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“What you seek is something you already have”.

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“I came across a nice zen story the other day. A man is looking for a fire. It’s night, so he sets off with a lighted lantern…In other words, what you seek is something you already have. You are carrying it, perhaps inside yourself”.
From Simon Barnes’ column in the Culture International section of the Sunday Times 5/3/2017.

I thought the above was a nice paragraph, and worth sharing.

Naughty old Admin has been getting my hopes up again – making me think there have been new readers. I haven’t written anything for a while, so decided to have a look at a couple of my previous posts, and of course the Stats. There have been a few views from the States, and one from Canada. (If I cared that much, I’d share the link somewhere, right?)

Just in case anyone ever wonders what happened about the hot water tank, we finally decided to get a smaller one. The tank we had was 300 litres, and seemed unnecessarily big as we have a second one which serves the West wing – (a small apartment) – and I thought if a smaller tank might save a few pennies off the electricity bill, it was worth a try. So we got a 200 litre one.

It was my son who finally installed it, having also removed the old (kaput) tank. I was very good and kept out of the way, though I did get scared when I thought I heard pre-explosion rumblings coming from the basement one night after he had installed it.
Note to self: I must phone the Service d’Urbanisme to come and take away the old cylinder – it’s lying on the floor downstairs along with all the other breeding-overnight junk. Second note to self: I had better get someone to come and clean the second tank, before that goes up the spout too.
The water in this area is very hard, and the kettle soon fills up with limescale, so I can’t imagine what goes on inside a hot water tank.

If I notice a significant drop in the electricity bill, I’ll report back here, but that’s a bit of a sore subject at the moment, as two monthly payments in a row have bounced. I was feeling very orderly yesterday for having phoned the water company and paying half the bill, rather than hiding it under a pile of  papers until it became urgent.(Usually I end up having to go and see Monsieur Personalité at the water company, who either hates his job, or women or the Brits – or heaven forfend – me)! But that feeling of domestic in-chargeness was short-lived, as I got a letter from EDF (Electricité something or other) this morning, saying I have lost my right to monthly instalments. So with that wonderful logic that will forever baffle me, they are going to send a bill for the full amount. It makes sense, doesn’t it? If we couldn’t pay two smaller amounts, obviously we can pay a much BIGGER amount.

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Ironing

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There’s nothing like ironing to focus the mind (on anything but ironing). If you read my last post, and I know you haven’t – there’s no need to be kind, you might be wondering what happened about the hot water tank. Well, once again the indecision kicked in, and I made multiple enquiries of many people, obtained phone numbers, applied phone numbers – and I even got as far as actually getting a plumber round to look at the existing tank! He spoke to my son and I about possibly downsizing to a smaller tank, and then he said he was “going shopping” and would phone me from the hardware shop with the prices. As he left, I said to my son “We won’t be seeing him again”. Later, when the guy failed to phone me as promised, my son marvelled at my judgement.

One of the plumbers I phoned sounded about 90, and I’m not usually an ageist – how could I be? – I lived with someone who was 22 years older than me for 23 years. But I decided it wouldn’t be smart to have a trembly hand tinkering with the triphasé (that’s French for whatever triphasé means). So I told him – and here’s a tip – if you phone a Frenchman after midi (noon), he won’t answer his phone, because it’s holy hour – when people sit down and eat something they have cooked together, and converse and goodness knows what. So I told him – my blog my rules,  that we were going to try and change the hot water tank ourselves, and I would phone him back si besoin ( if needed).

And that’s what “we” did. Having had three weeks without hot water, the novelty had definitely gone down the drain – but with no hot water to help it along. By the way, replacing a hot water tank figures on the one-spanner list – you know the way they rate things from one to a whole boxful of spanners?  – well, this job is meant to be easy.

For Procrastinators

Encore du crap

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Recently, the stained brown u-bend thingy under the kitchen sink, suddenly switched from regular drip which I can cope with by having a bucket in the drawer, to out and out flood mode. I hadn’t finished contending with the washing machine pipe backing up all over the fridge room floor yet – this had meant pouring lots of lessive de soude and boiling water down the pipe, and down the drain outside. I also had to stick the hose down the outside drain as far as it would go, to try and dislodge that white sludge we all know is down there, even if  we can’t see it. A filthy smelly job.

So when I found water all over the kitchen floor from the broken u- bend, I started bawling my eyes out, and phoned a friend. She dealt with it very well – calm and professional – she’d make a good Samaritan – she didn’t make me feel at all like I was a weirdo for sobbing down the phone. She said she would find her plumber’s number and phone me back.

That chapter had a happy ending, as I managed to find the lovely handyman who has done work for us before, and he not only came over within a few hours, but also went to Castorama which is like B&Q in England and whatever you have in the States, to buy the necessary kit – and he didn’t charge me anything – unless you count the 10€ change from the 20 I gave him. So that’s all hunky-dory. But there’s always some other fucker waiting to get you, isn’t there?

On Sunday, the electricity tripped a couple of times – no problem – my son went down to the basement and switched the disjoncteur back on. But then on Sunday night it went off again. I went down and put it back on. And that was fine. For twenty minutes.

I went downstairs, taking my phone torch and a candle for back-up this time – the dog wasn’t interested. The fuse board is at the end of a long dark room with bare brick walls and a concrete floor. Suitcases, books, rugs, toys and other important mouldy stuff are piled up on either side – there are adjoining rooms and passages, so plenty of spooky corners and creepy shapes! This time when I pushed the button-switch, it jumped back out, and wouldn’t stay in as it should, even after three attempts. The fuse board is over forty years old and hanging off the wall; it has those big porcelain fuses, and looks like it couldn’t possibly work, but that’s another story.

I walked back to the other end of the room, and shone my mobile phone torch down on to the control panel of the hot water tank. Aha! There was something shiny – obviously moisture. Back to the fuse board to  switch off the hot water tank. Then I went upstairs to get the WD40 – I read the back of the spray can to reassure myself. Yes, it’s supposed to chase away humidity and make electrical contacts work – heck, you don’t want me to translate the bloody thing, do you? It’s in French.

As I squatted down to peer at that little electrical contact thingy perched on the bottom of the cylinder, I saw water dripping just behind it. Well no amount of WD40 was going to sort that out. Electricity terrifies me, but water and electricity together? No thanks! I reminded myself that I had switched the tank OFF, so was unlikely to be found weeks later fried on the basement floor. I put some kitchen paper there to catch the drips, and pushed the cables to the side, so that the water and the cables wouldn’t spark up an acquaintance.

The story so far is, I’m not quite sure whether I need a plumber or an electrician; the water will almost certainly be too cold for a shower in the morning, so I will have to go next door to my son’s apartment – I’m hoping some frantic cleaning has gone on since I mentioned yesterday I might need to have a shower in there. And that’s it really. I think it’s a plumber I need, so I’d better hurry up and find one. I shall update you on the inevitably happy ending to this chapter.

For Procrastinators

In praise of doing nothing

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We all know a do-er or three – or perhaps you are one? Leave quietly now, please. (Just kidding – we’re a friendly little group here, made up of………me).

The do-ers are the ones with the ironing done, the car cleaned, the papers sorted,  the plants planted, the cards posted, the emails replied to, the big food shopping done, the debts repaid, the dog walked, the dog wormed, the dog vaccinated, the house tidied, the holes filled, the cracks sealed, the walls painted, the wiring re-done, the heating installed, the money earned to re-do the wiring and install the heating –

AND – they work out, they socialize, they mingle, they meet, they travel, they go skiing, they break a leg and wish they hadn’t gone skiing, they can no longer drive and have to find someone else to ferry them around, they can’t clean the car or tidy the house so have to delegate, which must be hard for them because they’re used to being in charge. I can see a moral trying to scrabble it’s way out of the filth here. Not sure if it’s don’t go skiing, or something else.

Much as I like being a be-er rather than a do-er, sadly for us (that’s me and my follower, who is no longer following because she hasn’t fixed her computer, and you of course – although you is currently fictitious), the world is not sympathetic to the dreamers and dawdlers, the undecided, the ditherers, the anxious and fearful, the procrastinators – though there’s a ray of hope!

A lot of books on writing (ok, the three or four that I have read) talk about procrastination, and what a problem it is for writers, and ways of overcoming it – which of course I can’t remember. I think it’s usually something like: Just write. Any old thing to begin with, and after a few minutes of that you’ll suddenly find you’re J.K.Rowling – but procrastination is a respectable occupation – hang on, if you’re putting things off, you’re not occupied are you? That one’s making me feel sick – too complicated.

So if you’re feeling guilty for procrastinating all the time – for not having paid the electricity bill because that involves yet more phone calls to the electricity company and the bank, for not having taken your sewing machine to be fixed, for not having looked at flights for Christmas – don’t be too hard on yourself. It seems like the do-ers rule the world, but without the be-ers, there would be no need to differentiate, so there wouldn’t be do-ers.
You are probably a sensitive person, a good listener, and my favourite – an ARTIST!

It doesn’t matter if  you haven’t found your “thing” – though I do envy people who have.
While the do-ers are whizzing around in an endless spin cycle, getting everything done, and then doing it all again, we are noticing the reds and oranges of a leaf, the brown tinge on a beetle, the way the light through the window makes shadows on the curtains like a pastel drawing, the tick of the clock; we notice the grey clouds and how they affect our mood, how the flowers and plants along the same stoney path change from one day to the next. In short, we are in the moment! We’re ahead of the game here. People are giving courses on mindfulness, and writing books about it, but we’ve been there for years. We were born appreciating the sound of wood pigeons, or the different layers of a perfume. We are the silent majority – ok, maybe that’s a bit strong, but it fits what’s going on at the moment with Trump and all.

The important thing is to be happy, and do-ers win here too unfortunately. Getting things done does make you feel better. If you’re a chronic procrastinator, then I suggest you start with your clothes. I looked it up online recently – there’s a book written by a Japanese woman – I don’t know the title, and I’m not after click-throughs (yet), but it’s called something obvious, like How to Tidy.

She says clothes are the easiest, and she’s right – I managed to weed out a shopping bagful from my wardrobe recently. Her criteria is “Does this spark joy?”. Well, I’m English and we don’t really do joy, so I asked myself “Does this make me feel happy?” as I held each item of clothing. You’re then supposed to say Thank you to your torn shirt or bright pink scarf before putting it in the throw/charity bag. You’ll be surprised at what you find. I couldn’t believe I had kept a shrunken black cardigan that wouldn’t even cover my back. The next easiest category is books, according to her.

Look, we all know do-ers are a pain in the butt, but (sorry about all the posteriors) we can learn from them. And it might be hard for us to activate, but look at all the things they miss out on. As there seems to be a growing interest in learning mindfulness, which must be aimed at the do-ers, we have the reassurance of already being mindful – plus we save money. To spend on learning something that is so natural to us, seems ridiculous.
I think the trick for us is to Be whilst doing – maybe not as hard as it sounds.
“There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so” William Shakespeare

For the Paranoid

Gravediggers

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There’s a track where I often take my dog for a walk – it’s perfect for us – fairly flat, but enough ups and downs and rocks and trees and plants to make it interesting. We usually meet all kinds of joggers and walkers, and best of all for Alfie – dogs! There is a woman who strides along on the higher path with her big earphones on – I once saw her pulling ivy off a tree, which you might think is weird, but we all have our favourite mug or “my” chair, don’t we – (well, my sister doesn’t) – so who is weirder?

There was quite an interesting man on a bicycle yesterday – he had a helmet on, but he looked nice from what I could see of him – the trouble in these parts/neck of the woods/insert your own cliché here, is they are highly likely to be computer engineers, as everyone either works at Amadeus or some other company in  Sophia-Antipolis – France’s equivalent of the USA’s Silicon Valley.

As my dog and I – (or as Prince Harry would say: Me and the dog – talk about the Queen’s English!) got near a bend, I could hear digging again – the other day when we passed the same spot, there were two teenage boys hacking away at the bank with a pick-axe, and then shovelling the earth from one side of the track to the other. At first, I thought they must be hiding their drugs – probably just cannabis, though I thought it was an odd place to choose, being so public.

A pick-axe is quite a scarey looking weapon, but Alfie and I acted cool as we walked past this time – we even managed a Bonjour to show how accepting we were of them digging up this public and protected woodland.They said Bonjour back, which was good. It’s best to form a rapport with your attackers, I’ve read.

Well if they were still digging two days later – which they were, it wasn’t to hide a little packet of pot, was it? And the loud conversation I heard as we got nearer, was
“….and she doesn’t even wear make-up”. What were they up to? Were they plotting to bury the class geek, and were getting things ready?

Alfie had started his refusal routine when we heard the digging, but we managed to go a bit further before turning around just beyond the chantier (for you, Jane). Now we were behind a stooped man carrying a long, rounded piece of bark. He was walking with two women and their dog. I noticed they stopped and asked one of the diggers what he was doing, so of course I caught up with them and said ‘Excuse me, I’m very curious – what did they say they were doing?’
‘They’re building a ramp for their bikes’
I said ‘That’s better than a …’
‘ Tombe’ (a grave), the woman filled in the blank for me.
‘Exactly’, I said – ‘to bury the people who walk past’.
The lovely man said ‘We didn’t see any corpses!’  which made us all laugh, and then Alfie joined their party and dawdled with them the rest of the way, leaving me to go ahead like the snooty Brexiter.So disloyal, that dog.

ps I wish Admin would stop torturing me with “views” and “visitor” – we all know it’s me!
I did have a follower a couple of months ago, but her computer’s up the spout, with no sign of it being fixed any time soon. She’s a friend of mine, and an ex-English teacher, so likes things like two spaces after a full stop    . I ask you! The good news is, since she doesn’t have a computer, she has started baking – so far, other friends and I have sampled her very chocolatey chocolate cupcakes and perfect profiteroles.

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Silly me…

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…for getting all excited about recent views of my blog – most likely just spammers. Never mind – it’s not like I’ve advertised.

I don’t think I like Christmas – except for the
filling the stockings the night before, the waking up early, lighting a fire, opening presents, mulled wine, being with my kids.
Alright, I am temporarily out of love with Christmas, due to a slight cash flow problem.

Everyone has a gift – mine is being broke and being annoying – hey, that’s two!  Happy Christmas.

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Dadcember

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My Dad’s birthday is in two days – he’s not “with us” any more, but I’m thinking about him. He went to Cambridge – I have no idea what he studied, but the important thing is that he went there. I was
thinking of calling my book ‘Daddy went to Cambridge’ – well, it made me laugh. He’d like it too.

He used to have this incredible pair of brown slippers – I think they were  suede to begin with; he must have got them when he was about twenty. The backs were completely flattened and all the sheep’s wool had been eroded away, but as they were still functional he saw no reason to get rid of them. His dressing-gown was even better: it was dark red with a very faint large check running through it – not one of those
dreadful scratchy boarding-school I hope no-one meets me running down the fire escape  in this ones. This was nice soft cotton but with regular use for forty odd years, it was more for show than warmth. My mother would have mended it and mended it, but there comes a point where there’s nothing left for a poor patch to hold on to.

I learnt useful things from my Dad – whenever I’m doing “a little judicious pruning” I think of him. Actually, it’s usually when I’m looking at our overgrown fig tree, and wondering how the hell to tackle it.

Old Man River was his song -he’d start off really low – you have to if you’re going to manage the high bits. He had a great booming voice – it could get embarrassing at the Carol Service when people turned round to look for the man making all the noise.

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Spooky!

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People have been looking at my blog! Whatever for?! I haven’t written anything for ages… Bizarre comme tout. But any attention’s better than none.Or is it? Decisions decisions.

The sun is going down fast, and the dog needs walking before the wild boar come out – don’t laugh. They are around – and now that it’s hunting season, the boar move in to residential areas for safety, which is pretty clever  – but annoying for the people who have their lawns dug up by them (heh,heh).

Christmas is nigh (are we allowed to say Christmas?) and the coffers are empty. I went to see Mr.Personality at the water company the other day with some cash in my hand to pay some of the water bill, but guess what? They don’t accept cash. Maybe they’re scared of money-laundering.Get it? Water company – money laundering. Ok, I never said it was funny.

Keep reading – though God knows why you would.

 

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Heatwave

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Singular and particular detail is the foundation of the Sublime – William Blake.

Apologies to my reader (me) for the long absence.
We have had stinking hot weather here for about a month –
it’s really getting monotonous.
I never thought I would be driven to getting up early, but if you want a few lungfuls of cool air, that’s what you have to do.
Desperate isn’t it? My dog agrees – although he does quite well out of it, because he gets a walk most mornings. It doesn’t cool down here much in the evenings, so being adaptable we’ve changed the walk time to the morning. Hey, how mundane is that!

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Oh Christ!…

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…I’ve really landed myself in it this time. A week from today I’m in the play Educating Rita. I really don’t understand why I’m doing it – and it’s supposed to be fun! We won’t mention the fact that I’ll be 54 in a few days, and Rita is supposed to be 26. You have to laugh, don’t you? We’re not complete idiots – we’ve taken out any references
to Rita’s age, but still….if I hear anyone in the audience whispering “Poor cow – they must have told her she looks young, and she believed it”, I’ll cry.

On the plus side, it’s a very funny play – just reading it, I have laffed a lot (little bit of Liverpudlian creeping in there)- and a challenge. Hang on, that’s not a plus – I don’t even like challenges!

So that’s what’s happening in real life. In the other life, the usual nonsense – I got told yesterday that there was to be an arrival today at a big house I clean. These people – they live on another planet.
Here’s a poem for you – I have to say it in the play. It’s by William Blake. It’s called:

The Sick Rose.

Oh rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy.
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

It's the details that count.