feeling good in my skin

On Thursday, two days before my "être à l'aise dans sa peau" shiatsu workshop, and after a full-on advertising campaign in all my networks, only two people were signed up. This, despite the August group all professing their desire to continue. It was a real blow and I was doing my best to yield gracefully to fate when Kelli stepped into the breach and said she would come. And then another rabbit popped out of the hat in the form of a late participant. So I had the minimum group - four - needed.

The venue was the Pommart farm in nearby Villeneuve d'Uriage - a kind of model of sustainable living: they grow their own wheat, from which they make/sell bread, pasta (and flour). It's a charmed spot that attracts all those who seek local, high-quality food; a sense of community; and various art/craft/agricultural activities that bring people in touch with like-minded spirits. I was chuffed that they had included my workshop in their autumn promotion and it was in fact out of this mailshot that the rabbit hopped.

The room, heated to a crazy temperature by the new stove, was ideal. And the workshop went pretty well. This is my favourite moment, captured by Kelli - exploring moving between supporting and yielding, in order to get needs met:

Rebecca and Emma - shiatsu? well, not exactly...

Mum and Dad come to Vaulnaveys

As usual - anticipating the chronic boredom that befalls all guests chez Rebecca and Juan - Mum and Dad arrived with suitcases full of diversions: walking gear, sewing projects, music, instruments, art supplies, books... bemused that their luggage was so voluminous. Well yes... that's what happens if you're the most active octogenarians ever...

We started with a leisurely session amid the weekend throngs at Lake Pétichet:

terrier Sanchez

The following day Juan, Dad and I took the chair lift to the Croix de Chamrousse and then walked down via Les Lacs Robert to the Cascade d'Oursières.

but where was the sheep dog and shepherd?

The last stretch was tricky when Dad found his legs not supporting him as they have for the last 85 years - but we were helped by kind fellow walkers, and all ended well.
It was a sobering experience, nevertheless, and we took it very easy for the rest of the week - where art, music, local strolls and food were the dominant themes.

my prize 550g tomato rendered in gouache (Mum) and watercolour  (me) (Juan: "master and apprentice?") - before we ate it in two separate salads. 

at La Tour Maline, Uriage - hair-curlingly-strong coffee

Mr S at Lake Pétichet

Mrs S brings a new beach activity to the lake

At Les Mésanges. the view was awesome but didn't compensate for very disappointing food and poor service - we won't be back..

On our final day we revisited familiar themes: dabbling with paint...

courgette flower (watercolour and charcoal)

It's 25 degrees but you can never tell (2 layers + a fleece!)

... playing music, and visiting Lac Pétichet for a third and final time...

the pack horses lead the way

There's just time for an (excrutiating) open-air "tropical flamenco" (?!) concert at Uriage before a last supper. And, alas, it's the end of their stay. I have played my violin more in the last week than in the last year - and I realise that it's something I really do want to be doing. I have already contacted a pianist friend to set a future date.

vision-board evening

Rebecca's

Emma's

Kelli's

Thanks, Kelli and Emma, for making this happen and sharing a lovely evening.

return of the holidaymakers

Antje and John returned from the not-so-azur côte and we had an enjoyably lazy morning as temperatures dropped. 

In the evening, as snowflakes blew around, we lit the stove for the first time this season.

the no DVD evening

The launch of the DVD club was a huge success - we ate like kings and had a happy evening talking about everything from books to money to skiing to handicapped people's rights... No time for a film!

Meredith was in denial regarding the need for glasses but couldn't have looked better in mine:

autumn is here

This blog has become a catalogue of my weekend fun. Is there life in between our hikes, cooking fests, DVD sessions and spurts of gardening? Yes and no. The weekend has a rhythm (weather allowing): a walk on whichever day is fairest, pottering chez nous on the other day, perhaps (less likely) venturing beyond the perimeter of no. 287 to see friends or hit the big smoke for a film.

This last weekend was particularly rich, including a concert, walk and (of course) food:
... the concert was part of Millésime 2012's "Vivaldi and the wines of Savoy" (ha ha, what would Vivaldi have made of that). Just a bit of performance-management would have avoided the amateurish on-stage shuffling, complete with fleece jackets, that preceded the concert, and the grumpy "audience, what audience?" expressions. But the music was ravishing and, in the end, the Grenoble Conservatoire kids did pretty well.

We then adjourned to taste six Savoy wines, savouring the wine-taster's analysis as much as the bottles: a non-agressif white which avoided l'attaque de l'acidité and combined the aroma of violette de montagne ("which mountain violet?" grumps Juan "in those heels I don't see her up any mountain") with hazlenut leaf (?!) and velvet. I walked the tightrope between thorough enjoyment of the nuanced, informative guide and the party-pooping disengagement of my husband. Lessons learned: Gamay goes with everything, from fish to charcuterie and an impromptu apéro if friends call by. (In my dreams.)

... the same day we had done a storming walk from Le Désert (en Valjouffrey) up the Bonne valley, arguably the most remote in the Ecrins, enjoying the annual explosion of autumn colours:

view towards Pic Olan

... where Juan's weekend was made by finding a sheep's bell:

All weekend we ate stupendous food (de manjar en manjar, says Juan), processing our friend Jacque's apples into (amongst other things) apple cake:

... and cooking late-season pears into a frangipane tart:

(Housewife's lament: How can I ever lose weight when I have a husband who so loves puddings!)

After Juan leaves on Sunday there will be a brief void before my topsy-turvey week launches, "launch" suggesting a coherent weekly pattern that ain't quite it. My Berlitz work varies from sporadic to full on (currently the former as the company is continuing to struggle to find students); occasional shiatsu rdvs and the semi-regular once-a-fortnight slot in the retirement home that keeps me believing in myself as a shiatsu practitioner. In between these two jobs I have a structure-free existence as a housewife,with a roaming brief (ha ha) that includes gardening, domestic chores, and admin of all types (tax returns,log deliveries and boilers blowing up being recent examples). Right now I have abundant time. But paradoxically, this creates a weird, false pressure - how to explain that I don't manage to sit down for a minute, yet have few concrete achievements at the end of the week? I find myself drawing Juan's attention to the now-clean paving at the front door. Aiee, has it come to this?!

At the beginning of Juan's job in Yverdon we said we'd "see how it went" in terms of where we live in the medium term. But from the outset Juan has loved coming back to his home and wife in Vaulnaveys, and a quality of living that would be impossible in Switzerland. So I am beginning to see my traditional female role, "awaiting the warrior's return", as semi-permanent, and even enjoyable. Seeing each other just two days per week certainly allows us to value each other in new ways. I send Juan back to his flat with food for the week and he is sweetly appreciative of this and my other, vague contributions to our well-being. I am slowly realising that I am a very lucky woman.

Sisters are doin' it for themselves...

I've just had a run of cracking days with Buff and Phil, and my man.
Phil arrived midweek, and we spent Day 1 walking to Lac Fourchu, the long way.
(Mental note, don't bother again with approach path prior to carpark!)

Two days later Buff joined us. We indulged at the hammam, and then Phil treated us to lunch:

Then all relaxation was lost as we shopped 'til we dropped...

... trying to get me to spend some money (which I eventually did, a leather jacket and two Desigual tops later). Juan arrived back from CH that evening, and we had a loud night in:

Juan then got our adrenalin flowing by raiding a neighbouring construction site to save a clump of autumn-flowering crocus from certain destruction. Nothing suspicious about a man (and three women) walking along the lane with a wicker basket and a trowel at 11pm.

The following morning we headed for the Ferrand Valley...

and a "flat" walk up to the shepherd's hut for a picnic lunch.

The recent snow gave even-more-exquisite-than-usual views of the Deux Alpes plateau (especially through x35 lenses):



Back down the hill Clavans-le-haut was looking its photogenic best (pics courtesey Buff):

... and Clavans-le-bas supplied the necessary witbier.

In the evening Buff took us out to the Basilic, aka Le St Martin, and Phil got her patisserie fix:

The following morning, alas, all good things came to an end. Phil left for Lyon airport.

Buff and I checked we could remember how the pedals worked with a little biking circuit around Vaulnaveys:

Juan commuted back to Yverdon later that day. Buff and I watched Louise Hay/Bill Bailey DVDs (for personal transformation/spirit-lifting). 

And now Buff has gone, too, and I am on my own again. Boo hoo.