A birthday wish

It is my birthday today. 

I could have called this post something akin to “Like a loaded 45” for that is my new age but in truth I am not fond of guns nor the noise they make. Instead, I prefer to think of this lovely quote that my friend David Terry sent me by the author Annie Dillard:

“All my life, I had been a bell, but I never knew this until I was lifted and struck.”

Isn’t that gorgeous? And while I think that we all have the possibility for several periods of chiming throughout our lives, I am feeling mighty positive about this birthday. For several years now, there is the element of “I am still here!” tucked into the celebration but also, if you are a believer in astrology, Susan Miller has predicted that I have one hum-dinger of a year ahead. 
Yet I already feel so deeply grateful. I am sitting in a room that is all of my own where I can do just as I please. The windows are open and I can see out over the red-tiled rooftops to the hills beyond. The birds are twittering away, hopping from tree to tree. A cup of Lady Gray tea is steaming on my desk and Remi has taken the dogs out for their morning walk. Later on, we will go to see some art as is my birthday tradition and have lunch out. Tonight will be a quiet dinner like we like. Candles will be lit as they always are and not just to be blown out while making a wish.
Yesterday, at my favorite brocante in Eygalieres, one of the owners told me, “You are entering into a wonderful age. Between 45 to 50, you really have the chance in front of you to work out whatever demons you have left. All you have to do is decide to do it.” It is interesting advice. And I certainly feel very conscious of the sense of opportunity in front of me, beckoning. I will take that extended olive branch, thank you.
So today is my little party. Another day it will be yours. May our best present be to carry a sense of awareness, of not taking that internal bell and its inherent possibility for granted, for if we listen it just might be ringing throughout the year…

Over, troubled waters

The images that surround us and swirl about our feet sink in whether we realize it or not.
Here in this new tiny village, there has been quite a bit of problems with the water supply. Imagine our surprise and utter dismay at the end of unpacking boxes to find that the gold at the end of the rainbow – in this case, the much anticipated shower on the path to cleanliness – has dissolved into a cloudy gray wash. Oh, dear. Their old pipes, tired after so many years of tapping deep into the water table. Our old pipes, worn thin by the rush. 
The local water company is working on it with dramatic updates, bottles of Crystalline distributed daily for each resident and the fire hydrants left open all night so as to clear out the end of the bad.
Lately, I have had one thought in my head, recurring, “I need to let the silt sink to the bottom.” This summer and heat have taken their toll on top of years punctuated with uncertainty. And yet, suddenly I find myself immersed in quiet and realize that I am beginning to see clearly. But not quite yet. I wander from room to room, forgetting the reason that had put me in motion, I am forgetful, often unable to concentrate my thoughts enough to write and yet am delighted to be…happy. 

I am right where I want to be.
Like the underground thick and deep, the murky in me will quell and then it is on and upward we go.
EDIT: I try to be clear in my writing but this seems like it is another example of murkiness as the key word to me in this post is “happy”. And I am, we are, supremely so. Being here is amazing. Things may not be perfect but as I write here often, that isn’t really the point now, is it? With my Best from Provence, Heather

Have a great rest of your weekend…

Moving in Provence, a family affair

So, how exactly does one move a house packed to the brim with heavy and occasionally very fragile objects from the second floor apartment in the middle of busy Arles to a home in a tiny village in Provence?
Why with style, of course.
Well, at least that is the path that we chose as we were wise enough to hire Daniel Roux and his amazing team to take care of everything for us. And I do mean everything – including obtaining the city permits to block off a well-trodden street in the center of town (chosen to occur on a Monday when most of the surrounding shops are closed) to thoughtfully providing a pile of croissants for the start of the second day. Long before le jour J, he had come to our house to make a thorough estimation of what we have (as well as for the price), all the better to be utterly prepared. Remi then picked up the many, many boxes – provided free of charge – and we did our part of the work.
One of the things that makes Daniel’s services incontournable in Provence is the use of an extendable porte-meubles which is raised, fire-man style, on the outside of the building. Once in place, all of the items to be moved, from bulky canapés (or Remi’s gallery printer – yikes!) to our antique mirrors are put on a platform and down they go quick as an elevator…
…where they arrive at street level and are packed into the truck. Trust me, this is so much better than trying to pass through crumbling and winding Provençal staircases that can date from the Renaissance!
And in truth, three trucks were required for our family of…two…over sixty meters cubed in all. Holy cow do we have a lot of stuff – thousands of slides from Remi’s archives, irreplaceable tchotchkes brought back from our travels and ah-hem perhaps a few random pairs of shoes belonging to yours truly. Why three trucks? One massive big wheeler simply won’t fit in the streets in Yee Olde Provence, something that Daniel had verified in advance with Google maps.
While the last of the furniture and boxes were heading South, he packed up our artworks in boxes built for the purpose (that one of the major local museums uses their services frequently speaks volumes). They also had special containers on hand to transport glassware as well. “Did anything get broken?” his Father, 82, asked me afterwards. As he had founded the family company, he wanted to make sure that his well-crafted reputation was still intact. “Mais bien sur que non!” I replied. 
After all, this is no monkey business.

Was it odd to see the house that we had so lovingly restored stripped down to the bare bones?
It was. 
But Remi and I knew that we were moving on, literally, to better things. Overnight, our things slept in the trucks that were parked safe and sound at Roux Déménagement.

Day Two was the obvious aftermath of Day One – up, up and away, a film rolled in reverse. The boxes that we had labelled were deftly delivered to their corresponding rooms. As we had blocked out our floor plans in advance, the furniture was perfectly in place by day’s end with nary a complaint, even when we realized that the washing machine wouldn’t fit where it was supposed to and had to be moved – again – to a lower floor!
Because that is the thing – the entire crew is not only unbelievably hard-working (not exactly a common characteristic in Provence) but they are delightful. At the end of the day, Eric and Didier – both of whom have Popeye strength and have been working in the field for nearly fifteen years each – were joking, laughing and whistling nameless tunes despite the sodden heat. 
There was definitely a bit of music in the air, especially as Daniel’s son, Olivier, was the fourth man of the team for our move. Not only is he the third generation to partake in what is back-breaking and very precise work, he also happens to be a talented musician, whose fantastic band, Starliners, is in the process of recording their second album with Universal. Pardon? Yep, a budding rock star who also helps his Dad from time to time. Very feet on the ground and very much in the family aesthetic. 
From the first Starliners album – that is Olivier on the far left:
Remi and I were invited to join everyone for the lunch break on the second day. We gathered around a table under the plane trees at our new local café and shared a bit of wine and a healthy dose of conversation. They rested, we relaxed. It was just the right moment needed before the final push and it was one in a stream of wise decisions that marked our two days. As the guys prepared to pull away in their emptied trucks, I felt incredibly grateful. Bisous were delivered all around. Will you believe me when I say that the move ended up being…fun? Perhaps not, but I know that not only was it a smashing success, we met a fine family with whom we will hopefully remain…friends.
Daniel Roux
Moving & Storage
250 route d’Eyguières
13200 Arles
Tel.: 33 (0)4 90 96 04 55

This is the second time that we have used Daniel’s services and obviously I can’t recommend them highly enough to anyone moving within Provence. They also offer the possibility of a secure storage facility and yes, English is spoken.

The patina of my Secret Provence, part two

Saving the best for last. It is my squirrely side, the part of me that puts this or that away for a certain time, often undefined in my mind. But when it arrives with a click, I smile inwardly broadly.

And so yesterday evening, after a fit of Ikea runs and practicality…

…we started to unwrap the Art.

Our pieces are not precious…

…the value they have is personal.

But oh, how I was thrilled to see them again even after so short an absence.

Happily, they are not worse for the wear after their short voyage.

It is delightful seeing them with new eyes, in a different environment. Wipe the slate clean and start again.

“Welcome to your new Home,” I whispered.







Have a wonderful rest of your weekend everyone…

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