleaning until 10pm every night this week.

My heart has been on a bit of a roller coaster. Do all Leos hate moving as much as I do or is it just because of the frequent changes of my childhood? As often as I have done this (I now consider myself to be a master packer), a part of me is deeply disconcerted. And yet it is just another address two streets over and not an entirely new life. How odd I am and how important it is to turn towards the new–how fortunate to even have the occasion. Of course, I know that. But for the moment, it is just the prospect of getting to decorate that is getting me through! I am deeply, profoundly tired but still looking forward to what could be. Hope swooping in, making a dramatic save once again.