Filling the Gap

It might be boredom, or midwinter blues, but we've decided we would quite like to move to New York. That should be totes easy, shouldn't it? Finding jobs, getting visas, finding schools and moving the 5 of us to the biggest of big towns? Easy. 


About 457 people we know (or at least 7) have visited the Big Apple this year. It must be a sign. 


Sigh,... we can dream. 


Ten years ago the luthier was offered a job on Long Island and sadly, we couldn't get a visa. No money and not enough qualifications held us back. It wasn't all bad though because then we moved from a very unsatisfying, debt-collecting life in Melbourne with a baby on board to an easier life in Tasmania. I remember one of the girls I worked with in Melbourne at the time read auras. She was very excited because she said mine was green and that indicated that moves and changes were imminent. You should have seen her face when I told her that she was right, but, it wasn't New York we were moving to but sunny Launceston! Her disparaging response was very unmystical. But hey, New York - Launceston. Same same. 


Tassie is extremely kind to us. And my heritage, on my father's side, is so embedded in this island's soil that no matter where we are, this will always be home. (I am fifth generation Tasmanian through my grandfather and 7th on my grandmothers' side, or something like that. Luckily my mother is English or the gene pool I'm swimming in would be more of a puddle.) Tasmania is a beautiful home. But I am itchy. My feet are itchy. 


Most islanders leave for university and travel the world. They live in the big Australian cities and then many come back. A friend of mine once described it as feeling like you are attached to the island with a huge elastic band, You can leave and travel the world for years, but there is always a little tug that bounces you back home. 


The luthier and I lived in some big towns, but we didn't travel the world in our youth and now that we are dead-set, middle aged, we both feel like we would love to take on the challenge.  That's right, there was no gap year boozing in Ibiza or playing in London pubs had by us. No touring Europe, working in bars or funny secretarial jobs for random businesses. One of my sisters had a short-lived job in the UK working in one of the country houses of a lesser royal, blacking the grates and warming beds like a chamber maid and then going out and getting plastered on pints of ale on the weekend on her travelling adventures. 


We have been lucky enough to get a travel taste with our French journey and we are hungry for more. The luthier dreams of more contact and experience in a place where the real luthier action is, and who can blame him? The biggest limitation of the island is its isolation, which is also one of its greatest blessings.


I turn 40 this year, is that too late for a gap year?

Les Contes des Fées

The smallest girl turned four and is not small anymore. She is rapidly shooting up and gaining on her brother and is also taking birthday princess-dom to new heights. Don't be fooled by the pink fairy gear, she is a ruthless dictator who bears no fools and leaves no room 

for the slightest interpretation of her will. 

 J and I were stupidly proud of ourselves for constructing the petit chateau pour la petite princess. Donna Hay might not think much of our rustic, slightly leaning manifestation of her design, but screw her and her insane obsession with pale blue and utter pristine-ness. We stuck sparklers in the top and were rapt with the effect on the little pink party-goers and that it didn't topple over. 

Meet Smiley, as she has been ironically named.  This beautiful Waldorf doll from Poppy Bean and Bloss, is the prized birthday gift. She fits into the family perfectly as she already has a dirty face and has become Sophie's constant companion. The theory for these Waldorf dolls, I think. is that they don't show emotion so that the child can project their own emotions on to it, or something like that?  Experts please correct me if I am wrong. Sophie did ask "Why isn't she smiling, Mum?"  and so to compensate for her lack of expression, first entitled her "Saddie", thought better of it and now she is 'Smiley'. 

As for me, I have again wandered away from my own space and spent some time dwelling in the world of what I wish I had rather than investing that energy in loving what I've got. It's cyclical, I guess. Happy to say that a conversation and coffee with the luthier has returned me to the planet and to the plan. Its so good to feel that, even though you occasionally become unearthed and carried away, the plan made ages ago is the one that you always come back to, and that progress has been made, even if sometimes it feels like the steps have been infinitesimal.

The sun is out on the island today. 

Temperatures are in the mid-20's! Holey moley, its a heatwave!

 Handsome children are bursting from the bushes.  

Pretty maids and bees are buzzing around the ruffled lavender.  

Pretty sweet this spring life, huh?

Ma Maison

Simple Weekend Plan

Right, then. So, I've made a plan.

What I am going to do today is get up, go out, attend compulsory Disney princess-themed kid's party (shudder), buy lotto ticket, come home, clean up while kids wallow in screen world for far longer than is good for them. This evening we will head to the Junc room to listen to 'da hip hop' and shake our communal Smith groove thang and after that I will return chez nous to discover we have indeed won an obnoxious amount of filthy lucre in the lotto.

Tomorrow we will pack up and by the afternoon we will be in a warm tropical place, in a resort replete with kid's club, morning yoga and every nutritious and delicious meal and whim catered for, planning our move to France.

Ok? Great.

P.S I told you I wasn't very good at this contentment business.

Les Enfants Terribles

I'm not sure at which point I knew that the lack of discipline and overindulgence on our travels had gone too far.

Perhaps we should have known from the start, when Sophie screamed blue murder as the plane landed in France, not because of "a pain in her ears, le pauvre petite" as the lovely French steward suggested, but because she simply refused to put her seat belt on. Screaming in confined spaces became quite a talent of hers. Her best work reserved for taxis, trains and, of course supermarkets.

Perhaps it was when we walked into the Benetton shop in Bayonne, with another lovely French man coming to help us and Sophie responded by hitting the floor and screaming " I want a pink t-shirt- WITH SPARKLES ON IT!" - and walked out wearing one.

I definitely knew we were losing the battle when the kids were no longer allowed to accompany me into the St Julien supermarket, as my humiliation at reaching the counter with two small children screaming for toys had peaked.

In desperation, one afternoon, I locked the kids in the car in the supermarket car park to run in for our baguette and jambon Bayonne. The lovely ladies at the counter looked as relieved as I was not to be having the Smith tantrum spectacular again showing at a venue near them. I gave my "Merci's" breathed a sigh of relief and walked out to see my youngest son executing a very fine 'pressed ham'* up against the car window.

Mon Dieu!

*For those of you unfamiliar with this technical terminology the 'pressed ham' is the pressing of one's bare buttocks up against a glass pane for the shock/amusements of others. A very popular activity amongst drunk, exhibitionist undergraduates in the early '90s and possibly popular still today.

Random Snaps

Cap L'Homy Plage

San Sebastian

Mimizan

Ready for Dinner

Nice legs ...

Mimizan - More baguette anyone?

Saint Andre Cathedral, Bordeaux

and again

Miroir d'eau, Bordeaux

Mezos

Mezos was a very sweet little village with a honkin' boulangerie and a tip-top second-hand shop, conveniently located on the drive from our little villa Landaise to Onesse, where the luthier was learning how to be an archetier. Every time I saw the hotel with the car parked out the front I beamed. A constant little snapshot of France in the 50's. Perfect!

Contis Plage

St Julien en Born

Falling in Blog again. Never wanted to. What am I to do? Can't help it...

Bonsoir mes amis,

So here I am, back again. How could I stay away?

Fresh off the plane from la belle France. What a trip! What a country! Vive la France!

What can I say about France and travel that hasn't been said a million times. France gave me everything I hoped it would and more. Beautiful scenery, flea markets, nutella crepes, generous and friendly people, language. Yep we dug it, train strikes, volcanic clouds, sunshine, rain, butterflies, squirrels, toll roads, shopping, Paris and traffic and all.

This trip gave me a rare and treasured opportunity for a girl who has never travelled as an adult, let alone as a mother and wife. The opportunity to stand alone with my family in my very own shoes. To face myself, my strengths, my demons and doubts and to stare them hard in the face. No one else to praise. No one else to affirm. No one else to blame. No one else to lean on. Just us. It was hard, in parts. It was joyful, in moments. It was self determination at its best. I liked it. We messed it up. We managed it. We made it.

The luthier made a very fine bow. In true French style he fell in love with the profession and its incredible, warm and passionate protagonists in France. He experienced the generosity of a wide open door, the firm shake of a hand or two kisses on the cheek and a "Yes, come in, take all the time, and help that you need, and lets have Jambon Bayonne and a nice Bordeaux for lunch."

Here are the first pics.

Singapore

Here we were hosted with generosity and patience in our anxious new-traveller, jet-lagged state by my brother and sister-in-law in Singapore ex-pat style. I wish I had taken a photo of us luxuriating in their lavish pool.

Cousin Samuel

Aunty Sunny's plaits

J and Soph eating the most outrageously expensive ice cream in the world in Viva shopping centre in Singers. Hope you liked it kids 'cos that's the last Haagen Daas you'll be having in a loooong time.

Paris Day 1 and 2

Tour Eiffel
Eyeful

Notre Dame - from the side. We actually saw it mostly from the playground with the deadly beelzebub spinning toy at the rear, whilst indulging in our first of many nutella crepes.

View Pompidou and Hip Hop-idou?

Sophie's first Parisian baguette shopping trip. Views taken from our apartment window in the Marais.

More to come.

Thanks for stopping by after my hiatus.

Au revoir, A bientot.

G