Courage Kindled

The last days of the year were filled with fun and games, good food and wine, and sitting cosy, watching movies in our matching pjs (a gift from Brendan and Jane). We chose a lemon tree (no evergreens left) and decorated it with Christmas ornaments, got stuck in a muddy field in Mary's car - heavy with wine - and were pulled out by a tractor. 

We drove to Castres to dine at Cuq en Terrasses (a gourmet feast) and to Causades to visit a hat store for Jane. The last day we spent in Toulouse, eating at Entrecôte (a favourite) and then onto La Halle de la Machine with giant Minotaur and Dragon that moves, breathes fire and scared poor Seb. Ten days passed in a flash and my family left to celebrate New Year's Eve in London. I welcomed in the new year by myself.  

FOR A NEW BEGINNING

by John O’Donohue

"In out-of-the-way places of the heart,

Where your thoughts never think to wander,

This beginning has been quietly forming,

Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,

Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,

Noticing how you willed yourself on,

Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety

And the gray promises that sameness whispered,

Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,

Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,

And out you stepped onto new ground,

Your eyes young again with energy and dream,

A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear

You can trust the promise of this opening;

Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning

That is at one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;

Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;

Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,

For your soul senses the world that awaits you."

I've been trying to write a blog for the new year but the wonderful ideas and sentences that form in my head never quite make it to the page. I am always afraid of appearing too simple, and of becoming so vulnerable that I curl into a ball and die. (I always had a flair for the melodramatic.) 

Still the fear I felt when I read my last proprioceptive writing exercise about my shattered heart was as real as the childhood fear of monsters under my bed.

I would like to "find ease in risk". I think my biggest problem is that I haven't been writing and am out of practice. Easily remedied. I have begun. Since January 1st, I've set myself the task of writing for 15 minutes, after my morning coffee. And yes, the writing is pretty simple and I do write the obvious but my friend Susan once told me that this is my gift. 

On January 1st, I wrote "I wish to grow old disgracefully like Billy Connolly. I wish to be kinder to myself but not bullshit myself. I want to feel freer about asking for help. I want to face my fears (here I go again) and do it anyway. I want to stop being so self-effacing. I want to love myself. This reminds me of Brendan's question of many years ago. "Would the people who love you love you if you were stupid, worthless? And underneath this thought is the thought that I smoke to remain a bad girl, a rebel who doesn't want to spend every minute trying to be perfect." 

And so the new year begins...

I am trying to establish new habits. I am learning to ask for help. Before Rob died, I simply yelled up the stairs. Now, I must ask an outsider. So be it. 

I do not want to live a small life. I must give up - for now - trying to find the perfect word, sentence, transition and just write. 

HAPPY CHRISTMAS

 

Opening my mouth

 I feel my life has grown small since Rob's death. I have not published many words as I don't want to share my grief, my anger, my confusion. 

Marlene, dear friend, mentor invited me into her wild women writing circle. I wanted to join and yet I was frightened. Sometimes what comes out of my pen onto the page is too raw, too childlike, and I'm embarrassed. And I feel ridiculous that I am embarrassed. I have regressed and donned my solid coat of armour. 

The writing circle - women from around the world - excites me, inspires me, calms me. I am beginning to feel that I belong. Several weeks ago, the topic was poetry. I am not a poet. I chose the easiest form, the Elfchen or Elevensie. First line has one word, second has two, third thas three, fourth has four, and fifth has one. 

Mouth

Grows rusty

Fear robs voice

Leading a small life

Sob

Mouth

Rust forming

Frog croaking angrily

Is escape even possible

Hell

Mouth 

Sweet lips

Refusing to open

Fear has frozen words

Help

Frog

In throat

Refuses to leave

Mouth slowly forced open

Escape

Rust

Corrodes jaw

Jaw needs oil

Oil squirted between lips

Freedom

Mouth 

Grows rusty

Silent too long

Life becomes more difficult

Speak

I am not impressed by the above but when we split into pairs and I read, the other woman laughed and said you have to read these. "They're funny."  (I wasn't trying for humour but I was the first to read - otherwise I might have chickened out.  

Towards the end of the session, one sweet woman said that this is what she's here for - to hear other women's voices. 

Paris for Spring 2026

I wrote a summary of Paris for the store and posted on FB

 I returned to Paris first week in October with my sister Gael, photographer extraordinaire, to explore what's new and exciting for next spring and summer. As tiring as it is, Fashion Week is also pure pleasure, especially as LeslieJane believes in slow fashion and insists on filling the store with original creations from small ateliers. 

We visited the Palais  Brongniart and Tuileries Garden - beautiful spaces in their own right but for one week, they house an exclusive number of new designers.  We also walked the streets to storefronts and showrooms of those designers we have come to trust.

Be prepared for colour, vibrant colour, from such designers as Barbara Lang, Manuelle Guibal, La Fee Parisienne, and Epice. If you love orange like I love orange or rich green in its many variants, or blue too from baby to navy, they're the premiere colours for spring. 

Our Japanese designers - Vlas Bloome and Guptiha - offer a softer subtler range of colour in linen, cotton, and silk fabrics - so meticulously woven and constructed I consider them works of art.

My personal desire is to be a wilder and bolder. I want to mix and match and clash colour and pattern and designer.

I loved the film "Midnight in Paris" where many of the literary and artistic figures of bygone days came to life. I love how today's Parisienne woman tie a scarve and swing a bag, looking so put-together and confident.

I would like to say a special thanks to my sister who lent her eyes and enthusiasm to yet another Paris adventure.

Happy Birthday, Gill

 

Gilly, born 40 years plus 3 days after her papa, is a beauty who loves to dress up or down (sometimes to her father's chagrin) but she is unashamed, fierce and proud. Most important - to me - she is super smart, loyal, generous and loves with her whole heart. She loves me with a love that I sometimes think that I don't deserve but, perhaps I do. Like me, she is vulnerably human with an equal measure of sassiness. Thank the heavens, she has her father's sense of humour, his love of music and cooking, travel and so much more. She is my sunshine.

Happy Birthday, my precious daughter

The Wild Zone

 I am waiting for myself. I am waiting for something, some place to reveal itself where I can be me, a singular me, brave and free, wild - how I love this word - untamed, feminine, a woman of a certain age. I will not claim wisdom or experience. 

I have had my bursts of wildness and they have been exhilarating and terrifying. I felt as if I was jumping into a void, not knowing where I would land. I want another burst. Will I land on soft or hard ground, into light or dark? I wish for some beautiful place, an Oz of sorts - bright flowers, gold and gold dust, diamonds and pearls, emeralds and rubies everywhere - a walk down the yellow brick road. Fanciful. I do not want to think of a cold, dark, horrible space with growls and roars where I might be some beast's dinner. The only beast that I want to hear roar is me, without reserve, I'd like to do a little dance, without inhibition because at my age, I don't want to give a fuck. Yet, I don't want to offend anyone (or so I think at this moment). 

I want another wild person to mirror me, encourage me, challenge me. I want to soar, fly without measuring distance. I do not want to be careful. I do not want to feel obligated. I want to be kind. I want those I love to know that I love them. I want to be original, not a copycat. I want to love what I am doing, no holding back, no embarassment, just a wonderful acceptance of self, a permission to be.

How do I begin? I have already begun. I don't want to think that I'm at death's door - that's how I've been feeling for the last two years but enough is enough. I don't want to spend the rest of my life preparing for death. I want to move a little quicker. I want to magically be able to sing and not told to shut my mouth. I want to do something, more than one thing, that I've never done before. I want more fresh air, more sunshine, more art. I would like to sweep in front of my house. I would like to cook better meals for myself. I would like to ask more questions.

Am I asking for too much? I will not apologize. 

My life

 “I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.

“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.

Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”—Oliver Sacks.

I am filled with gratitude. I had an operation yesterday for my hernia. It was a little scary - all the protocol at the hospital - but everyone was so kind, especially the male nurse who put the needle in my hand and the anaesthetist who said he was putting the potion in the tube and a mask on my face. Breathe deeply, he instructed. I disappeared on the fourth breath and woke up in the recovery room. Soon after, I was wheeled back to my little room where Brendan was waiting. I faded in and out of consciousness until I was told that I could dress and go home. Voila. I can see the tiny scar above my navel. No bump. It's been tucked back in place. 

I had a restless sleep but am told that it is the result of the anaesthetic. I don't mind. The feared operation is over and now I can get on with my life. Fingers crossed. 

I've fallen in love with PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA. This poem is called "Facts of Life":

That you were born/ and you will die.

That you will sometimes love enough/ and sometimes not.

That you will lie/ if only to yourself.

That you will get tired.

That you will learn most from the situations/ you did not choose.

That there will be some things that move you/ more than you can say.

That you will live/ that you must be loved.

That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of/ your attention.

That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg/ of two people who once were strangers/ and may well still be.

That life isn’t fair.

That life is sometimes good/ and sometimes better than good.

That life is often not so good.

That life is real/ and if you can survive it, well,/ survive it well

with love/ and art/ and meaning given/ where meaning’s scarce.

That you will learn to live with regret./ That you will learn to live with respect.

That the structures that constrict you/ may not be permanently constraining.

That you will probably be okay.

That you must accept change/ before you die/ but you will die anyway.

So you might as well live

and you might as well love.

You might as well love.

You might as well love.