On my birthday the Bear got up first and brought me a cup of tea in bed! He presented me with cards from himself and the cats and a present which one of his daughters had sent - a pretty blue brooch. Then he said, apologetically, that he hadn't bought anything, but he gave me a box of chocolates 'from the cats'.
Jay presented me with a birthday kiss, some flowers, a warm fleece - for when I help on the market - a book and a DVD (Pirates of the Caribbean) as joint presents from him, CC and the Whale.
It was a bit of a rush to get all the 'morning chores' done before my 'English student' arrived. She is a fourteen year old who has been taken out of school by her parents and is having to follow the home teaching programme. When I opened the door she was standing there with a beautifully wrapped present of a selection of tea and coffee, together with chocolate covered coffee beans and other chocolates all elegantly arranged on a wooden tray.
She stayed until after eleven and then the Bear took me into town for lunch. We collected the cake and took it into La Fontaine, where everyone came up and kissed me on both cheeks and wished me Joyeuse Anniversaire. There was a giftwrapped cyclamen on the table and after we had sampled the plat du jour - choucroute - they brought us enormous slices of cake. Mine was decorated with the large 'sheet' of marzipan on which the greeting had been written in chocolate, and the Bear had been given the rather strange decoration - a pineapple stalk! (It looked rather like a leek).
We finished the meal with a leisurely coffee and then returned, just in time to receive Marcelle, a friend from the next village who turned up unannounced with a beautiful bouquet.
The only slight sign of a bad mood from the Bear was when I said I was going shopping with Jay for the evening meal. Bear had tried several ploys to avoid eating in. He had offered to take 'me' out to dinner. Then he stretched his invitation to include Elisabeth and her sons - but NOT Jay and the Whale. Enough said. I was determined to stick to my plan.
Jay and I went to the supermarket and chose sea trout for the main course, a selection of cheeses - brie de Meaux, soft goat's cheese and Bleu d'Auvergne - and the ingredients for a Greek salad as starter. Elisabeth had offered to bring the dessert. Jay chose the wine, Macon Villages and a rosé (we already had champagne in the fridge and a nice Medoc sitting on the worktop) and then we had a well deserved coffee before loading the car and heading for home.
It was after five, our guests were due at seven but we both felt quite laid back and unhurried as we prepared the vegetables and laid the table. Then our neighbout popped in with another plant. She stayed for a drink and a chat and then we found ourselves hoping that our guests would be a bit late - and they were!
It was nearly seven thirty when they arrived with yet another plant and a gorgeous raspberry gateau. The Bear had gone to bed during the afternoon and when I went to tell him that Elisabeth was here I was greeted with snores. However, during the aperitif he put in an appearance but refused to try the greek salad or trout and just nibbled bread while the rest of us thoroughly enjoyed the meal.
He made up for it when the cake was brought out, and managed a large helping, but went back to bed before we had finished coffee. It has to be said that his arthritis can be painful.
All in all, it was a super day and I really enjoyed it. Even the sun came out and the temperature reached 14 degrees - not bad for the Ardennes at the end of November!
Last Thursday something went wrong with the lightswitch in the loo. This is rather serious because there is no window in the 'smallest room'.
Bear had a go at mending it while I was out on Friday and I came home to find the whole thing stuck up with great swathes of thick black tape - but, it did work - just.
On Saturday he went to buy a new switch but came back in disgust because a matching one cost 14 euros, so he wouldn't buy it.
Today, after a certain amount of fiddling and swearing we have a grubby, very 'off' white, secondhand switch STUCK on the wall at a very rakish angle.
The Bear has always managed to spoil my birthdays. For my fiftieth I would have liked to have hired the village hall and invited lots of friends. One friend was involved in catering and would have offered a good deal and another friend was keen to combine efforts as it was her mother's birthday as well. But, it was not to be, the Bear decided it was too much fuss and expense (and I had been hoping he'd make a contribution!) so in the end Jay and I cooked at home for about twenty people. We made a selection of curries with all the trimmings and it was a great evening but we did have all the clearing up to do afterwards.
When my sixtieth loomed, we were in France, and I was looking forward to doing something special. But, the Bear was offered the 20th November (a week before my birthday), as well as later dates, to have his knee done, and he eagerly accepted - despite having assured one of our friends that he was arranging a 'surprise party' together with CC and Jay. They knew nothing about it, of course, so it really would have been a surprise!!!
As it was, it was very difficult to make plans because we didn't know whether he would still be in hospital or not. We were kind of hoping he'd still be 'in' and he was. But when I went to visit him on the day, he was as miserable as sin, and didn't even wish me a happy birthday, let alone ask me what we were doing to celebrate. I was kind of glad that because of his unstable diabetes he was not allowed to have a piece of cake.
For the last couple of months I have been wondering how to get out of going away with the Bear for my birthday this year.
I'm pretty sure his main motivation for such an invitation was to get me away from home so that I couldn't invite friends and let Jay do a meal. If our last weekend 'a deux' (for our twentieth wedding anniversary) is anything to go by, it would be anything but a romantic or even pleasant experience.
Today, while having lunch in town, I finally plucked up the courage to say that I'd rather stay at home because neither of us is fully fit and when you are hobbling about there's no place like your own living room and a warm fire. Bear was not happy - even though I suspect he privately felt relieved - and said, rather grumpily, 'Well we'll have lunch again here then.'
Later, he asked if I was going to order a birthday cake and I said funds were a bit low until 'payday' so I'd rather wait. However, when we went to buy the bread he insisted that I put in the order and he would pay - but not for a cake to take home for the evening - oh no, he wants to take it to the café at lunchtime and share it with the waitresses.
If we invite a few friends for the evening I'll be making my own cake - or perhaps some other dessert - because I can't compete with the gorgeously light cakes you can buy in French patisseries.
The Bear can be generous in his way but he never gives the impression that its a pleasure for him to offer a present. In fact, most birthdays and Christmasses pass with little or nothing from him to me. It used to make me cry but I'm hardened to it now.
One thing I do know: Jay will make an effort to see that my birthday is special, Bear will be jealous and he'll make a fuss about it sooner or later.
It's hard to know where to draw the line between encouragement and being realistic with regards to the Whale's walking.
Since we came to France four years ago he has made tremendous progress from being partially paralysed to being able to walk with a walking frame and even get in and out of bed by himself. This is mainly due to regular physiotherapy sessions but also to his own determination.
However, there are limits to how much further he can improve. According to the physios, he should now try to take advantage of his mobility to walk 'for a purpose' and not just for the sake of walking but Whale has higher aspirations. He wants to walk with crutches, then progress to just one crutch and finally walk unaided!
This is aiming rather TOO high but how can you tell a chap in his position that it's not likely to happen and thereby knock out his hopes and aspirations? The physios shake their heads when he goes on about it and try to let him down gently but he won't let go of the idea.
There's some rule among physios that if he has home visits he is not eligible to go to the Centre for Re-education as well. At the Centre there is a large gym where he can walk up and down to his heart's content (instead of going in circles round the house) but the physios there leave him to it and so he gets no stretching exercises - which are essential to keep his legs moving.
I thought we had persuaded him that home visits were preferable and that he wouldn't go to the centre but, yesterday I overheard him phoning them to ask about sessions. His French is reasonable but he was getting himself into difficulties and from what I could make out he first of all spoke to Dr. H who had been following his case and arranged to go for some 'walking' after Christmas. He then rang back again because he hadn't been given a day or time and was told that the said doctor wasn't there. He rang a third time and a different secretary informed him that Dr. H was, in fact, leaving at the end of the week and he should 'speak to the Director tomorrow'.
This morning he duly rang back, and after a fairly short conversation there was the sound of swearing and frustrated cries. It appeared he thought he was speaking to the director but had, in fact, been put through to Dr. H, who had become very angry, told him he couldn't attend the Centre AND have home physio, and then hung up.
To add to his discomfort today the Normacol he was given this morning still hasn't 'worked' . . . .
Yesterday saw the official inauguration of the covered market. It was scheduled for 10 o'clock and the Bear and I arrived at twenty to and were deafened, before we even got inside, by the sound of instruments tuning up.
We had to push our way through the crowds and by the time we reached the 'English stall' the band was in full swing. The playing was good but it was far too loud. The band had also positioned itself right in front of the access to the loos and I had made the mistake of drinking coffee a little earlier. When they stopped for a breather I just had to go and climb over their speakers, wires and instrument cases before I wet my knickers.
All the stalls were displaying new, matching signs proclaiming their names; bright yellow paper carrier bags bearing the inscription 'Marché couvert, Charleville -Mezieres' were given to all the stall holders and bottles of Beaujolais Nouveau were being freely distributed, but by 10.30 there was no sign of the mayor. We have come to expect everything to start late in France (which is really surprising when you think how well the trains run on time - except when there's a strike),
Suddenly, someone called and I recognised J-Y, the Mayor's husband (and the friend who had come to see us recently). He was with his son and daughter and we all greeted each other warmly. His daughter has just become engaged so I congratulated her and she said she hoped we would go to her wedding. The Bear would be invited IF he behaved himself - 'for at least six months' she added with a twinkle.
It was nearly eleven before the Mayor herself put in an appearance, surrounded by the local press and photographers. We performed the usual four kiss greeting and she presented Elisabeth, the stall owner, with a rose and an apron in the same colour as the new signs. Then she came round the counter and requested a photo with us both.
There were no speeches but the band continued its assault on our ears until lunchtime, when the market emptied as usual.
The second celebration took place in the evening. It was a birthday party for a two year old, and, although there was no time mentioned on the invitation, we had been told to arrive about seven. As seems customary, we arrived a few minutes after that, and there were already half a dozen people there, but the only child present was the birthday girl. She unwapped her present, a Noddy book with sound effects, and solemnly handed me back the wrapping paper! Next to arrive was a family of four, and while the parents proceeded with the accepted ritual of kisses or handshakes all round, the two boys gave everyone a peck on the cheek, whether they knew them or not.Other guests trickled in until past eight o'clock and eventually there were about thirty adults and a dozen children aged from eleven months to twelve years.
The children had free run of the house - a charming cottage in the process of renovation, with lots of staircases and rooms in all directions - and access to the playroom, complete with Wendy house.
The catering, on the other hand was definitely adult orientated. Punch was served, in plastic cups, at regular intervals; a caterer provided masses of food which was brought round by the hostess, her sister and a friend: prawns in sauce with a whole chilli, served in tiny (plastic) glasses, a tray of charcuterie and pickles, a variety of sandwiches and rolls, sliced boudin blanc (sausages) served hot, and lots of other interesting delicacies which I was too full to sample.
The older children tucked into sandwiches and drank coke while the babies were provided with 'readymeals' and yoghurt. By 10 o'clock the food and punch were still flowing, the children were all still remarkably well behaved, but we were beginning to think we ought to go home. No, our hostess insisted that we should stay for the cake, and sometime later the lights were dimmed and she emerged from the kitchen with an enormous gateau decorated with two candles, a sparkler and a foot-high sugar 2. We all sang 'Joyeux Anniversaire' and the birthday girl was persuaded, with some difficulty, to blow out the candles.
Despite the copious quantity of punch already drunk, the cake - a wonderfully light, raspberry filled concoction - was accompanied by generous servings of champagne.
It was past eleven when we finally took our leave and the party was still in full swing. Only the mothers with the two youngest children had already gone home. As I went round saying goodbye the remaining children were all happily occupied, including a group of boys playing 'striptease' with a big, 'teenage' doll.
We had had a great time but this was nothing like a party for a two-year-old that I have ever given, or attended before.
Never again will I complain about looking after the Whale and the Bear. (Well, 'never' might be going a bit too far).
A couple of weeks ago I answered a ring at the doorbell and found an elderly, grey-haired lady who apologised profusely for inconveniencing me before asking if it might be at all possible for her to come for some English conversation.
There was something about her that made me warm to her immediately and I invited her in. She seemed relieved but surprised at her own audacity for 'daring' to come and could hardly stop saying sorry for disturbing me.
It turned out that our local chemist had suggested (some months ago) that she should come and see me to practise her English, which she had taught herself from books and a rather bad CD. She is a retired teacher, aged 69, who looks after her disabled husband. He has multiple sclerosis and has been confined to a wheelchair for the last fifteen years and is now only able to move his left hand. He has a very poor short term memory and finds it extremely difficult to speak.
She looks after him almost totally herself. The only help she has is for one hour each morning and evening to get him up and put him to bed. On two days a week he goes to a care centre from 10.30 until 5p.m. and that is the only time she has to herself, as he cannot be left alone at all.
Over the last four weeks she has been to see me twice and I have been to her's twice. During this time we have shared conversations, poetry and tea and biscuits. I have learnt that her family live in the South and so she rarely sees them. She writes to her grandchildren in English and they tease her about her mistakes. Her husband studied for a doctorate in science but also enjoyed painting, pottery and carpentry before the illness took its toll. She was very proud to show me some of the furniture he had made.
On the one occasion I met him he seemed to realise why I was there and responded when I held his left hand. His eyes were certainly not vacant but he wasn't able to join in our conversation. She later told me that one of the worst things was that they can no longer communicate and she feels so alone.
But what she said when I left her today made me really stop and think about the cruelty of the human race. Since her husband's disability has got worse their friends have all disappeared. 'They couldn't bear to see him in that condition'.
What about her? Doesn't she deserve some support? It makes me determined to keep her company as often as I can.
I had arranged with friends to stay in their holiday home in a village north of Charleville (where they live). Most of her family live around the village square - one sister next to their holiday house, another in the corner and mum next to her.
6th October (cont)
The drive to C starts well apart from slight rain to welcome us to France, but we get lost in Maubeuge through a lack of clear signs and waste about half an hour. Neverheless we arrive at the house before dark only to find that M's door displays the sign 'Ne frappez pas - bébé dort'.
M holds the key but her husband, the said bébé, works nights and doesn't appreciate being woken when he's having a nap.
So, how do we get the key? We go to D's house. Her son answers and looks puzzled at the sight of two foreigners. Perhaps he doesn't recognise us. His dad comes and greets us warmly - four kisses for me and a handshake for Jay and we go back to M's house where he walks in and emerges a couple of minutes later with the keys to the garage. He seems in a hurry to get back home.
We go in and find the electricity is off. An array of buttons and switches on the wall mean nothing. We tentatively try a couple but to no avail. I go to the phonebox and ring J. (the owner). It's difficult to hear what he says as the traffic is noisy but then Jay comes to tell me that G (the bébé) has turned up so I tell J I'll ring him back.
G has disappeared by the time I get back but, at least, he has shown Jay which button to press. Light at last! The house has changed alot since my last visit - much more welcoming and homely. We unpack and then settle down with a bottle of wine - a special one saved from a shopping spree earlier. M comes in with some homemade soup and apologises that she can't stay, she's expecting visitors.
We go for a walk. It's good to stretch our legs. We come back for a meal of soup and bruschetta - Jay does all the work - and then we have a fairly early night. Amazingly, I sleep like a log!
All's quiet on the Bear/Whale front - apart from the snores and there's nothing particularly interesting to report so it seems like a good time to look at my diary from four years ago:
Sunday 6th October
Ten to six - two of the cats start hissing and spitting. They'll wake the Bear, so I go downstairs and let them out. It's not light yet but I go back up and start packing a few necessities; lens solutions, glasses, toiletries etc. into a plastic bag. It crackles - I panic - listen at the bedroom door - all's well. Might as well get dressed - dare not run a bath or have a shower - and put my dressing gown on over my clothes - just in case he wakes up.
Creep downstairs with plastic bag - heart racing. It's too early to feed the cats. He's used to that noise but not at 20 past 6 on a Sunday. O.K. I'll write the note. For some reason I don't dare put the light on so hope it's legible:
'Dear 'Bear'
I didn't dare tell you in advance, but I'm gong to France with 'J'. I know you've been trying to be nice lately so I'm sorry to make you so cross. The sad thing is we will never come to terms with each other's feelings for my children. Take care - look after the cats,
love, S'
Now, where do I leave it? Hide it till I go. He might come downstairs! Feed the cats, make a coffee. It's getting light and I think I'm a bit calmer. Creep upstairs and rescue two more binbags - a cosy duvet cover and some other bedding - then back down, and feeling braver, take the roasting tins that the children left behind when they came to collect my clothes and sentimental items (at least, those he wouldn't miss) while Bear and I went into Norwich yesterday.
Goodness, five to seven already. I MUST go to the loo and hope it doesn't wake him. 7o'clock: I creep out of the house with everything crammed into the two plastic bags, handbag round my neck, the letter left by the phone.
My hands are trembling so I can't lock the door without clattering the keys. I walk down the drive keeping on the grass to avoid the crunch of the gravel but all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.
At last - out on the road and walking towards the bus-stop. The bags are heavier than I thought and my dressing gown belt is hanging out so I stop to sort it out.
Nearly five past seven and I'm at the bus-stop. Hope there isn't a bus due. I'd feel foolish if it stopped for me and I didn't get on. Hope Jay isn't late. There's a car coming - no, it's turning down by the Post Office. Please, please let the next one be Jay. Another one turns down Mill Road. I hear a third - is it? Yes, what relief. I pile the bags into the back and sink into the passenger seat.
'Hi Mum, how do you feel?' To be honest, I don't know - numb, relieved, afraid, excited - all and none of these things. The one thought filling my brain is 'I've done it. At last I've left him!'
Jay does a U turn and we, too, turn down Mill Road and set off for Dover. 'I told CC you'd ring her when I picked you up'. Fine, I fumble through my handbag for the mobile and dial the number. CC sounds more tense and nervous than I am but is pleased to hear the pick up went so easily.
The roads are reasonably clear and we arrive at the ferry terminal just before ten. A short wait before boarding and then France - here we come.
I'm surprised there are no overwhelming feelings of regret that this may be the last I see of England for a long time.
The Bear woke up with a very sore head yesterday. Not only a headache but pains in his back, hips and legs. He has arthritis but the treatment on offer is limited. He can't take anti-inflammatory tablets (the only ones that work) because his kidneys are showing signs of damage and they can't give him cortisone injections because that would play havoc with his diabetes.
I took him breakfast in bed and left him cuddling Toby, his favourite cat. By lunchtime he decided that he might feel better 'up' so he came and had lunch in his armchair and started watching telly. Meanwhile, my shopping list was becoming urgent and today is a 'jour de ferie' (Bank Holiday) so I asked Jay if he would take me to the supermarket. When I announced my intentions to the Bear he was most annoyed, despite the fact that he obviously wasn't feeling like going out himself.
It is a great relief to go shopping without the Bear. He spends ages looking at the D.I.Y. shelves but buys nothing and, by that time, he is tired and has slowed down to snail's pace so that stocking up on food and household necessities can take forever. I know that there will always be extras in the trolley that weren't on the list, but with the Bear it fills up with cakes, biscuits and 'nibbles' that are not compatible with a diabetic diet - nor mine for that matter!
After piling high two trolleys with milk, water, catlitter, catfood, tinned and fresh vegetables, wine etc. plus an onion quiche for the Bear and a lemon meringue for the Whale, Jay and I loaded the car and then went for a coffee.
The Bear seemed in a reasonable mood when we got back and enjoyed his quiche, but later that evening, among the witches and spooks who came to the door for 'bonbons ou sorts' we had a surprise visit from a friend we hadn't seen for some time. Unfortunately his arrival coincided with one of Bear's favourite programmes. Normally, with the TV and video 'all-in-one' it was simply a case of pressing the red button, but we bought a new TV last week and haven't got used to juggling all the buttons yet. Bear got into difficulties and gruffly handed the telecommands over to me. I have trouble seeing what's written on them so it took a few minutes to sort it out. He didn't miss the beginning but you could see he was getting irritable.
It wasn't long before he started criticising the fact that I 'let visitors in and talk to them' when he wants to watch telly! Our friend is French but understands English quite well so Jay and I were highly embarrassed by these remarks. Bear continued to complain that he can't hear what I say because I don't speak clearly and that I never listen to what he says to me. Needless to say, our guest didn't stay long.
During the evening I went to watch a French programme on the 'old' television and left Bear to stew on his own. When I went back to sit in the armchair near him he suddenly turned the sound up to deafening levels. When I complained he threw the telecommands at me and said 'You do it then. I'm going to bed.' and off he went. What a relief; I changed channels and was able to watch Cadfael, instead of his choice of a programme about Suez.
