Fool me once...

Last week we were all amazed at our astonishing weather. We did have rain (which we need), but the temperatures were so warm that I took the down comforter off the bed and set the heat so it would only go on for an hour at night and another hour in the morning. I also moved my winter jacket back up to its summer residence in the upstairs closet and left my "L.A. jacket" downstairs for early morning walks. I contemplated putting all my sweaters away, but didn't get around to it.

Well, foolish little me! This week, colder weather made quite a comeback! We had one of those nasty rains where the high wind is blowing semi-frozen raindrops practically horizontally into your face. Very fun first thing in the morning.

Still in warmish weather mode, I took the dogs out right after my shower without covering my ears, and now I have an otitis and am practically deaf in one ear!

You would think that after living here for 2 years, I would have learned by now to not count on understanding the weather! It changes not just from day-to-day, but from morning to mid-morning!

I feel sorry for all those little spring flowers that thought it was time for them to start popping up. They must be some pretty cold blooms right around now.

You know what's going to happen though, right? I'll get my winter clothes back out, and the weather will turn warm once again.

Ciao for now.

Randy

Why my hair is gray

A new Shmoo story for all his "fans."

Yesterday, I had a bit of shopping to do, so left JM and the dogs at home as usual. When I got back from Champion, I noticed something odd-looking on the dogs' cushion under the front window. It was the remains of Maggie's beautiful leather collar that I had made for her by our (then) village saddle maker! The metal bits were still there, thank goodness, but a good 20 to 30cm of leather were gone, gone, gone.

Before panicking, I looked around, under, in different rooms, etc., hoping that it was shredded up somewhere other than in the Shmoo stomach. But, no collar bits anywhere to be found.

At first, I thought it might be okay. After all, he does eat rawhide chews and cow ears. But I realized that leather for things like saddles was probably not the same as rawhide processed for eating. Who knows WHAT kind of chemicals they use? And, there is the fact that it was very thick, tough leather.

I took him out for a walk, keeping an eye on him. He was a bit more subdued than usual but not ill, per se. However, as the afternoon wore on and he really appeared to be quite lethargic and uninterested in almost anything, I decided to call the vet. We determined that it was probably too late to make him vomit and too early to know if there was a blockage, as it wouldn't have passed far enough into his intestines yet. Clearly, he wasn't to get any food and if he wasn't better in the morning I was to take him over and they would determine if he needed surgery.

As the evening wore on it was clear he really, really didn't feel well. At one point I was worried because he even seemed to be having trouble standing up. Of course, I feared the worse (anxious mommy that I am) and even worried if he might not have something ELSE wrong with him aside from collar-itis.

This morning, he was still not himself, not playing with Maggie at all. Then, he went out of the bedroom (good dog!) and threw up in JM's office (much easier to clean). There were lots of bits of semi-digested collar, so I guess it never even made it beyond his stomach. No wonder he felt sick!

I figured that a visit to the vet was called for just to be certain that there was nothing wrong further down. And, this is where I made by big mistake. I didn't see why Maggie should suffer, just because Shmoo couldn't eat. So, I gave her breakfast. I suppose that having gone hungry last night, feeling like hell for about 16 hours and then watching Maggie get food made him upset. He kind of launched himself at her in a not-playful way. Maggie would not eat or even be in the same room with Shmoo after that.

I decided to let things be, finished my own breakfast, dressed Shmoo and put him in the car then left for the Vet. An x-ray later it was clear nothing was blocked so no surgery was required. I was told he could eat if he felt like it and that if he remained constipated I should give him paraffin oil. By then, I could see that although he wasn't himself yet, he was feeling better.

Everyone ate, but Maggie spent most of the day totally terrified to go anywhere near Shmoo. Finally, it sorted itself out this afternoon. But I have several more gray hairs than I started with yesterday morning!

Ciao for now.

Randy

Moving away from yourself

There is a forum I read on a regular basis, where expats talk about life in France. Recently, there was a discussion about those who have returned, or want to return, to their home country.

I realized that for many people, the problem isn't really one of where they live, it's one that is as old as time. Simply put: you can't move away from yourself.

There is no place on earth that is "perfect," you just have to find the balance that is right for your needs. We lived in a very nice community in Los Angeles for 20 years. We knew all our neighbors, got on well with everyone, lived comfortably in a cozy house and garden. We had lots of friends and acquaintances, good shopping, plenty of cultural activities available, good (if expensive) medical care, etc.

But in the 20 years we were there, we never actually socialized with any of those neighbors (except for one couple), all of our conversations were on the same level as what one finds in most conversations in France, America or anywhere else: weather, current shocking events, the other neighbors, weather, what's the city doing wrong and how does it affect us, weather, etc.

The friends we had were all busy with their families and careers, especially their careers. No one had a lot of time to get together for socializing, so contact tended to be one or if we were lucky, two dinners a year. All those nice shops and cultural events were very expensive, especially for self-employed writers. The good medical care was getting to be so expensive that we would no longer have been able to afford it by now had we stayed.

Even if we'd been wealthier, the general quality of life in a large metropolis like Los Angeles was becoming such that staying there was less and less appealing: traffic, pollution, stress, helicopters flying overhead during the night, vast distances to travel for most things in that traffic.

So, what do we like about living in rural France? We've socialized more with several of our neighbors here in 2 years than in 20 years in our last home. The conversations can vary from the surface when one is running errands, to more in depth social and political discussions depending on the person with whom we're speaking. We didn't avail ourselves of most of the cultural activities in L.A. anyway, so I don't miss those and it's plenty easy to go to Carcassonne, Toulouse or even Paris if I really want to. I no longer fear losing our house if one of us gets ill. I never hear a helicopter flying overhead unless there has been a bad accident or someone is seriously ill and needs immediate medical transport.

I have clean air, country walks, fresh vegetables from friends and neighbors. I know that if I need help, I only have to ask and it will be there.

No. France isn't perfect. It's full of warts the same as everywhere else. But I didn't move here to find happiness, I always felt that had to be inside me to exist. I just wanted a place where it could flourish in a slightly better environment.

Ciao for now.

Randy