Among Friends in France

I’ve made it back to La Rochelle and am being well cared for by my friends, Pascale and Jacky.

Pascale and Jacky

Although I broke the trip into two parts, it still took its toll. I had a lovely evening Thursday with Tom and Meg (David’s brother and sister-in-law). The next day Meg and I went out for a delicious lunch at a local cozy Italian place before she took me to the airport for my overnight flight to Paris.

It’s the “overnight” part that makes it tough, not great conditions for restful sleep, but enough about that. I’m here! I slept ten hours the first night and nine last night, both mornings waking at a very reasonable 7:15-ish, so am well on my way to being acclimated to local time.

The weather I left in Colorado was FABULOUS, so I hope you Coloradoans are enjoying it! Here, it’s cooler and rainier, although the rain let up yesterday and today is only cloudy. Pascale and I took a long walk around La Rochelle yesterday morning, as I was anxious to reacquaint myself with my home-away-from-home. Tour Saint-Nicolas is currently closed and under renovation, so I’m glad I’ve already climbed it multiple times (see here and here and here).

Later, after a delicious Sunday lunch, for which I was not allowed to lift a finger, we took a little drive (yes, I slept through all of it) to Fouras . . .

. . . where some SERIOUSLY hardy souls were actually swimming!

Here’s how we were dressed . . .

. . . and we were not overly warm. The wind was BRISK. Still, it was beautiful.

It is so good to be back among friends in a place so dear to my heart. We talk a lot of other times we’ve had and laughs we shared with David. Of course, we all wish we could have enjoyed more time with him, but are so very grateful for the time we did have together.

It is not length of life, but depth of life. Ralph Waldo Emerson

Now we will make new memories to share in days to come.

Better Than Portlandia

Time is flying! I can hardly believe I head to France this week. There have been so many tasks, getting the house ready for the people who will be staying here in my absence, and of course, getting myself ready to go. But I thought I had better write a quick post about our fabulous Easter weekend in Portland before I missed doing it entirely. This is likely to be one of the last, if not the last, of Chelsea’s fun trips before her baby is born, so we took advantage of the long weekend to pay a visit to Doug and Kristl.

We got there Thursday afternoon and had a chance to walk around a bit before Doug got home from teaching. Spring in Portland was a bit ahead of Colorado (and DEFINITELY ahead of Minnesota), so we soaked it in.

Thursday night, Doug’s band often gets together to practice, so we had a bit of an impromptu concert . . .

Doug and a band-mate serenading us

OF COURSE, we went wine tasting–Chelsea along for the views only. Sorry, Chelsea!

Doug, Brittany, Courtney and Chelsea at Colene Clemens Vineyards

. . . and no, Doug is not double-fisting it. He’s holding my glass while I snap the photo. Didn’t want it to look like the mom-to-be was swilling wine! Here’s the view . . .

Colene Clemens Winery

We had brought along a picnic from Grand Central Bakery . . .

Grand Central Bakery, Sellwood (Portland, Oregon)

. . . where I accidentally bought the last three quiches out from under the people in line ahead of me, who were asking about them while I was paying for them with another clerk. Sorry! I didn’t realize. (Not THAT sorry. They were amazing!)

The weather was a bit rainy Friday, so not quite picnic perfect, but Bergström Winery–one of the other wineries we visited–has changed its tasting procedure, so we were forced to come in and sit at a table and have our picnic while we tasted their wines. (Perfect!)

Chelsea and Brittany on appetizer prep

And because Doug is an all-caps EXTROVERT, of course he (and Kristl, who is NOT an extrovert, but is very gracious) hosted a bunch of people Saturday night. Here are Chelsea and Brittany helping prep the appetizers . . . .

By Sunday, we were all happily exhausted, so had a low-key day. Doug and I took Courtney downtown for a quick dash through Powell’s (one of my all-time favorite bookstores) and then to catch a train to visit a friend in Washington, since she was so close. Brittany, Chelsea and I headed home on Monday. Brittany had been to Portland several times before, but the time went by so fast, I don’t think I even had a chance to show Chelsea and Courtney that the quirky image portrayed in the show Portlandia exists for a reason. Exaggerated, but still. What a fun place.

The last time I had been there was the last road trip David and I took before his diagnosis, so I had a few weepy, nostalgic moments, but overall, what a joy to be able still to share beautiful places and happy times with dear ones. I am so grateful for that.

Wishing you many opportunities to enjoy beautiful places and happy times with your dear ones as well!

Next post from France if all goes as planned. Stay tuned!

Ebb and Flow

I started this weeks ago and never posted it, but since it is honest and true, even though I’m doing better now, here it is:

(Written April 4): I haven’t wanted to write this. I sort of wanted to pretend I was still at Folk School leaving the grief rock among the daffodils, as if I’m now skipping into the sunrise, but that’s not really how things have been going since I got back.

I was okay for a while. A friend hosted a fabulous French cooking evening that was a super fun group effort as well as delicious…

. . . where I won this . . .

Julia Child Prize for “#1 Best attitude about mistakes or messes

. . . which I would not have won without an epic fail in the kitchen during my part, let’s be honest. But it’s true, we did all cope and laugh about it, and I ended up with a cute new apron.

And yes, I did paint the little 4 x 6 I mentioned in the comments on the last post, and I still like it, especially framed:

In the knowledge that creative things seem helpful to my general well-being, I even finished a piano composition that’s not bad. Admittedly, George Lopez, a music professor at Bowdoin College and a traveling concert pianist who offers lessons when he’s in town every few months, was not impressed. Oh well. I worked on it a bit after that lesson, and my friends have said kind things. And I guess most important, I like it and I feel a sense of accomplishment having done it, so there’s that.

Yesterday, I spent four hours at an art workshop with kind people and a patient, encouraging teacher. Here’s one I started there and finished (maybe) at home last night:

Still, it was hard driving home from that workshop on a glorious Sunday afternoon, knowing David and I, on such an afternoon, would probably have headed straight to the Rio patio for margaritas, but I was headed home alone. All my closest friends happened to be out of town, so I couldn’t even show up looking pitiful on one or the other of their doorsteps. Surely you don’t want to read about me feeling hopeless, but there it is. It seems right to be honest.

Today, April 27: Here I am a few weeks later, and I’m doing better again. I’m recently back from a quick Easter weekend trip out to Portland with my three daughters, which involved only minimal weeping, but I’d better save that for the next post.

I guess this grief journey is still about ebb and flow, even if the grief waves crash over me less frequently and are less likely to knock me off my feet. Thanks be to God, my rock among the shifting sands, and thanks also to you, my dear ones, who hold me and many others in your hearts. I know I’m not the only one walking this rugged shore.

 

Folk School – Part Five: Leaving

The whole experience at the John C. Campbell Folk School was so great, I didn’t want to leave.

So I didn’t.

Okay, I admit I was already booked to stay an extra night to avoid having to pack up and move back to the Holiday Inn before my Sunday flight out of Chattanooga, but still. I was delighted to prolong the Folk School high. I just didn’t expect it to be so lonely.

I had spent some time Saturday with Mom in Murphy, dodging raindrops and browsing galleries and shops, but then I drove back to the Folk School to start packing and to take advantage of a pause in the rain to shoot a few final photos.

The sudden quiet was a little unnerving after the bustle of the week, and I wasn’t sure what I would do with myself in the evening after I got back from one last dinner with Mom and Dick. My wine buddies had all gone home. But then I noticed a flyer that there was to be contra dancing that night in the Community Room. I decided to go watch.

Well. That’s not really how they do things at JCCFS. You don’t watch. You do. So next thing I knew, people were introducing themselves and teaching me the steps, and I danced until I begged for a pause to get a drink of water. It wasn’t hard to pick up, although I had a few random lurches in odd directions. But as the caller said, if you didn’t do what he called, it wasn’t wrong. It was different. So much fun, and I’m glad I went, but I ducked out early to finish packing up.

Sunday morning, the sun was breaking through as I loaded the rental car and drove down the hill to Keith House to make myself a cup of tea and bid the place farewell.

At some point during the week, digging through the heavy bag I carried to and from the painting studio, I noticed in the bottom a small, smooth, black rock, the perfect size to fit in the palm of my hand. It startled me at first, seeing it there, but I knew what it was. It was a grief rock, given to me during my earliest grief counseling in a group for the newly bereaved. It was meant to be something solid to hang onto, something smooth to soothe the ache. But it also had a little weight to it. I had another one at home on David’s dresser. That one was not going anywhere. Not anytime soon. But this one? Did I really want to continue carrying a memento of grief with me everywhere I went? No, I decided. I was ready to let it go.

So in the freshness of a glorious sunny Sunday morning after a week of rain, before I got in my car to drive away, I held it in my hand for a moment, then I left that stone among the daffodils just beginning in earnest to raise their heads and shine with gold.

I left something behind that needed leaving, but I brought home so much more. And I’ll be back. I hope to see you there with me someday.

Folk School – Part Four: Happy Clappy

The week flew by, and by midday Friday we were all choosing and/or finishing a few examples of our work to display in the Community Room for what the schedule calls “Closing Ceremony” but people actually call “Happy Clappy.” Love that. Here’s where we could finally see what had been produced in all the various studios. Like these bowls from the woodturning class:

And this candelabra from Metalworking, which happened to be “Hammered Copper in the Arts and Crafts Style” this week (by one of my housemates, Stuart Lenz):

And this table from Woodworking:

I showed you in the last post some of what they were making in blacksmithing. There were also classes in glass fusing, clay tile making, hand-stitched book binding, mountain dulcimer, and more.

Here’s the display from my watercolor gouache painting class:

Painting class display for Happy Clappy — Mine are the three on the far right, starting at the top.

Here’s a better shot of my “Loose Goose Spruce” painting, so called because the brush I used is called a Loose Goose brush.

I wanted you to see it, because just after we got everything set up, a woman from the fused glass class came over and asked me if I sold my work. What?! I was so discombobulated, I think I said, “Uh,” and turned around and walked away laughing to tell Mom and Kathy! Excellent salesmanship, right? But she was persistent. When I wandered back toward the painting display, she said, “I’m serious. Give me a price. And take a photo, because I’m leaving here with it.” So I sold it to her. She made my day. I was smiling so much my cheeks hurt.

Then Kathy said, “I can just see David going, ‘Yes!'” as she pumped her fist. As soon as she said it, I could too, so the tears threatened, but I didn’t stop smiling. I think I floated to dinner.

Then we all came back to the Community Room for a mountain dulcimer concert with Don Pedi, which included hilarious stories and flying-finger tunes with catchy titles like “Jenny Broke Her Wooden Leg A-Dancing at the Ball” and “I Love My Wife As Well As Anybody, But When My Back Is Turned, She’s A Huggin’ Everybody.” You can click on his name above for a link to his website, or search for him on YouTube, and you should, but neither will quite capture the fun of his live performance. It was the perfect cap to an evening called “Happy Clappy.” There was a lot of both.

Wishing you many happy-clappy evenings of your own!

(One more JCCFS post to go!)

 

 

Folk School – Part Three: Excellence

As you know if you’ve read the last several posts, I just spent a week at the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina, and what a joy it was. It didn’t even matter that it rained all week. The people were warm and friendly. The teachers, highly skilled craftspeople all, were nevertheless patient and encouraging. The weather, though wet, was warm, and the grounds were beautiful and blooming.

View from Keith House
Anyone able to identify this flower?

I didn’t have much chance to hike around snapping photos, but here are a few I managed between deluges:

And yes, that is a giant tree in the bottom right photo that fell over due to the soggy soil. Yikes. On the plus side, I got to wear my fab plaid rain boots all week and splash through the muck like a little kid.

Folk School Motto — See the rain on this truck’s door? I don’t think it dried all week!

Mostly, though, the classes were so interesting, we didn’t mind being inside. If you need more convincing, check out this great video. As well as excellent instruction . . .

This is Kathy, showing us how to vary the values (lights and darks) in our painting of the bluebird.

. . . there were several demonstrations offered after studio hours, so Wednesday evening Mom and I braved a downpour to check out what went on at the blacksmith shop. Here’s Paul Garrett, resident blacksmith at the Folk School, during a demonstration for those like me who had only a vague image of blacksmithing as just heating stuff up and banging on it with a hammer:

Okay, yes, technically he is banging on hot stuff with a hammer, but of course there’s a lot more to it than that. The temperature of the steel, the timing of the quenching, the tool used for striking, the placement of the strike, the position on the anvil, all come into play. And more, I’m sure. I still know next to nothing about it. I can’t even promise I have the vocabulary right. But check these out. Here’s what he was teaching the blacksmithing class to make:

Exquisite. The evening of the demonstration, in about 45 minutes, he made a simple square-edged nail, a beautiful little hook for hanging on a wall, one of the delicate ginkgo leaves you see above, and then showed us how to fashion the perfect twist you’ll find on a lot of wrought iron railings. Bonus: Here’s part of the building where he gets to work:

Staircase in the blacksmith shop

So much beauty and excellence everywhere you looked. Once I could take my eyes off myself and my fears and inadequacies, there was so much to admire and appreciate. If you know me at all, you know opportunities for gratitude are some of my favorite things.

So, thank you, Kathy Chastain, for cheering us on, for showing us the same thing multiple times until we got it, and never letting us give up on a painting.

Thank you, Deborah Rossi–book binder, repairer, and conservator extraordinaire–for the fascinating demonstration of limp vellum binding and the intricate hand stitching required.

Thank you, Paul Garrett, for the fun, fiery demonstration on that rainy evening, and for patiently re-explaining, when I accosted you at breakfast, various details I didn’t get the first time around. (And thanks for making us wear safety glasses!)

While I’m thanking people, thank you to my fun housemates, Linda Martin, Sarah and Stuart Lenz, and patient David Frick, who rarely joined us, but never complained if we were up a few minutes past the 10:00 p.m. Quiet Hours deadline.

And, of course, thank you, everyone at JCCFS who makes these weeks possible. We’re not done yet! Next up, Happy Clappy.

Wishing you endless opportunities to appreciate excellence!

 

 

Folk School – Part Two: Settling In

My week at John C. Campbell Folk School was about to begin . . . .

Sunday afternoon, the 17th of February, Mom and I left Murphy for Brasstown (a ten-minute drive) and headed to the Folk School. We were still a bit early, so we wandered around Keith House . . .

Keith House Community Room
JCCFS Library (Keith House)

. . . until we were finally allowed to check in and find our lodging. This was mine for the week:

Hill House Room 604
Hill House

My room was on the second floor, the one with the shed dormer windows. Super cute, and my housemates were friendly from the start. (It may have helped that the first thing one of them said was, “Oh, good. You brought wine, too.”) Four of us ended up having a nightly glass (plus chocolate, of course) in our common room. It was one of the few times things slowed down enough to have real conversations with anyone, the kind David always loved. I had a disconcerting urge a couple of times to call him to tell him how great it all was. In the fourteen months he’s been gone, that’s never happened before. So . . . weird. At least I didn’t dissolve in weeping. Definite progress.

That first day, though, was just about getting acclimated. Mom, as an assistant teacher, had a complementary room in another building, so after we both settled in, we walked around taking a few pictures, since rain was forecast for most of the rest of the week.

Then back to Keith House for orientation in the Community Room, then dinner in the dining hall, then to our various studios–for me the painting studio–for class orientation and setup. I was taking Watercolor Gouache with Kathy Chastain, and my mom was her assistant.

It was all a bit like sleep-away camp for grown-ups, in a good way.  Make your own bed (optional). Show up to meals or miss them, as you wished. No KP, except to carry your dishes to the window when you were finished. They offered a 7:15 nature walk every morning, weather permitting. So maybe it happened Monday, not that I was ever going to see 7:15 a.m. in public. I barely saw it in the bathroom mirror. Then Morning Song everyday at 7:45 in the Community Room. Never made that either. I did get to breakfast at 8:15 every day. You could sit wherever you wanted, so I had a bit of middle-school angst at every meal, trying to gauge whether I was welcome at a table or was taking a seat someone was hoping would be filled by someone else. Ghaaaaa! It got better as the week went on–everyone was so easygoing–but it was disturbing to see my insecurities raging to such a degree.

Part of the problem was likely my complete lack of experience with watercolor gouache. I had done a little painting with watercolors, with mixed results, but never with gouache, so I had a baseline anxiety percolating, anticipating epic art failure. The classes weren’t really about that, though. Don’t get me wrong. There was a LOT of excellence going on, especially from the instructors, as you’ll see in my next post, but the students were accepted and encouraged whatever their level of experience or talent. It took me a while to really let that sink in, though.

So the first few days were about finding my feet (not literally–that was only a 7 a.m. challenge 😉 ) Those days were about accepting myself where I was in my learning process, enough to let it go so I could look around and marvel at the talent and expertise of others without reservation. Stay tuned for that!

Here’s wishing you sufficient confidence to forget about yourself long enough to celebrate the accomplishments of those around you!

Adventures in Wanderlust