The Days Pass So Quickly

Posted on 29 July 2004

The days pass so quickly and I feel I am doing little but know this isn’t true. This morning I rose early – at four – to have time for my thoughts, correspondance, and writing. This is the only time of the day, I am capable of focusing.

Rob, on the other hand, is writing up a storm and tells me he has 87 pages of his novel written. How I envy his ability to concentrate.

I find moments of delight scattered through my days and nights. A few evenings ago, Rob and I went to a classical concert – two violins and one cello – in a small church in Vieux, a neighbouring village. We ran into our new neighbours and both were apologetic about complaining the night before. Thank goodness. After the concert, we went to Lyn’s balcony and drank champagne with these neighbours – though it was late and way past my bed time, I felt I had to make the effort.

Yesterday, Bedding and I worked on the wood room, cleaning (hard work) but are transferring it into another guest room and an office for me. Our house is strange – four floors – but with only two closed bedrooms. Eventually we will convert room to a proper den but, for this summer, swept walls, painted floor, and curtains will make it comfortable and usable.

I also visited Francis Meadows, a woman who lives in Paris, works as a legal translator, and who has lent me her house for writing workshop and wanted to give me a tour and instructions. She hopes that the writing school will replace the art school. She is also the first person I’ve spoken to who praised Frances Pratt of the Painting School of Montmiral. She came here in the late eighties for an art course and feels, thanks to Pratt, she learned a great deal about drawing. She also respects his art. I liked hearing this because, to me, he appears a pompous fool. It’s a shame he comes across this way, especially now knowing that he is not a charleton as an artist and teacher.

Later in the afternoon, Gill and I went to Gaillac to grocery shop. We’re trying to catch a moment here and there – just the two of us – as she will fly directly to Toronto to start school at the end of August and it could well be Christmas before we see each other. She is an extraordinary young woman. She has been having disturbing dreams about being inarticulate and not being able to communicate with Rob and me, and so wants to make the time to talk.

Still it suprised me that she wanted to accompany Rob and I in the evening to a barbeque in Lyn’s garden – a steep climb down a hll at the foot of the village. It was a lovely evening. Lyn cooked sardines and saucisses on her small Hibachi. There were nine of us – our new neighbours (who I grow fonder of every minute), Francis Meadows, Mureille (a French woman, quite nice who speaks French slowly that we can understand), the three Youngs and Gill’s friend, and Lyn.

Today is market day in Gaillac so in a few hours, Rob and I will drive to town to shop for fresh fruit and vegetables.


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