Departure
May 1 2014HELLO, Dear Readers! Yes, we are alive and well and cannot believe that it has been a month since we posted. And, from your emails, evidently many of you can’t believe it either. We have, as you will read, been in the middle of a very big move from Provence to our permanent (not that there is any such thing) home in Tuscany and although I did write a piece two weeks ago, we literally have not had time to post it. So you will now receive 2 separate (outdated) posts, titled DEPARTURE and ARRIVAL. A third will be posted this weekend. So, when you see Feeling Our Way Around twice in your mailbox today, know that they are two separate pieces. With thanks for your patience, we continue…..PART 114 April 2014 DEPARTURE22 boxes4 trunks5 suitcases1 professional printer3 rugs3 bedside tables1 end table3 lamps4 baskets filled with utensils1 fire tongs1 brazier1 chair2 tired peopleAnd off we go! The moving van will arrive in another hour and the loading will begin. Tomorrow we leave Provence. Sad to leave. Happy to go. As my friend, Susan, wrote me from Norway, we are going from paradise to heaven, taking all our French treasures to our Tuscan farmhouse. And the treasures are not only material; we are taking with us the memories of shared adventures with dear friends.
These friendships range in age from just a few weeks to 3 years and yet these connections are as deep as any. It’s part of what I love about getting older; everything becomes so essential. By that I do not meant that it is essential to have everything. Quite the opposite. It’s more of a whittling down to the essence of one’s own values and needs and in so doing one attracts kindred spirits.I have often heard people our age…and younger…say that it’s difficult to make new friends when you get older and I wonder why people believe that is so. It’s certainly not our experience. I think the challenge of aging is not to surrender to the tendency of clinging to the familiar, as if to let go would mean being lost to the world. Perhaps we hope that by staying still, by not rocking the boat, we will somehow ensure safety and the avoidance of loss. But loss is a daily occurrence; from the loss of cells and hairs to the loss of loved ones and all the many losses in between. Yet gain, if we are open to it, is constant, whether it’s another sunset, a personal revelation, or a new encounter. Sad, happy, loss, gain, new old, Provence, Tuscany…bring it all on I say.We had our last lunch with Sharon and Paul. They brought – along with their love and good cheer – one of the most amazing roses I’ve ever seen. It came from their garden so it’s quality should not have been a surprise. What was a surprise was that a rose so bold and decorative should also carry a scent as sweet and deep as any rose I have yet met. The longer I look at this creature the more I see it as a metaphor for our friends; strong and upright, yet slender and graceful, its delicate color hard to pin down. And like them it keeps on giving; the perfume, essential.
All photos by MaggieWe talk and laugh over a lunch of fridge-emptying leftovers with just enough ice-cream for Sharon and I; a shared addiction, we do not consider offering any to our men. We say goodbye ten times, another hug and then the last look…Our newest friend here, Jutta, whose loving massages have gone deep into our cells, leaves a present for me inside the gate, a beautiful poncho for the Tuscan spring evenings. How good it will be to feel her embrace even at a distance.On Friday evening, our friends Paul and Caro invited us, along with Paul and Sharon, to their exquisite home for dinner. We have written of it before, a 13th century monastery part of which they have turned into a B&B inn. We sat in the Cure’s garden in the sweet evening light, drinking juice pressed from the fruit of their orchard and for those who imbibe, a rosé from a neighboring vineyard. Paul, an expert Provençal cook, had prepared, amongst other delicacies, a cod seviché marinated in lemon juice, cilantro and red peppercorns, accompanied by a salad of shaved fennel and avocado.At a table of 2 French, 3 Americans and 1 Brit, I’m proud to report that the Brit won the word of the day after a gaelic discourse on “wobble” for which there is no French, nor American, translation. It’s a lovely word, wobble. Jelly, or jello in American, aspic in French, wobble. As do babies learning to walk and children learning to ride a bike. A chin can wobble, too. Unlike shiver or tremble, wobble has a benign quality, a moment of uncertainty that nonetheless has the energy of holding things together just long enough to get steady on your feet or ride that bicycle hands free.We’ve had a wobbly week but we’re up for the next leg of the journey.