Author: Heather Robinson

Postcard

Open up the shutters. Breathe in the morning air. Pad downstairs to the espresso machine. Verify that the view is just as breath-taking as it was yesterday evening. Say hello to the already clicking cigales and the rustle of the pines. Faire le vide. Yoga on the lawn. Lunch. Sieste. A dip in the pool when it is too hot to take any more, carefully floating past the sipping bees. Reading, letting the words sink in. A walk with Ben. A very long apéro while regarding the light shift. BBQ. Talking until the cigales pipe down. Sleep. Repeat.

A generous gift

And I am not talking about the lilies, although they were the first real gift that I have given myself in a while (and their perfume is impregnating the walls of our new home, slowly replacing the thwack of paint). No, something that will have a far longer lasting effect, I hope. For those of you that have been reading along for a few months, you might remember our lovely Easter weekend “In the Alpilles” when our dear friends saved us from the madness of the Easter bullfights by inviting us to stay at their home in the country. Well, they have come to the rescue again. They are loaning it to us while they head off exploring for ten days. Ten days! Of quiet. In the pool. Sipping rosé. While reading. It is, indeed, of the pinch me variety. 
Most certainly because we are acutely in need of it, something that our friends are well aware of, so much so that they told us that it was “an order” that we accept, knowing that otherwise that we would simply be overwhelmed by their kindness and try to weasel out of it. With the cost of moving, we cannot afford such a respite otherwise any time soon. Actually, Remi and I haven’t taken a vacation since 2006 and even that was a rushed affair for a friend’s wedding. I have been back to the States a few times since but again, finances kept Remi here. These past few years have been especially stressful and I think that the move was the final goutte d’eau de trop. Today, while I was ironing, I started crying and couldn’t stop. On and off for a very long time. I spoke to my friend Frederique, who thinks that it was what they call the contre-coup, something akin to backlash. Nothing that a stretch of nothing won’t cure. 
We are leaving the piles of random objects that have not yet found their places where they are, paintings are propped up on the furniture. The lilies will powder and rose petals will fall on the mantel. There is a problem with the internet where we are going, so I may not be posting as much as I would like and again demand your patience. I promise to come back with many photos and hopefully a new perspective as a parenthesis within the new perspective.

Vide

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. 

First glimpse and a last look

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!

And now, to the mop station! I will try to enjoy these last few days here, despite the hard work ahead. It makes me happy to know that I am preparing this lovely space so that it can be a home for someone else, hopefully one involving as many happy memories as Remi, Ben and I have shared here.

Nimes, Part Three

And finally, the last of the posts from Nimes. Did I take the time to research and double check my facts? Not at all! I do believe that I lost what was left of my sanity in one of the moving boxes and still haven’t retrieved it. So bare with me if this is another appeal to the eyes and not necessarily the mind. 
I do have in my memory that the hard to please Henry James made some sort of remark that the Maison Carrée, above, was the world’s most perfect building. Quite a change of pace from his descriptions of Arles, I can tell you. Thomas Jefferson was gaga about it too–enough so to design the Virginia state capital based on its appearance. Regardless, it is still heralded as one of the world’s best preserved temples from the time of the Roman Empire.

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.

Up and up the steps, nearly impossible after a rosé driven lunch but worth the effort for the incredible view from atop the Magne Tower, which was nearly gutted from the inside (we are talking several stories of rubble) by a wacky gardener that had been influenced by Nostradamus to believe that there was a treasure buried somewhere inside. Silly goose.

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.

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