Wandering through the village.

A quick run to our little local supermarket....so I thought. You can't really rush about here, you have to spend time with people. Even though there were only two others in the shop each had to be greeted with the obligatory handshake, or a double kiss for the lady.

"How is your husband?" asked Fernande, as she loaded her basket with all the things I'd rather not think about, slices of andouille, packet of tripe......... Fernande suffers from ill health and really enjoys a good chat bout her ailments.

"How is the jeune homme?" bellowed Philippe from the other side of the shop, where he was selecting two bottles of rouge and the daily newspaper. Telling them that my husband was doing well leads on to all the queries about exactly what happened, when it happened and what has been done since. they love to know the details and compare them to their own experiences. "Oh la la, so he was in the Centre de readucation for seven weeks? Of course when I had my operation I went to the other centre, very good food there too". Etc Etc.

Bidding them all au revoir, I walked on down the road.
In the rain stood Marceline, the owner of the two elderly petrol pumps in front of the Bar. The price of the fuel never changes and was set several years ago, so there are not too many customers. But there she stood, holding her umbrella over her head to avoid the drizzle, and with the other hand busily filling someone's tank. We do support her every now and then, just to encourage trade in the village . She is a mine of information, knows more about you than you do yourself. "How is Monsieur?" she called to me.

Shredded tyres lay in the road, obviously someone had had a split tyre, maybe a lorry as it spread further down the street. Anne from the Pizzeria waved to me. "How is Monsieur today?" she asked, and then ran down today's menu for me. Mmmmm, Boeuf Bourguignonne, how tempting.

Rounding the corner of the lane leading to our house I came upon Charles, just driving his farm van in. 'Bon appetit", he called cheerfully, "And how is he today?"
How lovely to have such caring neighbours, to live in a village where people ask about you. Yes, they are a curious breed, the Bretons, but it is meant in the kindest way.
* And, in answer to their questions, I could tell them that my husband is doing well, that he continues to have physiotherapy three times a week, and that his 'morale', so important in the French eyes, is very good!

Hats

I cant find a title for this lovely drawing, but found it on a blog written by Brielle, of Brielle's Costumes. She has given me permission to use it here.


I read an interesting article by Vicky Woods in today's Telegraph.....well yesterday's , as we get the papers a day late in France.











The writer wondered why we had stopped wearing hats. She mentioned the smart hat worn by Aretha Franklin at Barack Obama's inauguration. Apparently it was such a hit that the designer has already been besieged with orders for look alikes.











As a youngster in the 50s it was considered proper to wear a hat for church, and I used to tramp off with Grandma, slightly resentfully, with a beret clamped firmly on my head. How I loathed that beret. I did try to lose it, but failed miserably.

Grandma was a great wearer of hats. she had a very smart straw, slightly reminiscent of Miss Marple a la Joan Hickson. This was worn in Summer for outings to town. Winter brought forth a natty felt hat with a small feather. Very smart. Her generation never gave it a second thought. Hats were worn.

One of the smartest hat wearers, in my mind, was Audrey Hepburn. Oh, those little pillboxes! Jackie Kennedy came a close second, but Audrey had more flair somehow.
















I love big hats. I still have a collection, quietly hibernating in Grandma's original leather hatbox. They go nowhere. I cant imagine the reaction to my smart hunter green Freddy Fox cowboy style hat, deep in rural Brittany! I do have a straw wedding hat, also known as Rentahat, due to the fact that so many of my friends have borrowed it for weddings. I think it's past its best now.

I wonder if there is a land where worn out and unworn hats go to retire?

Signs of Spring?

These are not , yet, in my garden. But I was so delighted this morning , to see the first little spears of daffodils poking through the bark in the flower beds. that, to me, is always the first sign of Spring. I shall go and peer at them every day to see if they have grown.

There is something so cheering about the first sign of Spring, especially in a cold wet January. Pools of water lie on our drive. Branches from the next door Birch tree have been blown down. the sky is grey.

Yet, here is a sign of hope.

Psalm 74, vv15 -17

You opened up springs of hope, you dried up ever-flowing rivers,

The day is yours,and also the night; you established the sun and the moon;

It was you who set all the boundaries of the earth,

You made both Summer and Winter'

So we have a new season to look forward to, new burgeoning, new beginnings. Buds opening in the garden, primroses, snowdrops putting up their green shoots. Even my country Living magazine features Spring! The year begins to be hopeful again.

Oh dear.

Why 'Oh dear'? Well, after twenty years patchworking one might think that a simple Evening Star block would be put together in a matter of minutes.

Not so . This is heading towards a re cut. Somehow, although I measured each piece very carefully, and cut equally carefully, the block is half an inch too big. Half an inch does matter, as it is a block for the Linus project and they must be nine and a half inches finished size.

The only thing I can think of is that my pencil markings were at fault, so, run and find pencil sharpener and make a big thick lead into a neat thin point. Whose fault was it? Mine.

Oyster afternoon

The horizon glistened with a silver band of sunlight over Damgan Bay. It was the best day we have had for a long time, frost , ice and fog have bedevilled Brittany for days. But today was lovely.
We walked along the beach, and wondered at the small groups of people on the seaweedy rocks. What were they searching for? What did those baskets and buckets hold? Could it be mussels , so often found at low tide? But the clue came as we wandered further, for all over the beach were the most enormous Oyster shells, gleaming white on the sand. This area is, of course, the 'Cite des Huitres', City of Oysters.


As this man came up the beach towards us, I asked him what he had found. Proudly he showed me his wooden basket, full of huge Oysters , maybe 20 or thirty of them. 'Huitres, Madame', he said proudly , 'We shall eat well tonight'! He showed me the special little tool, rather like a little pickaxe, that he used to scrape the oysters from the rocks. You can just see it in the photo if you click to enlarge.


Just imagine going home, putting your basket on the table, and saying casually 'Oysters tonight for dinner'.! And all for free.



The restaurants and bars serve a plate of a dozen, or half a dozen oysters, with a glass of white wine, a Musadet, or similar. To eat an oyster....just make sure it is detached from the shell, using an oyster fork, or little knife. Sprinkle with lemon, or tabasco, hold the shell in one hand....and swallow. Yes, whole. Raw.

The Linus Project

Do you remember the wonderful Peanuts cartoons, drawn by the inimitable Charles Schulz? My children loved them.

This is Linus, he of the blanket and thumb firmly stuck in mouth. The reason I've put him here today is to tell you about the Linus Project, though those of who are quilters and who live in the USA will probably know of it already.

Our little quilting group tries to do something for a charity every year, and last year made quilt blocks for Children with Leukaemia. This year we will be making blocks for the Linus project. This was started in America in 1995, then taken up in England in 2000. The idea is that comforting blankets and quilts are made for children who are ill or in need. Some may be in hospital, in refuges or in Hospices.

The originator was a Mrs Karen Loucks, who read an article about Laura, a little girl undergoing intensive Chemotherapy. Laura was quoted as saying that her security blanket haad helped her go through the chemo. Mrs Loucks decided to provide the Denver Rocky Mountain Childrens Cancer Centre with blankets for the little ones. From there it grew and spread, and from the year 2000 there have been 94,273 blankets or quilts donated. The organisation is non profit making, manned by volunteers, and you can learn more at http://www.projectlinus.org/.

This year the challenge is to make blocks that represent Sun, Sky and Sea, using bright colours wherever possible. The blocks are then sent to the organiser and made up into quilts. I think that hospitals prefer quilts to knitted blankets now, because of the difficulties of washing blankets in hospital machinery.

I know how I like to wrap myself in a warm soft blanket if I'm not feeling too good. I love the thought of the children gaining comfort from our sewing.

Declutter, declutter.........

New Year comes, and with it all sorts of , cannot call them resolutions, just the gentle shoves from the brain that say 'Do something about all this STUFF'.

This is a medicine cabinet. It does not in the least resemble mine, not because of its wonderful 'Victorian-ness', but because of its orderliness. Bottles gleaming, arranged in size order, little drawers with labels, neatness personified. I imagine the owner could reach in and find exactly what was needed. It reminds me of the old fashioned chemist that I used to go into with my grandmother, beautiful glass carboys glimmering with colour. What was in them? I never knew.

No, my medicine chest, which I decided to declutter, is a mess. Rummage rummage, ah there's the inhaler. Ooops, its dated 2006. Throw out. More rummaging, hmm, found the elbow bandage. Wonder when that will be needed, I know its been there for at least 10 years. Throw out. Oh, look, the thermometer I thought I'd lost......

And so it continues, with old packets of half consumed pills, potions, cough medicines, boxes long past their sell by date. Why am I keeping these things? If I need more all I have to do is go to a pharmacie where I will be loaded down with prescribed and non prescription goods. The French like to have good value when they are ill.

So now I have a clean, rather bare, chest. I have to keep 'useful' things like TCP, a very British antiseptic that I can't get here, and can't live without. I have kept the useful little sachets, free from the chemist, of antiseptic wet wipes, who knows when they might come in useful? Paracetamol, allowed. Sticky old cough sweets, thrown out. Virtuous feeling all round. On to the next job.

This is the Pont Aven, at the moment the flagship of Brittany Ferries. I think an even newer ferry is about to be launched this year. The ferries travel between England, France and Spain.

We travelled back to France last night in this mammoth ship, feeling as though we might be embarking on a cruise. Our cabin was large, with two comfortable beds, television, writing desk, bathroom etc. Breakfast was brought in by a steward at 6am this morning, not, I have to say, our usual breakfast hour, but very welcome.

Thank you to so many people who have asked for an update on my husband. He has done marvellously well, well enough for us to spend Christmas with family in UK. He continues with physiotherapy to help his mobility, and can be very fatigued, but he is his lovely cheerful self once again. We give thanks for his amazing recovery every day.