meet the new life, no resemblance to the old life ...

here's more on a theme I recently touched upon ...

new life ...

awaken with my own rhythm ... let the dogs out... (usually 7ish)...crawl back under covers for a while and look at the internets and stuff ... now that its winter, light a fire in the fireplace (radiator still not hooked up in my salle à vivre ... soon, soon.) If the shop will be open, start a fire in the little stove ... first paper and kindling, then bigger wood, then coal! hopefully these 2 fires light 1st time around but more often than not ... not!

most often, hop on bicycle and buy my pain au chocolat and baguette. make some espresso in my little italian pot and decide whether to snuggle some more or get properly dressed.

attend to the day's projects....which could be sanding furniture, painting furniture, driving around looking for old furniture to buy ... surfing etsy for interesting handmade items cheap enough for resell. blog for France shop, Berkeley Shop, or post FB updates for the same. find time and inspiration to blog here.

read the news (usually tried in French first). Depending on day of the week, attend a French conversation hour.

bathe and scrub the dust out of the orifices. dress myself in frippery and such ... great to have a reason! open the store, haul out and display signs outside. set up music, remerchandise, make signs and displays. meet and greet customers (usually in French).

if it is Friday ... meander down to the market and see if there's anything I can't live without. enjoy looking at everything and everyone. it is a weekly event for the townsfolk, visiting and catching up with each other as much as shopping. I find it a shame that some folks (both French and non-French) prefer the chain grocers and discount stores to the market ... claiming the market is 'so expensive'. With some comparison between stands you can find most things competitively priced, especially given the quality and knowledge of the source. It is SO important to support the market for all sorts of reasons. It is the livelihood of many local farmers. This is a positive impact on the planet and local economy. Small villages that have the good fortune to have a market need support to keep them going, especially in off-season months. And market towns attract tourism and keep a town alive ... essential for all of us who have the privilege of enjoying this lifestyle. I use the local grocer to buy things not found at the market and thus try to support the families working there as well ... I eat seasonally as much as possible, if I'm buying things not in season, there is a planetary price being paid for getting them here to me.

Stepping down from soapbox, I pause between 12 and 2pm and either cook a meal or mosey down to find a cheap one. I'm trying to cut back on this a bit in favor of frugality ... but our local restaurants need our winter support as well if they are to survive into spring and on. Lunch ALWAYS includes wine!

It is funny how many local people decry the lack of businesses and such and yet fail to support them.

In January I've enrolled in an upholstery course so that will be new on the agenda...I've found one artist's group (online) to subscribe to and am seeking other venues of similarly inclined people that I can meet in person vs. internet.

Evenings I am most often worn out and in winter's cold, loathe to go out much. But I do try 3 or 4 times a month to seek out a music happening and get myself there. I'm also lucky enough to now be included in a few social things ... such as my new circle of french women friends (yes, I somehow DID get a 2nd invite...even with my horrible French!) and I've now joined the English 'Bienvenue' circle of women who do a monthly restaurant lunch. Evenings never include television, per se, since I don't have it! That doesn't mean I don't watch movies (computer) or the occasional program fix via iTunes (The Office, Glee) or YouTube (old favorites like Seinfeld or ... gasp! .... ANTM or JudgeJudy .... can't deny every LAST drop of weirdo Americanism in me!).

I also try to scout out a day trip here and there (last one was Bordeaux) ... just to make sure I'm not taking my new life and surrounds for granted. France is one of the most beautiful and historically rich countries in Europe and deserves succor and appreciation.

week-ends might also include a long bicycle trip. a vide-grenier. gardening clean-up. interior home projects like painting and such. planting and tending the potager (in season ... next year bigger efforts in this regard) ... growing my own food or buying as close to the source as possible. better for me, better for my neighbor, better for the planet. part of my new life is trying to more of the right things ... even if they are a little more dear. it all evens out in the long run ( I save fuel by shopping close to home ... ).

if I'm being REALLY honest, I'd have to add I worry a bit more about money than in the old days. Future income that is ... and then I remind myself to 'feel my feet' (thanks Kathleen) ... all I've EVER had power over (of a sort) is the present...this day and making it all it can be. living your dream doesn't seem to pay much ... but I'm working on it.

50 pounds lighter.

old life ....

awaken to my own rhythm. Stay in bed as late as possible (depressed at the prospect of another office day) ... after all it is only a 10 minute commute. Put on the office uniform and trudge on in, driving through the Starbucks window on the way in. maybe dial-in to the first of endless 'conference calls' before I arrive. if it is winter, a good chance that it snowed or icy rained and I was up in the middle of the night on emergency weather phone calls ... (granted, the last year I let my management team suffer on my behalf). Examine reports, study performance indicators, conduct back to back to back meetings (or participate in them). help celebrate the high points, try to encourage and lead a team of great people (while feeling like a turncoat because I'd lost my inspiration, motivation, desire and mojo for such pursuits as operation center life) ... shield the team as much as possible from what was flowing downward from above ...

if I'm lucky enough to have a break in the middle of the day, buy a sandwich and chips from the vending machine. or get someone to bring me something from the cafeteria if I don't have a break. um ... wine? ha. nope but more than my share of diet sodas throughout the day.

surf France real estate sites while on conference calls and dream of an escape. is it just an illusion? confide in the handful of people I trust regarding my plight ... how can I face 15 years more of this before a retirement? why am I deferring my life until I am old? how much money ... houses ... things are enough and do I EVER even enjoy them? I have a seaside cabin that I visited maybe 3 times the first 2 years I owned it. I never even ventured to the upstairs of the house I lived in. Portland? cool city I'm told but I lack the inspiration and time to make it my own. Rather I spend my time working, depressed in bed, missing the bay area and dreaming of a life I've been to scared to attempt to form.

home around 7. usually swing by a to go spot for dinner. home. eat. bed. television. rinse, repeat. if not doing this locally, spending about 2 weeks per month flying to a different city. visiting operations centers. staying in hotel. eating poorly.

week-ends. a movie. shopping for and buying things I don't need. visit a friend. hire someone to do any project that needs doing and that I now most often do myself.

hell of a lot more steady income. selling your soul pays extremely well.

50 pounds heavier.

recent musings regarding living in France.

and more specifically, living in my house in France.

I now wear sweaters to bed. and socks. perhaps this is the beginning of my slide into old ladydom? note to self. (and all of you). Sleeping alone is far more tolerable with heat.

Living alone in a foreign country has some downsides. What, pray tell? hmmmm. well, when you are a notoriously clumsy American, things like the potential for slipping and falling down my trés typique stairwell and collapsing in a broken heap and left to molder for days, unattended is a distinct possibility. Also, just sitting around and obsessing about this very same possibility.

Or when your two canine companions insist upon sitting at the top of the stairwell, looking downward and growling fiercely, always after dark. That too can be somewhat unsettling. And cause for gun shopping.

That sweaters in bed thing is none too appealing, either.

Discovering mice evidence in your pantry. Which is actually a lovely vintage cupboard that is basically meant to be the haven for dishes and foodstuffs in the midst of complete and total chaos masquerading as living quarters. And have I mentioned the bugs? ha.

Upsides as well. Like the nightly fireworks show. okay well they aren't fireworks. They are actually stars. Star studded glorious midnight skies. Who needs jewelry when millions of tiny diamonds light up the sky, seemingly within arms reach, just waiting to be plucked?

The landscapes fill in for Monet and Van Gogh. Just take a stroll or a short drive and your choice of priceless artwork awaits. Visual feasting, no charge.

The absolutely joyful, nerve-wracking, tongue twisting, curse-inducing experience of learning a new language.

Over 13 centuries of history a 2 block stroll from my doorstep. Yes, dear Americans, I said 13.

The burst of rediscovered vitality and improved health that has resulted in just 2 months of my new lifestyle.

Participating in the (re)creation of my dream home ... including physical labor and actual design... good for the soul and good for the body.


This is probably a topic I will return to. I've not done either list justice, but for now there's a peek.

j'ai répondu.

I was excited to see my last post elicited some questions AND a couple of new commenters!  It is always fun to meet the lurkers ... *smile*

My daughter has arrived and I only had to go to ONE train station to locate her ~  it wasn't all easy-peasy though.  Her flight arrived about 45 minutes late and by the time she gathered her things and took the RER to the Gare Austerlitz, she missed her train by about 6 minutes.  Which meant she had to wait 4 hours for the next TGV to Limoges.  

Oh the poor dear, 4 hours in a Parisian café, watching the world slowly pass by.  *sigh*

Okay, to my answers.

Monsieur Graves:  The 'final' straw, eh?  hmmmm.  Well, after the escrow closed on my house in France in December , 07 ... the fact that I actually OWNED a house that I hadn't seen in about 9 months really began to grate on me.  The demise of the housing market in the U.S. had a huge impact on the division I worked in ...and the inevitable blame game began, with ensuing pressure for cost reductions, reorganizations, pending layoffs etc.  Having worked in corporate life for 20+ years and also having gone through at least three economic cycles that resulted in major layoffs and general working misery ... as well as the mounting stress and disillusion with corporate life in general AND the U.S. political system... I guess many factors just all formed the perfect storm.  I had actually resolved to resign in June if no other alternative presented itself.  And then I said to myself ... "Self, um no j/k"  "Kim, what are you thinking 'if no other alternative ...', surely there must be something you can do proactively ..." and the rest is history.

As far as why France?  France has been a nearly life-long dream of mine ... beginning with those crazy high school French classes and Monsieur Cavanaugh's wacky teaching.  When I finally had the chance to actually GO to France instead of dream about it, it was everything and more than I imagined.  In addition to the lure of Paris and her architecture and artistic allure, each time I went and discovered another region, or was introduced more fully to the French way and approach toward life ... well, it became a growing siren's call for me.

Jonnifer:  Thanks for visiting and taking the time to pose a question! Like the title of my blog, I have decided I must regret nothing.  Of course, there have been times - either in a previous visit or even since being here - that I have thought about the years it took and my years of unhappiness.  My particular situation was such (single widowed mother, lack of resources, etc.) that it all was a precursor to the time I could actually do more than dream.  The early corporate years weren't as tiresome as later and afforded me the chance to send my kids to an amazing French school which reinforced my dream.  The stress and aggravation associated with my climb up the corporate ladder was indeed soul-sucking ... but also allowed me to generate the resources to take the trips abroad, search for and buy my house and ultimately make an escape.

So, non, je ne regrette rien!

Michele ~ Bienvenue! I am no expert on the working in France arena.  I have discovered, at my local prefecture that it is not impossible, as we are all led to believe before coming, to work in France.  Especially if you work for yourself.  That means - independently as opposed to trying to take a permanent job with an employer that might otherwise have hired a French citizen.  So contracting, consulting, starting a small business, freelance writing - all are possibilities.  Or some folks do work for their original employers in their country of origin, just remotely.  I think your line of work would be something 'not impossible' to obtain a working permit for.

Of course, that wasn't professional advice!  And, by the way, I had no problem understanding what you wrote.  In case I did, in which case you'll have to come back and tell me otherwise!

Felicity~Thanks and since I didn't see a question in there, I have one for you!! where ARE you (near me) and let's do a coffee!

Bonnie Ann Black~ Actually, I moved from 'non-celibate' status which is a backwards way of saying I did have a relationship of sorts in the States and now ... for the time being I am both celibate and 'celibataire'! Poor moi!  

Rural France vs. Paris?  well that was a tough one, because j'adore Paris.  But once I visited la Dordogne and she captured my heart, every time I would dream of the move, imagining myself in France ... I pictured the Dordogne.  I do have a new goal/vision (I mean what is life if not for some element of endless striving and dreaming? ...) and that is a petite garret in Paris someday.  before I kick the bucket.

If the way of life in France (in general) is appealing, then the way of life in the Dordogne is ideal.  Especially for anyone over 40.  My French friends tell me one must be over 40 to truly appreciate the Dordogne.

OJL- Mais oui, bien sur!  A garden was actually the topic of conversation yesterday over lunch in my little garden.  Now is the time to be planting winter vegetables, and Jean-Yves explained which those were here.  My daughter has decided she will dig a small plot for me for a petit potager.  Later, a larger area will emerge.  You'd also love seeing my grape vines, we have cut buckets of muscat grapes and I am toying with ideas for them.  Personally I want to try a grape liqueur, but the peanut gallery here is teasing me and rolling their eyes!  harumph!  We will have to put our heads together on the garden topic, and then also what to do with the fruits of our labors!

No worries, I intend to keep droning on here about the daily humdrum.  But this was a fun exercise I may repeat in the future.

an attempt at a bit of 2-way blogging.

sometimes blogging feels like a one way boulevard. At wildly unpredictable times throughout the week, I place the laptop on said lap, and let my digits dance across the keyboard.

it is kind of a narcissistic event, this assuming that everyone is interested in whatever ideas or ranting that I decide to indulge myself with.

With that in mind, I thought today (inspired by reading a post on another blog) I'd turn the laptop around and inquire if there is anything about my ongoing experience that any of my readers would like know? any questions you'd like to pose?

I mean, many of you are sat squarely where I was one year ago, stuck in some area of life that was less than satisfying ... perhaps dreaming about change ... or living somewhere else (possibly France?) ... and I've been mucking through a lot of that as best I can.

Left a pretty senior corporate gig. Left some cushy digs. Left my comfort zone. Left non-celibate status. you get the picture here.

Just curious if you're curious.

Or should I just continue my usual self-centered angst awareness process and call it a day?

(photo from www.myhamilton.ca)

une jardinière.

This is one of the ways I want to spend my days in Brantôme. Becoming a gardener. I have a great space to work with. One of the things that inspired me during one of my early visits to France was a visit to the gardens of Villandry. Villandry is a Chateau from the 1500s, located in the Loire Valley. The original gardens were destroyed in the 19th century. It took a Spaniard, Dr. Joachim Carvallo and his American wife, Ann Coleman, to save Villandry's gardens. He bought the property in 1906, and restored the gardens to their original beauty.

When I visited, I learned that the gardens produce massive amounts of fruits and vegetables, harvested every year. My favorite part of the property was the mid-level garden, where you'll find the garden of love, the music garden, the veg garden and my favorite of favorites ... the herb garden. All of the gardens are breathtaking.

Its interesting to me that I am drawn to both French and English gardens because, in my mind, they are so vastly different. When I think of French gardens, I think of formality. Of control and neatness and rigid designs. Espalier. Topiaries. When I think of English gardens, I think of masses of wild flowers, climbing roses and cutting gardens. Now I know that the English have formal gardens and French do flowers ... these are just my uneducated impressions. I hope to spend time learning more. And experimenting with combinations of both designs.

My home in Brantôme has a smaller courtyard on the first lot and a larger open space on the second lot. I'd like to do a more formal area in the courtyard with crushed granite or rock of some sort. Experimenting with some of the geometric aspects preferred by the French. Topiary. Fountain. Seating.

And in the larger space, a more relaxed setting. An area of edibles (fruits, veg) and herbs. Espalier. I have tried my hand at pear. My espaliered pear tree I have pictured bears 2 varieties of pears. I've just learned that fig is suitable for espalier! My french dreams have always included a fig tree. I have an expanse of wall in the bigger lot that I am anxious to try. And there are grapes as well, not a vineyard but surrounding a small sun room. Pond perhaps.

At some point in the future, we envision a pool on the big lot. But we'll see. I'm looking forward to getting there and getting going. And writing about it.

stateside week-end getaway finds.

I've got a couple of tips for those of you needing a quick recharge. They are on opposite ends of the spectrum but are both pleasing in their own way.

A couple of weeks ago I spent a couple of days in Newport, Oregon in the artsy enclave of Nye Beach. Someone suggested I try the Sylvia Beach Hotel. Sylvia Beach is a retreat perfect for book lovers. You will not find a television or computer (including access) in sight. What you will find are sweeping beach views including the Yaquina Head Lighthouse, cozy corners for reading, crackling fires, good wine and best of all, glorious peace. If you book one of the smaller rooms, minus a view, you can still while away your time in the 3rd floor library and drink in a magnificent view.

Sylvia Beach was a well known American expat in Paris. She founded the famous Shakespeare & Co. bookstore in Paris. One of the shop's claims to fame is that it published James Joyce's Ulysses in 1922.

I stayed in the Agatha Christie room. Let me tell you, I could happily establish myself permanently in this room. It is the kind of place I'd envision for me if I were going to assume one of those hotel living lifestyles. You know, like when you read about the folks who lived part-time at the Plaza Hotel or somesuch. The room had a fabulously comfortable bed, a small couch facing the fireplace, french door to private ocean-front terrace. Chock full of books, art and charm. It was here that I sat and experienced my seagull epiphany!

My dear friend Tom has provided the suggested opposite end of the spectrum. Being a mid-century modern fan, he recently discovered a spot to go basking in the sun in style. Just visiting the website of the Hotel Valley Ho in Scottsdale, Arizona, you are instantly transported to the essence of cool, when Frank Sinatra serenaded the hip cats and all the lines were smooth. The hotel had a renovation in 2005 and there are even Phillipe Starck bathtubs in many of the rooms. The rooms are retro-chic, many with views of Camelback Mountain. I loved this press description, "Like a girl doing the twist when everyone else is doing downward dog!"

There are multiple restaurants, a spa and ooohh! did I mention the cabanas? Truly a must see. This joint is jumpin' and after some serious spa time, drinks by the pool and dress up dinners ... you'll be channeling the rat pack vibe all the way home.

my french story. part whatever.

Some folks have asked me variations on "why France?"

I could wax rhapsodic, ramble and rant for pages ... so I think it will be a multi-part tale. how many, who knows.

I first became enamored of France as a freshwoman (ha - I guess that might also be freshgirl) in high school. Back in the day, California required two years of language study for graduation. Would that the day would return, learning a language is a great thing. But I digress.

So, while most of my fellow students opted for the usefullness of Spanish, I had a romantic notion or two. And opted for the language of love.

My teacher was the most unlikely prospect for French one could imagine. He was well over 6 feet tall with close cut, thinning hair and a long, full red beard. Mr. Cavanaugh. As Scotch-Irish looking as they come. He had no fashion sense, as I recall he favored short-sleeved plaid shirts with a too-short tie and too-short pants to match.

But the man could speak some French. And he made France come alive every day in that classroom. Mr. Cavanaugh imbued us all with his obvious enchantment with la belle France.

Of course we had the prerequisite enunciation drills (anyone walking by the class would have thought we were all in there alternately hocking loogies and honking our sinuses in group order!).

However, in addition to the exercises, we were regaled with Monsieur Cavanaugh's home movies and slides of different regions. We listened to French pop music. We scoured French fashion magazines and even saw bits of French telly. We chose our own French names and were transported. I was Genevieve.

Fast forward 10 years and the young Miss Genevieve was a single mom, working in an office and contemplating where to send my 4-year old daughter to kindergarten. Having become captivated by my co-worker Carola's tales of a lovely little French school in Berkeley, California ... I began my research. Imagine not only being able to take a French class but to have an entire education in that lovely language!

Keeping in mind that, to date, the only trips outside of the country were either slightly chemical (ahem, another story altogether) or flights of my imagination. And yet, the more I read and learned about exposing little ones to learning in multiple languages ... the better it sounded.

I visited the little Ecole Bilingue de Berkeley and it felt like a mini-United Nations. I wanted a tolerant and mind-expanding environment for my little ones and somehow, in spite of my limited means, couldn't imagine a better place for my daughter. Despite knowing there were hundreds of applicants and few openings, and that many of the well-placed families would most likely be far more appealing than this young single mother on a secretary's income, I prepared my application. On our interview day, I dressed my daughter and I in our finest and assumed my most confident attitude. Which I had no business being in possession of. How on earth I thought I could afford such a thing, one wonders. In retrospect, even I am amazed by my chutzpah.

We awaited the news with much anticipation. We received our first-round reject, with a tiny thread of hope held out that "some families will select an alternative school and we will let you know if an opening appears at a later date". Many would be discouraged but, undaunted, I wrote a reply to the school outlining all the reasons why a family such as ours would contribute to the diversity of its student body. We were accepted on the second round and thus began my first introduction into a French bilingual community.

Not to imply that we were bilingual by any means! But why should that hinder me?! The flames of my love affair with all things French had been fanned once more ... and would burn more and more brightly as the years ensued.

More to come.

the shippers are coming, the shippers are coming!

I have a move date ... May 8, 2008. Rhymes auspiciously.

I'd like to thank movingscam.com for helping me avoid what, at least from all outward appearances, could have been a disastrous ripoff. With moving quotes ranging from $12,000US to $3,800US, one can definitely see where mistrust would form. If you are considering a move, international or domestic, do yourself a favor and check out this site. They have organized a ton of information, including customer feedback ... good and bad, on a variety of movers.

After taking time to do more research, and reading countless customer stories of a variety of moving companies ... I have settled upon Rainier Overseas Movers.

What I have learned is there are a number of internet movers looking to make quick bucks by holding your precious belongings hostage until you fork over more moolah. Many of these scammers are based in Florida, where state laws make it very challenging to sue. As an example, you can only sue them IN Florida.

The site movingscam.com was packed with lots of information, including a feedback forum. They had five recommended international movers, of which Rainier was one. Rainier is based in Seattle (being near the company is a plus). In addition, following their online estimate based on the inventory list I submitted they sent an on-site estimator to view my goods. The fact that they are associated with Bekins, who will perform the packing/loading is also a good thing in my opinion.

These are essentials recommended to ensure you have an accurate, honest estimate. Their fee was smack in the middle of the 5 estimates I received and includes packing, loading, shipping and unloading ... door-to-door. Not the lowest charge but also not the highest and includes handling much of the international logistics involved. $13.95 a cubic foot, all inclusive.

So, at this point I am excited and encouraged. Of course, my belongings haven't arrived in Brantôme yet. They are expected mid-July. I am hoping against hope that my next blog post on this topic is celebratory and a full on recommendation of my shipping experience and company.

this and that.

I've been a bad blogger but an excellent juggler. I'm in California this week and managing to get lots of unrelated but equally important tasks handled.

1. The Consulate. So, I sweated being late and thus left 90 minutes ahead of time for my appointment and arrived 30 minutes early! whew! Entered armed with 2 huge folders of paperwork times three. They were pleased with all of my documents except health insurance. Apparently they don't care if your provider says they will cover you abroad, they want a separate policy specific to being abroad. So, more research, more paperwork, more money! sigh. But the good news is, once I have that, I do believe I will receive my one year Long Stay Visa! Oh, and they KEPT my passport!!! But practically NONE of my copies. That they specifically asked for. grrr!

2. Mignonne. Yesterday Mignonne kicked my butt. I LOVE designing our windows and I re-did both of them yesterday. But our windows are raised about 2-1/2 to 3 feet from the ground and climbing in and out of them does a number on my knees. Doh!! Step stool Kim, give it a try! Anyways, I'll try and take a decent picture and put it up later. We have a Mother's Day theme going on.

3. Yesterday was also my son's 25th birthday. Unfortunately he was sick. So unhappy about not being able to celebrate appropriately. Can you believe I have a 25 year old son?????? Shock and awe, shock and awe (and let's not even TALK about his older sister!!!) No wonder my joints hurt! All this time I thought we were all getting younger!

Okay, well those were all rather boring thises and thats. But working your ass off destroys your creativity. Only in the short term though. I'm working on some real doozies for y'all in the next few days.

Yeah. I said doozies. What?

spread your wings and go with the flow.

I just finished a little stay at Nye Beach in Newport, Oregon. I'll have more stories regarding my week-end soon, but wanted to share an "aha" that came to me as I sat in the most lovely room right on the beach ... gazing out the window at the flocks of seagulls.

Seagulls have it all figured out, don't you know? They play happily on the windcurrents, spreading their wings and offering themselves to the invisible winds with absolute faith and trust that unseen forces will support and guide them on their frolic. Do seagulls hesitate, worried that they will fall splat out of the sky? Do they go beak-first against the wind, determined to go exactly opposite from where this free energy will take them? Do they hang and twist their gnarly little claws in fear, demonstrating their need for their own little back-up plan in case this wind thing doesn't work out?

As I sat observing them spreading their wings and gliding along the currents, trusting that they will go exactly where they not only need to go ... but are supposed to go, I experienced my own little epiphany.

Who knew?

not very high, in her estimation.

I received good news and bad news this morning. The moving and shipping estimator arrived early for her appointment. Flawlessly groomed from head to toe and very gracious to boot. She entered my own little corner of hell with a permanently applied smile that she obviously had trained herself to maintain, no matter what the horrors encountered.

I accompanied her from room to room, apologizing every third step for the chaos. The detritus. The current doggieness of my abode. My home is littered with half filled boxes, piles of wrapping tucked into corners, stacks of half-sorted items. Because of the clutter, I haven't washed the floors or carpets in weeks. Only sweeping and vacuuming have occurred, and the floors are less than appetizing. Two dogs worth of unappetizing. sigh.

To top it off, we ascended the stairs and discovered a little poochy-present that awaited in the upstairs bedroom. You puppy owners know what I mean. Mortification personified.

The good news is that my original inventory list came in spot-on to the visual review. The move will not be very high, in her estimation.

The bad news is my housekeeping skills and resulting opinion of me, are also ... not very high in her estimation.

une bière avec le déjeuner.

Yes, my friends, it is true. One of the joys of being a corporate dropout is one can partake of refreshing beverages previously disallowed during the weekday hours of 9:00 to 5:00. Oh sure, technically one COULD imbibe at lunch, but all those disapproving frowns were so discouraging.

Guess what! One is still productive post-pression (French shorthand for a draft). Of course, when ordering a beer in France, there are many options. Une bière. Une bière pression. Un demi. or the old reliable "Stella". But I digress.

All I can say is ... don't hate! Carry on.

I love you. I love you not. I bring you. I bring you not.

I've allotted myself 2 of these lovely lift-van moving crates to complete the initial outfitting of my house in France. Ideally, from a cost perspective I'd only use one ... but I'm not certain that is possible. (That reminds me...need to post a brief blurb on how I arrived upon lift-vans and final mover selection. Soon, soon.)

So, here I am now trying to select the optimal combination of function and form to fit into these 2 containers. Those who know me know my love of my art pieces ... a variety of wall art, sculptures, busts, etc. Combine those with my love of books and glassware and it becomes very, very difficult! Once I've selected the form aspect, then one needs something to hold those items. That is where furniture comes in. I am having a hard time estimating what will fit, etc.

So I'm currently placing mostly everything in my dining area, a space I think roughly represents a similar amount of space. I'm putting things in, taking them out, trying to allow for wrapping material. I'm going for one container of furniture, one container of boxes.

The estimator arrives next Thursday. I'm wondering if she'll say "You've got to be joking ... " or "that will never fill 2 containers!". Not hard to guess, I suppose.

a four hour work week?

Wow. My friend Marcus recommended a book to me. He's been raving about it since he started it. Now I've just begun reading it and I'm convinced this young author has been tapping my phone.

Here is an example of something I've been protesting about for years.

"Retirement as a goal or final redemption is flawed ...: It is predicated on the assumption that you dislike what you are doing during the most physically capable years of your life. This is a nonstarter - nothing can justify that sacrifice."

Another statement regarding simple alternatives when it comes to your goals and pursuing a career that causes you to dread Mondays:

"To buy all the things you want to have." OR "To do all the things you want to do, and be all the things you want to be. If this includes some tools and gadgets, so be it, but they are either means to an end or bonuses, not the focus".

Well anyway, Timothy Ferriss is the author of "The 4-Hour Workweek", and it is a truly inspiring read, expressing many of the pent-up feelings I've wrongly contained for, oh the past 10 years or so.

Some of the chapters read like the heresy I've been promoting in my own workplace for some time, with many a confused stare back: "The End of Time Management" (precisely why I've always refused to have a Blackberry ...); or "The Low Information Diet", promoting a one-week media fast (I'm planning mine now.) "Interrupting Interruption and the Art of Refusal". Come on, how many of us still need to learn the fine art of saying "No"? That's right. I'm looking at you!

If you are discouraged by your corporate career and are thinking of quitting your job ... you MUST read this book. No way around it.

from chaos, order will emerge.

Before shipping, comes packing. Before packing, comes sorting. Before sorting, comes unpacking. In between all of this, there will be gin. This qualifies for Gin in my apron pocket. Trust me, much lifting, pushing, squatting and sweating are involved. honest! I mean look at the picture. How else?!

I moved to Oregon in 2004. I moved from a 3 bedroom, 2 bath house into a 600 square foot loft. And quickly. So when I moved, I packed two groupings... loft and storage. Subsequently I moved to a 2 bedroomed home in the 'burbs (big mistake, different story). My loft belongings were moved into my new home and my storage belongings were moved into my garage. And there, save for 1 or 2 boxes unpacked ... the whole lot has sat until now.

Now, part of my journey requires unpacking the garage (well wrapped and packed by professional movers ... which means forests of wrapping material). Once a box is unpacked, it must be sorted. So far I have a few groupings ... sell, donate, trash, storage ... and ... ta-DAH ... France. What you see in the picture is the start of this process.

The good news is that after 3 days of sorting, I have 7 large garbage bags of trash. 3 Large boxes of sell. 8-10 boxes of storage. And half of a box France.

Oh and another thing about that picture. It is slightly less than 1/4 of my entire garage. sigh.

I guess it has to get worse before it gets better, right? *shameless plug for reassurance that this CAN be done*

spare some change?

I always thought of myself as a change AGENT. Those with the responsibility of assessing me never failed to include the line "Kim embraces change".

I have a long list of to do's I've created to make this enormous change in life I'm contemplating. Hell, I've been fantasizing about living in France for over 10 years now. I've made and remade that list in my head. And I've made this change 10 times over, also in my head.

It is a little more daunting to take on a change of this proportion for real. Not even really talking about the steps on the list. More about wrapping my head around how it will all be possible. Because, to be honest, the list is really more of the same. More ways for me to stay busy and put off what I am really trying to change.

I'm not just trying to change my address. I'm trying to change myself. And my way of life. Seems that all that fantasizing was mostly about breaking free. For a long time, I've bought in to the American way of life. You know, that driving force for more. More money. More recognition. More responsibility. More success. But on whose terms?

The change I'm hoping for is redefining success. Being brave enough to accept those new definitions. Finding the strength to be still. And rediscover that voice inside I used to have, and listen to it. The one that inspired me to write. To dream bigger dreams.

So what if I'm not completing every task by the date I wrote in the column to the right. So what if my new life project is experiencing "creep". So what if I took a nap today.

I'm learning that change isn't always about doing something. Sometimes it is about doing nothing. Nothing at all.

and the next day ... and the next day ...

So still laying around, feeling like its the week-end ... thinking of what I might want to cook tomorrow or get done because it will be Sunday and the week-end when I have an epiphany. Sure I can make soup tomorrow because it is Sunday. But then there will be the next day and the next day and ... I can make soup any day of the week! ... no more corporations ... at least in the forseeable future.

I'm needing fewer breathing sessions because I'm remembering a meeting or a deadline or an audit or ... *deep breath in, exhale*

I actually grocery shopped for the week with proper meats and veg ... because I will be cooking!

Very strange. veddy veddy veddy !

desperately seeking resolve.

The few weeks of build-up toward my big final day had my stomach in knots and my mind atwirl. In spite of brave attempts to keep my departure under wraps, the final end was anti-climatic ... nearly all colleagues and perhaps even distant acquaintances apparently were aware of the news. So I kind of limped through my last few hours ... wrote a quick adieu to members of my department and exited for the final time.

It was not long past noon. I headed for the mall. I decided to shoot my wad of remaining recognition dollars on a satchel. It is a striking blue color, the color of the walls in our décor shop, Mignonne, which my daughter and I own. Somehow appropriate. I followed that with a long, 2 wine lunch.

Went home. Sat myself down and pondered my future. hmmmmmmmmm