I especially like the “eves”, the day before a big holiday. They’re plump with anticipation and preparations. This year New Years Eve beckons as the plumpest of them all, perhaps because the current situation offers so much potential for re-invention and that works for me.

I’ve been ruminating a lot in the past couple of weeks about what I want to explore in the next year. I could focus on travel, on living abroad, on being a better person, yadda yadda. However other stuff calls to me louder and clearer. If I were to pick a theme for said stuff, I’d have to say the common denominator is creativity – feeding it, milking it, shaking and baking it. To that end I’ve organized a list of side projects, most of which offer some sort of creative outlet.

I know there are a thousand other areas upon which I could fix my focus, at the end of the day they all feel like false prophets. What matters most is that at this juncture of my life certain “must-haves” have announced themselves, gone for broke and called in a full orchestra to make their point. I’m listening.

The beginnings of butternut squash soup.

• Be the Queen of Soup-making. I know…I soul-searched for a plan of action and came up with soup? Well, I love soup. It’s filling and comforting and a liquid that will never produce a hangover. It’s also number one on my list of favorite eats, beating out bacon, duck confit, ham and potato croquettes, grilled gambas (shrimp), and grilled/dry-roasted peanuts by many, many ladles. Plus, it’s a great way to get more vegetables into my system – homemade stock + some milk +a swirl of cream do wonders at balancing out any in-my-face veggieness that make other vegetable-fore dishes painfully revolting. During the autumn I made about 7 or 8 different kinds of soup and despite entering new territory with some of them I happily slurped them all: cauliflower, roast pepper and carrot, courgette and almond, butternut squash. OK, that’s only four kinds of soup, but I made each of them at least twice if not three times. I have a list of at least 7 or 8 (no exag) other kinds that I want to dabble with when we get home, including a few cold ones for the summer.

• Sock knitting. Socks, I think, are a perfect love triangle of practicality, relaxation and tactile hankerings. I bought some double pointed needles last week. Now I’m perusing patterns. Next comes the yarn selection. I will probably cuss a lot during the first go at making socks. A) Shit happens. B) Cussing is therapeutic.

• Know my cheeses. When we go to the different markets (in France) we almost always go home with some artisan cheese in our basket. As successfully alluring as cheesemaker displays have proven, I haven’t been too adventurous in the cheese choices. Mostly because other than understanding the mammal from whence said frommage derived – vache (cow), chevre (goat), and brebis (sheep) – I don’t know why I might want to try one cheese over another. This is tragic when you consider how many different kinds of cheese can be had within the 210,026+ square miles of France. (Answer: between 256 and 500, depending upon who you ask.)

• Pottery - In October we started taking weekly pottery lessons from an artist in Mons La Travaille. First we did pinch pots. Then used a form. Then coils. My pinch pots were hideous. They do not have long for this world in their current state, but I’ll find a way to recycle them (for the sake of the planet). My first form project, a wine cooler, had potential that I botched in the deco process. It also stands a strong chance of being recycled. My second form project, a cheese plate, is unfinished and stands a moderate chance of meeting the same fate as the pinch pots and the wine cooler. The jury will not convene on the matter, however, for several weeks. The last project I started, a tea pot done via the coil method, is too early in the early stages for prediction. But to it I’m applying something that gives it a fighting chance: keep it simple and stop comparing my stuff to everyone else’s. You might be wondering why pottery is named as a side project when I’ve had nothing nice to say about anything I’ve created, but pottery offers this: it might be one of those things that I enjoy doing even if I stink at it. So I like it well enough to keep going.

• Writing as a Marketable, Income-Producing Skill - I don’t have a plan together yet for this one. But it’s been brewing for a while and I’ve had lots of signs and signals that now is the time to tinkle or get out of the port-a-loo. I also have the sense that this new direction is a bona fide calling. Which is a different wild animal from a side project. Scarier. A roar that can’t be ignored. Also a brilliant source of creative fulfillment and personal happiness. Like I said, I haven’t organized a plan for putting this new direction into action, but I have a few inklings to free write and brainstorm about. For one, I’d like to take some of the work I do with coaching clients and convert it into e-books. I’m also thinking that studying the art of article writing would be a good thing to do. We shall see.

• 

  Apple and rhubarb crumble with real vanilla ice cream.

  Writing about Food – I think about food a lot, as even people who know me only slightly can attest. And hello, two of the above side projects involve food! I love puzzling out the words that best capture food related thoughts and foodie experiences. Moreover, I love to eat and have accepted the fact that I will never be thin no matter what. So why worry about blimping out from the eating? Thus, having taken all those ticked boxes under consideration, I’ve concluded that food writing might be an appetite-whetting double whammy. Not necessarily a marketable/income-producing skill. But one never knows.

• Sketching – When I was a kid I used to draw a lot, mostly people. Who am I kidding? I pretty much only drew people. Especially when I was upset about something. After one particularly ugly heartbreak at the tender age of 19, I hibernated in my room for a couple days and pored my sorrows into a pastel portait of Morrissey. (Fitting.) The love of drawing never hit a pot hole until the professor of my illustration class suggested I was better suited to coloring in textile designs. He said this with all sincerity and, I think, with the desire to be helpful. Well, the good intentions backfired. After that I lost the heart for sketching. Which is my fault, not his. It was a different time, and I wasn’t as resilient. However, that was (gasp) 19 years ago, and I’ve decided it’s high time I got over my hump. I think I’ll start with some ink/watercolor picture postcards. About what? I don’t know. I just like the size of a postcard. I’ll be leaning on Danny Gregory’s book, The Creative License, to help me recoup my artistic oomph.

Happy New Year everybody! Tonight I’ll glug-glug some bubbly on behalf of the new year dreams and schemes of us all.

Traveling Dog

This post is for the dog-smitten traveler…who, like me, just may be living in France…and who, like me, may need to get from France to Ireland (or vice versa) with their dog…and some peace of mind if at all possible.

We knew we were going to be spending a long Christmas holiday in Ireland this year. We knew that boarding our dog, Rufus, for that length of time was not an option. A) We’ve completely ruined his fortitude by spoiling him. B) We haven’t found a pension in France that pampers the dogs anywhere close to what we had in the states. Thus, it was decided he was coming with, albeit amid warnings to the family members hosting us that he considers our bed to be his bed and it wouldn’t be such a hot idea to put the 300-thread count sheets into service while we were there…just saying…but thanks!

Anyhoo, we our transportation options for this trip were, no surprise, limited.

We could fly, or not. Air France is the only major carrier that takes pets, and it would cost a zillion dollars. Not for the dog, mind you, but for two economy class tickets for the people owned by the dog. Plus, doggy would have to travel as cargo. None of the budget airlines allow pets, nor does Aer Lingus.

Seeing as there are no trains running from France to Ireland – nor any hot air balloon or zeppelin operators that take pets, people, and cars – this left us with one choice: drive to port where we can catch a car ferry.

There are several ferry operators who go between France and Ireland, but most have routes only between April and October and not all are authorized to transport pets. Only one – Irish Ferries – have a winter schedule between France (Cherbourg) and Ireland (Rosslare) and will take pets. So, that’s what we booked.

When we went to Corsica in September we took a car ferry from Toulon to Bastia. It was fabulous. Not only was Rufus allowed to be in the cabin with us, but dogs were permitted in all public areas of the ship provided they were on a leash and well-behaved. Howlers and biters and nervous pee-ers, for obvious reasons, wouldn’t be greeted warmly. There was even a designated area for the dogs to do their business. Not that the dogs restricted themselves. They went where their noses told them to go, but all the dog owners tried their best and most cleaned up after their dogs. (Not all of them, unfortunately, which is very, very bad form.)

The ferry operators between France and Ireland approach the transportation of pets a bit differently. On Irish Ferries there is a kennel area where they have to stay for the duration. (During the busy season, the kennels probably fill up quickly so book in advance.) The kennels themselves are OK. Not as comfy as the cabins, of course. But fine. Once all the dogs have been squared away in their kennel, the door to the kennels is kept locked and you can only check on your dog if accompanied by a crew member.

But that’s the good news. There are visiting hours throughout the day, so you can check on your dog, feed and water them as needed, and take them out for a pee break. The ship rep stays nearby for the duration of the visit, so they tend to be brief. But better brief than none at all. If the ship is packed with cars, it will be difficult for the dogs to stretch their legs and do their business. Also keep in mind, that if the seas are rough, the kennel visits may be suspended for safety reasons until things calm down. But you know, sometimes you have to work with what you have and make the best of it.

We checked on Rufus every four hours or so. Each time, we were greeted by two rows of saucer-eyed dogs hoping we were there to free them from this crazy ship business. Luckily, the seas weren’t too choppy, and none of the dogs appeared to have a case of mal de la mer. They were weirded out. As to be expected.

All the cars with pets, by the way, board the ship together and you’re parked in the deck area right outside the kennels. So, it’s easy to retrieve the dogs at the end of the trip, get everyone and all the gear in the car, and high tail it off the ferry.

All in all, thumbs up to Irish Ferries. (Except for the fact that they sent us an email yesterday cancelling our return trip and bumping us to the ship leaving two days later.  What gives?)

The other ferry operator that allows pets, Brittany Ferries, has routes between Roscoff and Cork but only between April and October. We have NOT used this ferry operator, so I do not have first hand experience with them. However, according to their website they have some number of kennels for some of the French routes. If on those trips the kennels are full, the pets have to stay in the car. (I wonder about how hot it gets in the car deck area during the summer.) It sounds like they permit you to visit your pet – either in the kennel or in the car-deck area – if accompanied and by arrangement, but they do say it’s at the discretion of the crew. It’s also not clear if the dogs are allowed out for a pee break. I don’t know why they can’t cover some of these practical matters in their stated policy. Why can’t they say, look here people with pets, you can’t let your dog run amok on board but you will be able to take them out of the kennel to do a whiddle. Is that so difficult?

Anyway, this is a full account of what I know about getting your dog from France to Ireland for Christmas on a boat. Saving the Pet Passport run-down for another day.

This is a photo of my brain on the holidays. At least at the moment. I like to think I can adjust this state of mind to something – mmmm – less cranky and muddled. More generous, perhaps. Because if I’m cranky and not generous I forget to be grateful, and I have a lot to be grateful for. Thanksgiving is supposed to be the gratitude holiday and Christmas the party holiday, but somewhere along the line I’ve switched it around. At Thanksgiving I’m focused on celebrating the big feed. At Christmas I’m focused – theoretically, typically – on my blessings.

I’ve managed to get catch the holiday flu. It’s contagious, kind of like the other flu. Droplets of it splattered on me when I was in the city centre of Dublin yesterday, trying to not make eye-contact with the beggars, shouldering my way through the crowds hurring to and fro as if they were up against a curfew. More droplets fell as we did some final food shopping at the SuperQuinn tonight. The store had “line monitors” stationed at the checkout areas so that the front aisle wasn’t jammed with waiting buggies and line jumpers didn’t get an opening. (A brilliant idea, actually. But I also have to give the other shoppers fair dues because despite the throngs and all the buggy dodging, people were very polite and kept their cool.)

Wish the griping could stop here, but I’m afraid it can’t. There’s more muck to be cleared off my mind or it might leak out in some very unfortunate way. So here’s the list.

• I haven’t had time to myself. A few scraps of it. I need quiet time, thinking time, writing time. Or I get nutty.
• It’s very hard not having a choice about what I’m going to eat for breakfast and lunch and dinner.
• It takes me ten times longer to write an email (not to mention a blog post), because I can’t find an interruptionless space to write them.
• Our return ferry to France has been delayed by two days. This news was sent by email from Irish Ferries. They claimed “operational issues”. I think that means they didn’t have a full enough boat. Do they not realize I need my quiet time!

This whine list is not a nice list, I realize. And yet, writing it bring relief, allows a rosier view to begin forming. Clearing works, people.

We’re in Bordeaux, loving the urban environment, the city’s bustle, the Christmas decorations. And the student demonstrations today. Two confirmed marches. Possibly a third. Possibly the same students. For all of the marches Santa hats were the accessory du jour, and all had the same general air of hilarity. None disintegrated into menacing mobs of discontented youth. The marchers were more excited about having their picture taken.

Student demonstration in Bordeaux

Student demonstration in Bordeauxbut I was distracted by the hats. And the general air of hilarity.

but I was distracted by the hats. And the general air of hilarity.
The camera phones were out in full force. As were the megaphones. There was the usual demonstrational shouting, but it was done with jolly flair. Maybe the Santa hats had something to do with that.

The gendarmes brought in for crowd control and direct traffic looked bored. Because these protesters didn’t appear to be of the Greek protester persuasion or hold much promise of requiring the use of tear gas canisters. (Rats!) So the gendarmes took turns buying baguettes and chatted amongst themselves.

Student marchers "storming" the fountain of the three graces in the Place du Parlement, Bordeaux.

To those not in the know – ahem, us – the marches seemed a little silly. Perhaps the Santa hats were misleading. But at least the students showed enough interest in issues affecting them to organize, make banners, and shout en masse. I’ve never participated in a demonstration. Tim marched in a couple when he lived in London, but that was because the march was followed by a really good concert.

Mid-November we drove up to Fontainbleau (about 50 km outside of Paris) and stayed in a beautifully restored farmhouse. It was huge! The kitchen area is what used to be the cow shed/pig sty. Did I remember to take any photos of the house? No. Been flagellating a bit about that.

But let me tell you about the feature in the house that made our jaws drop to the floor, that was adoration at first sight and may live in my memory 4-ever: the fireplace, an enormous carved limestone/wood thing of glory.

Will I ever have me one of these? Not likely unless I win the Lotto. Its cost: 16K+ euros. That’s euros, my American friends. Not dollars. I don’t want to do a currency conversion on that figure, thank you very much.

I loved this fireplace so much, I hugged it as we were leaving. It’s good to dream.