HERE WE GO AGAIN - 20 September 2011
20th September 2011
I'm all right once I'm on the plane - well, let me qualify that and say that I often pop 5 mg of valium before take-off - but really, once I'm on the plane I'm totally out of control so I can let go. Yet it was precisely that, the being totally out of control that caused my first panic attack some 15 years ago when suddenly, flying alone to England, I felt that if I didn't get off the plane right then I would go completely mad as well as suffer heart failure. The thought of opening the exit door and leaving the plane while mid-Atlantic seemed the only reasonable thing to do. I hadn't realized I'd become such a control maniac that even if the only option I could exercise would be to leap to my watery death, well at least I made the choice.
I still don't like flying, for all the reasons most of us dislike it. But now I pop the valium to sleep through what little of the night there is when overtaking time. We arrived back in Province yesterday. Is that right? Last night, Monday night, it seemed like it had been one long day since Saturday even though we didn't leave until Sunday. Are you with me? Lord knows, Joel and I keep looking at each other in bafflement. It always feels like one's missing a day when flying west to east.
We're knackered. Two weeks of New York madness after 2 months of Tuscany scrambled every cell, deepened some wrinkles and had us bickering with each other most of the way from Marseille to Bonnieux. Actually, that's not fair. We interrupted ourselves many times to remark on the light which, as there was a strong mistral on the go, had everything dancing and waving. The trees particularly seemed to be waving at us; an arboreal welcome that sent a confetti of light-scattered shades of green all over us. And the pale turquoise water of a reservoir was whipped into dancing pyramids, as if the energy came from its great depths and maybe it did, maybe it waits down there for the mistral to magnetize it to the point of frenzy.
The sun, the wind, the turn from summer to autumn, the thrill of seeing the grapes still on the vine, the now familiar roads as we pass through Loumarin and make our way here to Bonnieux, all felt so rich it was almost more than these tired souls could absorb. We're back, we kept saying. We're back in Provence. Doesn't it feel great?
And then we drag the suitcases up the stone stairs, unlock the enormous door and we're home. We're home because our dear friends Sharon and Paul have generously lent us theirs. It is a home filled with light; from the sun, the moon, and from their spirit. It embraced us immediately.
And urged us to unpack and settle in, which we did, so that by 4:30 we had placed the emptied suitcases under the bed, shopped at the little store down the hill and cooked scrambled eggs with smoked salmon and tomatoes which we ate while looking out at the hillside. For dessert we smeared some honey- drizzled Banon cheese onto petite-beurre biscuits, drank a nightcap of vervain and lavender tea and sank into our divine bed.
Lights out at 9pm and we, out like lights, until the sun warmed our faces at 8 this morning.
We're still tired, still a bit disoriented and as you can see, the writer in this team hasn't got her mojo yet. But we're here and ready to begin...
