An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.
WE MET ALICE at a boulangerie in her village of Auray, where she lives when she’s not working at Gallerie Daniel Besseiche in Paris. We jumped out of the car and hugged like we hadn’t seen one another in years, instead of weeks; then we got back in and followed her to the lent house that she had so generously arranged for us to use for a month. Here Jim would actually begin writing his book.
The road wound through a housing development, around a curve, and out into pastureland. Finally Alice slowed down and made a left turn through a big blue gate. It was a country house, maybe once a farmhouse, with a patio and outbuildings. When Alice opened the front door, we entered a house that was large and lovely, old but not ancient. The owners had redone it beautifully. A modern and good-looking kitchen with tile floors is open to the dining area, which has a long table and lots of chairs—ideal for a dinner party. The owner’s paintings—his own work—adorn the downstairs walls with grace and vitality, a range of solid technique and styles. I’m going to call the living room Primal Breton, with hints of Africa and 30’s chic. In the four upstairs bedrooms (including two for kids), modern furniture is mixed with antiques. In other words, we liked this English couple just from their stuff. What a place and space to work!
Afterwards, he picked up a guitar he found and softly played and sang the songs he knows so well. As for the tempestuous two who were left, Frida found a perch in the living room that suited her, while I lay back on the sofa. We didn’t have our own fort, but we had settled into another family’s home.
Now that we’re in one place for a month, I’m happy to have a nest. I’m even glad to cook again. This domestic act of preparing food touches me to earth. Since we’ve been in France, this is the first time we’ve had a kitchen in which whole meals can be made, with lots of pots and pans and room to chop and mix and a dishwasher to put the dirty dishes in. Roasting the turkey was the Thanksgiving we didn’t have. There was just no time the day before we left the U.S. We had too much to try and finish up and still didn’t get it all done.
Jim set his sights on an upstairs bedroom to open his laptop, hunker down, and start writing. I preferred the living room as my office. I could lay everything out on the long coffee table with the sofa as my chair. We both liked the kitchen but didn’t feel it was the right spot. It became the neutral base. How appropriate. That’s what kitchens always are—the heart of the home, where life is lived, meals are made, where people drop their defense shields, gather and converse, or fight with life-altering utensils within grasp.
Auray, France
The sky changes in a matter of minutes here—from blue skies to stormy clouds to drizzling rain, sometimes even hail and snow. It’s fascinating to watch, a show that comes on every day, which is good since not only do we have bad French television, we also have bad Italian television. There’s also some tragic Eastern European soap opera that is narrated. Strange. I require background noise while I write. Usually, I prefer music—rock and roll, bluegrass, folk, Irish, Cuban, pop—whatever informs the mood of the work. Jim does that same thing, but he likes jazz and classical, which are usually too slow for me. I like my music loud, with a beat and wail.
But sometimes TV works fine. I don’t really watch it, but still I’d like it to be a show I might watch—a movie, “Trading Spaces,” “Oprah”—something like that. We had our own bad game shows (which aren’t as silly as most of these) and talk shows at home, but I didn’t watch them or turn them on for background noise. More channels, more choices—although there has been something comforting about those old reruns of “Zorro” and “I Dream of Jeannie,” even if they’re speaking Italian. At night, I might watch French films (or American ones dubbed in French) and try to improve my language skills. The kind owners of this house have two small children, and they have kiddie movies, which I have found myself turning on. Cinderella, starring Brandy, Whitney Houston, Jason Alexander, and Whoopi Goldberg, was entertaining and well produced. (Really, who doesn’t love a good Cinderella story?) I’m pleasantly amused by The Borrowers. I wish we had some of our own little Borrowers here. Brittany seems perfect for them.
Being in these other peoples’ home opens the issue of our own home, so far away. We recently got word that our Realtor wants to drop the price of our house. We hate it—we need every cent we can get—but grudgingly said okay. The Universe is full of abundance and bounty, so how about sending some of it to us! We get FedEx in France, Universe. Do you have our new address?
Beth Arnold
Auray, France
February 20, 2003
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Zorro poster, image via International Hero.
Unless otherwise indicated, photos by Beth Arnold. Not subject to use without permission.
Beth Arnold lives and writes in Paris, where she produces her "Letter From Paris" new media project.
You can find the Chasing Matisse book by James Morgan here at Amazon--or you can find it in or order it from your favorite book store.
Jours of Our Lives illlustration by artist (and couturier) Elizabeth Cannon. To find out more about her, click here.
