Herbert the stowaway

Yeah, it's a bit infantile, but I have taken to calling my plastique owl "Herbert," or "Herb," for short. He's named after the french word for owl hibou, which sounds a little like Herbert if you use un peu d'imagination.

Anyway, today I selected my travel wardrobe from a preliminary group of choices that I made yesterday.  I put them in one of the closets upstairs to separate them from the clothes that are not qualified to be garments for travel. Today, with these clothes, I had a fashion show to see how many chic-ish combinations I could come up with from the fewest number of articles. My goal was to get my clothes, Herb and a few other necessary items in my carryon bag. Herbert watched the whole process from his perch on the nightstand.

When I had culled my wardrobe to an acceptable number of pieces, I put Herb in my bag to see how much space he took up. Hmmmm. Quite a lot, it seems.

Still, I had confidence in the process and I pressed on rolling and folding all my clothes, an extra pair of shoes, some gifts for my neighbors and managed to sneak them all around Herb, who will travel in a plastic bag so as not to scare any TSA agents. I realized that since Herb is hollow, I can get my cosmetics, jewelry and maybe some socks inside him for he ride. I will try that next week as we get closer to our departure.

So, what I learned is this: as long as I increase the depth of my bag by unzipping the expander zipper, Herbert fits just fine. I will be traveling lightly, albeit with a plastic owl in tow.

Merci beaucoup to Warren!

Once again I am feeling very lucky to have found wonderful people to help me around the Clocktower Cottage. 

Warren Smith, my carpenter/all around handyman, came through again. This time installing the new countertops near the sink and in the dining area. I put matching butcher block tops in the dining area because I love the way the island looks (Warren did that last fall). And around the sink, where it'll be wet and messier with food preparation, I put new, neutral-colored Formica that blends well with the tile backsplash. We selected the color of the Formica when we were there last November and told Warren he had until April 1 to get the job done. All done with days to spare!

Before:

Gosh I hate that awful green Formica!

After:

I didn't even ask Warren to level the whole counter as I assumed it was installed that way because of the dishwasher height, but he figured out a way to do it and I am delighted with all the workspace I will now have when cooking.

Warren is English and doesn't speak much French so he enlisted his wife Anne to help with translation when the guy came recently to measure for mosquito screens, called "moustiquaires," in French. So I will have Anne to thank if those also turn out well. We are still waiting for the cost estimate to arrive from the window company. 

So, as usual, all is ticking along nicely and I can't wait to get to Duras to see the improvements to the kitchen.

Fancy things

I stopped in at Where'd You Get That earlier this week as I've discovered that this place has the best quality consignments in the Beaufort area. I wasn't looking for anything particular and that's usually when I find my best treasures.

Here are a trio of tiny, framed silhouettes. They are hand cut from thick, black paper, then embellished in paint with fanciful wardrobe accessories.

The woman sports a lovely blue feathered straw hat, with matching corsage and pearls. I love the little girl's lace collar and golden banana curls. The man is wearing a jaunty boutonniere and a frilly lace jabot. They are quite ready to step out in their Sunday best attire.

Each work of art is just 4- by 6- inches and they are exquisitely framed in matte gold. While I have seen many framed silhouettes over the years, I have not seen this method of adding hand-painted details. They came home with me and will travel across the pond to their new home in Duras, where a little old-fashioned formality will feel right at home.

What's in the suitcase?

Whenever I travel to Duras, I always bring an odd collection of items with me. Things I could probably find there if I tried, but somehow I convince myself that they are just not available and therefore I must transport said items across the ocean.

I am already having giggle fits thinking about the TSA agent who finds this in my bag:

Yes, you have correctly identified this item as a plastic owl, or un hibou en plastique en Français. On a recent day in Beaufort, while scouring consignment shops with Luisa, I spotted this item and its bon marché price tag of $4 and the wheels in my head started turning. As I have previously mentioned a time or two, there are pigeons that regularly sit on the clocktower, and, doing what pigeons do best, they make a mess of my balcony. So, mon hibou and I are going to scare the s$&t out of the pigeons and (fingers crossed) they will go sit on the other side of the clocktower where there are no adorable balconies to decorate.

Of course I had to tell the owner of the consignment shop why I was buying the owl. This guy said he'd been in the antiques and resale business a long time, and heard a lot of interesting stories, but I was the first ever customer to buy a plastic owl to scare away pigeons in France. He liked the story so much he made me repeat it twice to other browsers in the store.

Well, lets hope my plan is successful. I'm sure there will be an owl vs. pigeons blog to give an update. Stay tuned.

Mental preparedness

Although my next trip to Duras is still a month off, my Duraquoise brain is in full mental preparation to accomplish everything I need to do there, while still leaving time to savor the flavors, vistas, aromas and sounds of my chosen village and home.

When my head is full I wonder sometimes if I've done the right thing. "Normal" tourists, headed to France for a spring holiday, would now be occupied with pleasant tasks like picking out a new rain jacket and luggage, then choosing restaurants, wine bars and shops at which to spend some Euros. Not me. 

Fully focused on the Clocktower Cottage, I am mentally picturing each wall that doesn't sport a piece of art and trying to come up with solutions to quell the nakedness. I am wondering just how full my propane gas tank is and whether I will need to replace it. I am remembering the condition of each of the sheets, towels and blankets in my linen closet and wondering if a trip to Leroy-Merlin or IKEA is required. I am thinking about my homeowners insurance agent and the questions I will have to prepare in advance in French as she speaks no English. In short, sometimes I think I have taken the fun out of France for myself by being a homeowner with all the accompanying concerns.

Humbug! In truth, I cannot wait to be there. I cannot wait to shop for and find two big pots into which I will plant blue hydrangeas for either side of the front door. I cannot wait to open the tall glass doors to my balcony and let the air ruffle up my white linen curtains. Even when looking down at the winter's worth of pigeon crap on the balcony, I cannot wait to toss a bucket of warm, soapy water on the floor and scrub it spotless with a stiff brush. Then I will watch the sun turn the wet floor into steamy little puffs that carry the winter away on a breeze. When it's clean and dry, I cannot wait to unfold my aqua-blue bistro set and make a little ceremony of carrying it out there, topping the table with a candle, pouring a local rosé, and sitting down. I cannot wait to look toward the chateau and the tiny, waving people atop the tower.

I cannot wait to enjoy my apricot-hued wine and know then that whether the day brings highs or lows, I will be experiencing the magic and the heart-filling moments of this incredible journey.