mindful and mindless

Something strange is happening… I am feeling happy! Is it spring? - or being purposefully employed (see previous blogs)? Or the beloved garden giving so much pleasure… or enjoying Juan’s company, this weekend, in simple ways - a meal at the excellent Basse Cour restaurant, near Lac Laffrey (discovered recently with a pal); strolling the lanes around Chollonge; more joys of food chez nous (rice pudding with homemade blackcurrant coulis - seriously yummy...).

I know my weakness as a cook is presentation - I whack down meals on the table gauntlet-style, earning myself the nickname of “Viking”, as far as Juan is concerned. But the Japanese experience - and of course France - has taught me something of the value of aesthetics: delighting the eye in anticipation of the palette. So I now trickle the coulis gracefully across the pudding - even if, at a later point, greed takes over and I dunk the spoon straight into the jar. (I can refrain from that last part if ever someone books a room and a meal…)

But I think my recently positive mindset may be linked to the mindfulness-based stress reduction course I’m enrolled on. Like pretty much all of us, over the years, I’ve dabbled in meditation, breathing, yoga, qi gong and other mind-calming, spirit-centring techniques. And I have raged and ranted against the ****** impossibility of establishing a routine. Paying money and committing to showing up for 8 weekly two-hour sessions has been my latest attempt to tame my potentially self-destructive inner world.

The group is led by Anouk, a lovely smiley, calm, énergéticienne and therapist. Not surprisingly, the nine of us in the group are all variously neurotic, anxious, frustrated… why else would we be there. I am the oldest but one, an experienced beginner. Between sessions Anouk supplies us with guided meditation audio files, and other mindful “homework” activities. (One particularly difficult exercise was to record positive and negative incidents, including any accompanying sensations in the body, any thoughts, and how we were feeling as we wrote this. I don’t think any of us made much headway with the exceedingly difficult task of capturing fleeting thought as it was happening.)

Sharing the ups and downs of our experiences of these activities occupies a significant amount of the evening. At times it is indescribably tedious to hear people’s stories, in French, quite late in the evening. My mind wanders and I become very mindless indeed. At other times the fact that no one is finding it easy is reassuring.

Overall, the motivation I feel, through being “on a course”, and regularly practising different breathing, body-scanning and mindful activities, is high. Not least because - dare I say it - some subtle changes seem to be taking place. By employing the 3-minute “how I’m feeling right now” meditation (body sensation + mindful breathing + observing emotions and thoughts), I am beginning to feel more anchored in the present moment; and thoughts that might become oppressive dissolve. At other times the simple pleasure of breathing, being carried by the breath as it passes in and out, and linking this to body sensation, and then widening the field so that the whole body is breathing… can wake me up to the fact that I am content just to be alive. If I have become perturbed, feeling the link between swirling emotion, and where this is sitting in the body, and simply observing, allows difficult moments become just that - they don’t hang around the whole day.

And when giving shiatsu, I am more focussed, and can share some of what I am learning.

But it’s not all won. One day last week I made a salad, to take with me to Gérard’s when he had finished putting up some shelves in the garage (see earlier post on the SEL). And then it dematerialised! How embarrassing: "er, Gérard, sorry, I’ve just made a salad. And it’s vanished.” We found it - in a basket, with the dressing in a jar, all ready. And I hadn’t even noticed I’d put it there. Then there was a car that appeared from nowhere, after I’d checked left and right - someone was protecting me that day and all I had to suffer was his justafiably furious horn. And keys and my watch have a habit of hiding. So yes, I am in need of this course for all sorts of reasons.

wintry La Bérarde

Having undercoated the bedroom I'd started working on at Lauvitel Lodge the previous day, I rewarded myself with a trip to the head of the valley at La Bérarde. Juan and I used to come here regularly, before its relative inaccessibility (1.75 hours from home) put it out of bounds. I hadn't been there since the helicopter rescue in September 2008.

Compared to La Danchère it was still winter, the trees dormant, showing no signs of spring. As I walked towards Châtelleret refuge the numerous skiers whose paths I crossed were an indication of what to expect. Just as I was beginning to get a view of the Meije the soft, deep snow became seriously hard work. I wasn't equipped and had to turn back. But not before having had some superb views of the surrounding peaks, fallen asleep in the beguiling sun, and seen the first pulsatillas of the year.

my turnaround point, and the nearest I got to a view of the Meije

looking down the valley to Gioberney

Vallon de Bonne Pierre

I think Juan (working in Germany this weekend) is going to be a teeny bit mivved...

Back at Vaulnaveys I can hardly believe the change in the garden in just 3 days: the birches and rowan are in full leaf, the lime bursting into life; the "non flowering" wisteria has given us at least 12 flowers; the lilac is flowering for the first time; the pear blossom at its peak; the lawn a riot of wildflowers - including dandelions that I will stop digging up as I now know they're one of the flowers favoured by bees. How convenient is that for task reducing...

Vive la solidarité!

Vaulnaveys-le-Bas, population 1000+, is a strange “village”, more a strung-out series of hamlets along the valley. The school is the source of connection for many. But we are not what I would call a community. A couple of years ago Juan and I responded to the annual call to action for the litter-pick-up and were the only inhabitants to show up, apart from the mayor and his entourage. In addition, through not having a regular job, I often feel on the edge of things. This feeling is exacerbated, of course, by only having my own company in the house for much of the week.

So recently, I've found myself reaching out in several different directions. Take, for example, the SEL (Système d’Echange Local), the service/object-swapping organization modelled on the UK LETS scheme. I did a delightful swap with someone offering a birch-sap “cure” (click here for the health benefits – from promoting liver and kidney health to reducing cellulite – you read it on Rebecca’s blog!). In return for 4 litres of the watery, subtle-tasting liquid I gave Jocelyne a shiatsu treatment, connecting with her in the deep and instant way that shiatsu allows.

Later in the week I put out an SOS to the SEL for a flower-bed retaining log to replace the one I’d obtained 6 years ago, now collapsed into powder. SEL member Gérard responded and, by bringing me what I needed, credited his SEL account by 60 "pips". Then, at the SEL monthly market, I traded 6 anemone and rudbeckia plants – spreading like wildfire in the garden and of no value to me – for the same amount. Account now squared. Gérard revealed that he often does DIY work. So I hope that he will put up some shelves in the garage and, in return, I will help him in the garden of his property near Corps, in the Dévoluy mountains.

Working outside is pure joy at this time of year. It is warm for the season – 22 degrees, but the greens are still fresh, the birdsong tumultuous. So, when I met English transition-coach, Caroline, via the WWNG (Working Women’s Network of Grenoble) recently and discovered that she runs Lauvitel Lodge...

at La Danchère...

on the edge of the Ecrins National Park – which Juan and I have walked past a dozen times on our walks up to Lac Lauvitel (last visited this January), and that she is writing a book on meditation for use in corporate training, teaches tai chi, and is interested in shiatsu… and needs help in the garden, the sense of synchronicity was strong. In March I drove out to the Lodge to give her a shiatsu session and have lunch. Now, a couple of weeks later, I am here for a 3-day “working retreat”.

Yesterday we despatched some piles of hedge prunings – larger branches stacked into a log pile, smaller branches fuelling a humungous bonfire that burned as rain fell steadily. In the afternoon the weather improved and we walked some of the tracks below the village, Caroline firing deep-and-meaningful questions at me the while. 

She certainly got to the heart of things, putting me on the spot as you might expect from a good coach. Standing on a bridge over the Venéon river, with the Aiguille du Plat de la Selle looming above, I hurled affirmations into the snow-melt roaring below us. Then scrambled up a slope to the road, and back down to the river, to feel whether or not it was right for me to stay in Vaulnaveys this weekend. It was. Decision made. 

So I've had a lovely time: working, experiencing the valley in a new way: the cloud-shrouded mountains a contrast to the sunny days normally chosen by Juan and I for our outings here, drinking abundant quantities of excellent wine, enjoying good company and laughs. And I've also had some insight into the reality of running such a place: the erratic hours, welcoming and orienting a group of university students in the middle of supper, who proceeded to make whoopee late into the night; the massive maintenance; being "hostage" to random events like the recent tunnel closure on the way to La Grave, which may disrupt the flow of tourists coming from Briançon; being one of only three households in the village inhabited during the long winter months...

Sanding woodwork in Bedroom 8

Yet another opportunity for a swap came about last week through the ongoing reconstruction of the Pommart Farm at Villeneuve d’Uriage. I think I mentioned in a post last autumn the fire that destroyed the grain store, the entire contents of the farmhouse, and the bread-/pasta-making buildings on 6 September. The farm, established 30 years ago by Alain and Marguerite Pommart, has been a centre for sustainable living, courses, organic products, monthly meals cooked by my pal Heinz, concerts, mid-summer celebrations… It is an extended community that lives its values to the full. The fire put a stop to all of this, and deprived five families of their livelihoods.

But, disastrous as it was, the event has provided a new way of bringing people together, this time through fundraising, and communal action in the form of working parties. The home page of the website has an aerial view of the site as it currently looks: the processing area in mid construction, the house tarpaulined pending the demolition of the upper storeys. There have been regular appeals for help. And it has taken until now for these to coincide with me being at the right place at the right time. But this week it worked out. And I joined a group of 10 people: dismantling floors, hurling the nail-studded planks from the window, taking out shovel-fulls of insulation material into bin liners, a wimpy mask no protection from the clouds of dust. Yuk.

While the reconstruction takes place Alain and Marguerite are housed in a bespoke-designed yurt erected on the edge of the village on communal land. They now have a to-die-for view across to Belledonne that is far more glamorous than the outlook from the farm. 

Regulations have been bent because they are agriculteurs. And a blind eye is being turned to the fact that this luxurious two-bedroom dwelling, furnished with Heinz’s lovely wooden cupboards and fittings, is anything but “impermanent”. In fact it will probably serve as a source of revenue, a self-standing “gîte”, in the years to come. Oh to be a farmer…

At 3pm I had to call it quits; I was just too physically uncomfortable. But I was happy to have contributed a little, to have shared lunch in the sun in the garden – the first time, for me, since the fire, and to see the family in such good spirits. Vive la solidarité!

chambre d’hôte in the foothills of the Alps...

This is a problem that the next generation won’t have: dealing with the detritus of printed photos that accumulated before we all had digital cameras. The best years of my life flashed past me yesterday and today as I peeked at, and then trashed, folder after folder… These weren’t the selection that are displayed in the albums I filled until 2004. But they nevertheless turned me inside out when I saw that fresh-faced young thing globetrotting around the planet, then posing with her Spanish friend on punts, bikes, picnics, walks or swims… before honeymooning with him, and having fun times with family in Paris, Spain, Cornwall… and with friends, as they settled down, then started having families.

And the same Spanish friend now finds much of that past too uncomfortable to contemplate. While I have kept a sprinkling of memories - mostly of people - he has kept just one set of photos, of the countryside near Salamanca; and a handful of photos of baskets.

So now I am lighter to the tune of one small bin liner, and have cleared a little space in the wardrobe for the extra bedding that may be needed for a little experiment. Dear reader, I need your help to spread the word: Rebecca is going into business as a B & B. Click here. So far in English only but hopefully in French very soon. Will anyone come? How will I feel about the washing-cooking-hosting routine? Watch this space...