Busytown, France

Twilight in the burbs

Well of course I was going to come back to Aix after last winter’s adventure! Everything fell into place with no effort. Perfect apartment, excellent location, a bevvy of friend groups, closer to my favorite daughter, warm and dry every day, walks in the evening bathed in the bright ochre building light, plenty of friends staying on my couch, all the Comte you could ever want. I'm not sure how it could have been better. Maybe if I miraculously grew an inch or two? So carrying unexamined assumptions about what returning would be like, I was miffed when my vision didn't come true. Post purchase dissonance, how can I get my money back? 

Despite having hired a real estate lady in June, upon arrival I moved into temporary housing, a bland white box, in what I’m calling the suburbs. It’s rained a lot, I’m far from my favorite walks, and the unfurnished apartments I’ve bid on have not come through because I’m both a foreigner and old. In an ironic twist of fate, while I was keeping a second choice candidate “warm” for my search client, a landlord was doing the same with me, asking for a few more days before a decision was made. Of course I knew exactly what he was doing. And didn’t get the place. As the real estate lady started gently pushing me in directions I didn’t want to go, my spirits fell further, reality becoming harshly different from the picture I had held. 

The white cube with construction in the background. I do understand how exceedingly lucky I am to have this "temporary shelter", for which so many would feel great fortune.

Through example, my mother bestowed upon me the lavish gift of gratitude. To her final days, when she was stuck in a bed  in the beige nursing home eating sloppy joes, she’d say things like “Aren’t I lucky to have those pine trees to look at?” So it’s rare for me to find life colorless, and when it does happen, I try to embody Julia Cameron, who taught me the importance of paying attention. She mentions being in a sorry state after a life disappointment and going for the same walk every day, noticing small changes; buds coming out, a cat staring at her. It helped her feel anchored.

Another challenge I've been facing is the new building going up right next to my white box. making it an uninviting place to be during the weekdays, adding to an already existing feeling of being unhinged.  But one morning, I sat down in a dining room chair next to the sliding glass door that overlooks the construction, bent my right knee and put that foot on the chair,  eating my yogurt while watching the hard-working men. I went from watching them move around to taking notice, figuring out what each was doing, trying to understand how a large building is actually built. It became a morning ritual, where I learned that a power washer needs to be used to keep the molds smooth, temporary scaffolding goes up but then comes down to be used in another part, some men prefer shorts and others pants and a few of them actually smoke while they’re working. Some of them are Italian and many African. The banging of metal on metal, or the saw that cuts through concrete ceased bothering me. As I'm writing this while it’s all going on. 

Concrete being hosted into the molds

The photograph above was taken the other day, of the fourth and final floor. You can see the 2 foot high structure that looks like a sideways ladder but is metal, in front of the men. There’s another one aligning with it that you can’t see with a gap between the two that is exactly the width of a wall. Once the two molds are set up, the crane lowers the diamond shaped implement, which has wet concrete inside and a hose attached. The concrete comes flying out of the hose into the gap and presto, there you have a wall.  There is something I respect tremendously about people who actually make things that can be touched and felt. I wonder if they drive by other buildings they’ve worked on and say to their kids “I built that!”

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Crane at work dropping pressure treated wood that will be used for the roof structure 

So there it was, the magic of being  pulled outside oneself, and becoming present, rather than worrying about things that one may or may not be able to control, creating a faith in humanity, in nature. While every day might be exhausting and sometimes dispiriting, there are the little joys that have again become accessible; hearing my name called by someone I know at the gym,  the smell of lunch cooking that wafts out from different houses on the walk home, the man who told me my last name means yellow in Arabic, or the view from a new hill that I have just discovered. 

View from yesterday's walk

Not a fan of the cold snap we just had, but the frost was beautiful

​And then my new home arrived, walking right up to me and tapping me on the shoulder, inviting me in. The landlord has a wandering brain like mine, and unlike most of the French engineer men I've met. The place is perfectly located in the thick of things, starting December 1st. I'll be de-airbnbing it and making it my own and am looking forward to happy times.  Come visit!

View from the bedroom balcony looking  towards the Place de la Marie, home of the OG boulangerie, flower market and multiple cafes

Dear little kitchen that needs to be de-airbnbed

Here are some of things that make me smile

Longest pear I ever did see

Lunch. Mushroom season is almost over so I've been making farro risottos while they're still around

Rosemary growing out of a wall, walk to Centreville

Fattest cheeks I ever did see

Perfect paddle clothing