Living from a suitcase. . .

Hard to believe that I’ve been doing it for three weeks now. Really not just a suitcase, I seem to have bits of my life scattered everywhere. There is a storage unit here in Port Angeles which contains the contents of the cabin I used to live in; Joe just drove my car up from California full of books and various household things from the apartment I had in Long Beach. Some of those are now at my son’s, others I hope to take back to France–where the accumulation of my year in Montpeyroux is stored in a friend’s garage, along with my car. I intend to consolidate, sort, discard. Perhaps not surprisingly though, I’m feeling ever so slightly fragmented.

I’m also coming to realise that while I enjoy the variety of moving from place to place, it can come to feel a bit unsettling. There’s a comfort to making food in your own kitchen, sleeping in your own bed. Living your own life rather than sort of existing on the periphery of other lives which as a guest, however welcome, seems inevitable.

That said, I’m enjoying the experience of dropping in on other lives. A recent evening at my friend Susan’s newly remodeled exotic digs–all textures, colours and interesting objects. Fun to spot the funky little Xmas tree from my cabin, lights twinkling, in it’s new home atop a dresser. Who cares if it’s May? We drank wine (of course) ate teryaki shrimp, then chocolate and ultimately decided that we didn’t really want to go to the art walk after all.

During a visit to Nourish, the restaurant in Sequim where my granddaughter Emily works, it occurred to me that at eighteen her life is much more in order than mine was at that age. She works two jobs, goes to school and shares a sweet little cottage with her boyfriend, Tyler. She’s also a much better waitress than I was during my brief (ok, one day) stint when I dropped a plate of tomato soup into a diner’s lap. I’d actually forgotten all about the soup and didn’t arrive with it until after the first course.
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I’ve been enjoying the rural life with Chris and Suzanne. This past weekend, we had beers and chili-cheese fries and listened for a while to a band, the Joy of Mudville, I think, at the newly re-opened Saltcreek Salon. Very much a northwest scene, lots of long grey hair, facial hair and flannel shirts. Chainsaw woodcarvings aplenty. The next day Chris decided that the goats needed a pedicure which we accomplished by taking them on a long walk along the road–the asphalt wears down the nails. En route, I competed with them for the fiddle ferns that grew along the side of the road. I collected a handful which I later sauteed with garlic and sprinkled with feta cheese. Also tasted nettles for the first time. Chris wore gloves to pick them, we then plunged them into boiling water, drained and chopped them and used them in stuffed mushrooms. Really quite delicious, better than spinach and the price is hard to beat–the fields are full of them.

More dropping in, from Facebook
Lovely weekend which deserves a blog all to itself, but time seems to be galloping too fast for me to sit down and write at length. Fun on the farm with Chris and Suzanne– she relocated the hive of some free thinking bees who apparently wanted to do their own thing; Chris and I stood in the rain and watched cows eat grass, I drove the Green Machine (formerly my 71 VW) and we had a BBQ at Emily and Tyler’s new house which, if I weren’t returning to France, I would seriously envy.


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By La vie en France

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