I was just listening to a program on my local public radio station here in Massachusetts.
The program was about women’s health. And one of the not so surprising aspects is that women do not take care of themselves or put themselves first. The reality is that in not doing that, women who have families relying on them put themselves and their loved ones at greater risk because they are at greater risk for issues such as heart attacks. It’s pretty cut and dry. Stress is a killer. Women think they are super human and they are not. Self care is not a crime. Its a virtue that in the end, serves our families and loved ones as much as tending to them directly.

Another aspect to self care which the interviewee noted is perceived as a sign of weakness, is that as an American culture in particular, we see taking vacations as a sign of weakness. When I lived in Minneapolis, I found the work culture to be very strong. One could not get to work early enough, starting sometimes with breakfast meetings as early as 6:30 and 7:30 breakfast meetings often the norm.

My ex and I often took traveling vacations. And often we were almost scorned at our jobs:
“another trip to France?” We made traveling our personal priority, even though we were perceived as snobs. But that was long before our world become so globalized.

Our culture does not reward us for taking care of ourselves. This is one of the things I so
admire about the French culture, the taking time for time, as Polly Platt has often said.

The French are vehement about their time boundaries. Daily, in most areas outside the major cities, lunch is sacred. And the month long vacation in the summer is a birth right, not something to be ashamed of. These are good things! And you can see the joie de vivre when people take time to talk with their neighbors- stopping their cars, not just waving in passing. A five minute relaxed conversation can be a mini vacation.

A vacation is not a crime. It is a restoration. I started meta vacances when I had newly diagnosed high blood pressure as well as undiagnosed low thyroid. I was dragging through my life and wondering if I was depressed. Then I went to France for the very first time for a whole month, because I was exhausted from swimming up stream. And I was really scared. I had never had any health issues before and here I was, 54 with high blood pressure. I started to seriously meditate and walk to my heart’s content with my new puppy. I felt different. I could feel the changes in me. And I saw that with self care, I was able, within a few months, to lower my blood pressure medicine. This was profound. This was revelation.

One night at the end of the month, just at dusk, I stood looking over my little valley and realized how far I had come. I had made a difference in my life. I was finally, after 5 years, making positive progress after a protacted and difficult divorce. I looked out into the sunset and said to myself, “look how far you have come, look what you have done all on your own”.

And it came to me that perhaps I could empower and encourage other women to do the same. I had never traveled on my own before and here I was- taking a vacation and having an ephiphany that perhaps I could create a safe haven for women to do the same.

And so meta vacances was born.

Now, each time I go to France to work on the workshops or the photo site, I make sure I have some vacation time. Whether its an hour walk after lunch by the river or sitting for a good hour outside at sunset, just staring and watching the clouds roll by, I take a vacation- however mini, and it is not a sign of laziness or weakness, its a sign of self love and personal strength.

I have taken the challenge to make a difference in my life. Think about making a difference in your own. Make yourself number one, and everyone else will benefit from the result as well.

Its a strange gray end of November day and today, my very private world
of solitary walks in the Dordogne beamed across cyberspace thanks to the
auspices of the New York Times.

With a small but powerful mention in the 30 November House and Home section,
I found myself filling orders for pictures that are my very personal experiences
and feelings.

A woman from Atlanta purchased a photo of my neighbor’s donkey and a rather
scary, forceful looking dog I encountered on a randonee with a group of French people.
The flags that fly on a nearby Mairie will furl in someone’s office or living room.

Views I encounter daily, just down the hill from my house, are now going to be holiday
gifts for people I will never meet. Will they ever be able to feel the sweetness and
serenity that wells up inside me when I walk these paths?

Its odd to think of one’s memories out in the world, on such a mind boggling scale.

Viewed almost 133,000 times, in less than 24 hours, my private world, shaped
by another language, by instant and almost profound memories; these are my secrets,
out of the box.

The other day, I read an engaging quote on the web site
French Word A Day, a very interesting blog site that pairs learning
new French words with armchair experiences of living in France.
Author Kristin Espinasse, an American married to a Frenchman, chronicles life in her adopted country, in her blog and book of the same name, both not to be missed.

The quote is from Michel de Montaigne, who by coincidence is a
native son of the Dordogne region, born in 1533. Montaigne is
best known for his invention of the literary form, the essay. No
doubt, some of you remember translating them in French class.

The essay comes from the French word “essai” which means test
or trial. Montaigne’s essays are ruminations of self examination,
continous probings into attitude towards the world and its beliefs.

Surely this concept is relevant today, when blogs are proliferating
by the moment. Maybe we are all Montaignes in cyber space!
But that is a whole other post.

Back to the striking chord.

Kristin quotes Montaigne:

“L’amitie se nourrit de communication”

“Friendship is nourished by communication”

I got to thinking about Montaigne, and also how we live in a world
that needs lots of figuring out. It brought me back to the practice of yoga and meditation.

For me, yoga and meditation are practices where we make friends
with our own self. We nourish our core through these inner quiet practices. We further a life long dialogue with our own best friends, ourselves.

To be at peace from within, we must be our own best friends and from there we can reach out and help others.

Nourish your own communication, with 5 minutes of quiet time,
noticing your breathing and looking at the changing seasons. See
how much it will enhance your next inner dialogue or external exchange. Strike an unexpected chord with a real gift.

I confess. I am not a gardener. But I do love to look.

Likewise I am a sometime cook, more a voyeur of delectable cookbooks and garden books than a get your hands dirty kind of gal. Imagined pleasures without the toil, dirty fingernails and calories.

Thus, I love experiencing gardens, potagers or parks, it matters not to me. My point of view is delighted ignorance. I know virtually no common plant names, let alone the Latin cousins. Its the looking I love, the transcendant pleasure of losing oneself on a path shimmering in beautiful light.

If one is lucky enough to know someone with a lovely private French garden, take the late afternoon leisure of stroll with apero, and count your blessings. If one is passing through with guidebook in hand, be sure to visit three of our notable treasures: Manoir d’Eyrignac, which I believe Michelin now rates as worth a detour, Jardin d’Imaginaire, another wonder with a surprise at every turn, and lastly Jardin Marquessac, whose elegant simplicity gives new meaning to the scent of boxwood, not to mention views to chateaux and castles to die for.

The marvelous thing about all three of these gardens, and this coming from one who possesses a young pup’s enthusiasm mixed with sheer ignorance, is that each is completely unique and splendid in its own in character. Pas the formality one would associate with historical French landscape, yet each making a very strong, compelling impression. Don’t think Louis XIV as that is not what you will find here, although two have historical roots. Each is so imaginative, and so different from the other, that your visual palette is bound to be inspired, even if you are like me, and just like to look.

I’ll take transcendant green magic anytime. Et vous??

(originally written 23 April, 2006)

When that heaven scented baguette gets stale, which it naturally does within 24 hours of purchase, what does one do with the remaining half or quarter? Its a dilemna. The neighbors no doubt, devoured their baguette at lunch (and would not be caught dead with a dried out speciman for their next repast). They will be going right back down to the village for another, fresh loaf later in the day and I for one want to run right back the hill with them. I can’t help it! I might miss something.

How can I rationalize not finishing this loaf which just hours ago held so much promise, but now seems so dull? And that wonderful artisanal butter from the market. It won’t be tasting that wonderful on a sad old loaf as this surely will be before the sun rises demain matin.

So it’s a problem. Too much of a good thing. That’s the problem with France. Not nasty rude people. Surely not. Could not be more polite and helpul. No, the problem is my inner glutton. And the countless mouthwatering distractions. I confess. I want fresh bread at every turn. I am attached to the outcome. Fresh bread, daily, at every meal. Can you blame me?

That’s a lot of driving up and down the hill. Ah but what a drive, which route, by the river or over the hill and then again, which boulangerie should I go to? Walnut bread or Crustillot? Ficelle or Baguette?

And then of course, the morning croissant. Oh, but that’s only for Sundays! OOOhhhh, how about a chocolatine for breakfast. Mmmmm, what to do?

I can’t decide, so this will have to be continued later…..

(originally written 11 April, 2006)

The moutons up the hill are completely preoccupied with their craft. Munching constantly as they root forward, they are creating trodden paths in the newly emerging grass. Their glissened pathways are made more apparent by the early morning frost here at the end of March.

(originally written 29 March, 2006)

After one week of clear clear air and arresting blue sky, everything almost sweet in its intoxication, I find each morning when I open the shutters, that I am almost in shock by the simple quiet beauty that is unfolding daily in front of my eyes. Boy are we lucky. And just wait until the guests get here. I can hardly wait to see their expressions.

(originally written 4 April, 2006)

It’s been less than 24 hours. And this is apparent. I never really left. And either did Slaine. That dark New England winter. I just imagined it. A bad dream. That lack of color, those blues and grays, surely an illusion.

HERE, hillsides dotted with great gobs of egg yolk yellow. March 27th, and the forsythia are shouting from every coin. My tulips are six inches tall! When did this happen?

Closing the shutters for the very first evening at 9 pm, I breathe in the sweet scents of grass and mouton. All matter of baby bahhing, as I am gently reminded, yes pinch me, I am here, I am here, I am here! I am present on many levels here in the verdant paradise once again.

On my very first full day, all the neighbors up and down the hill, stop to say hi. “We saw the lights. We knew you were back. Et le chien? Ca va?”

My first stop on the drive down from Michel and Marie France’s house is at Bio Vital, in Brive, my favorite organic grocery shop. Weary and bleary eyed, I want to make sure I have some decent nourishment having missed Bernard and Luc at the Friday Souillac market. A whole week to wait for those wonderful repasts.

I buy something I don’t even love, namely broccoli. But if broccoli can create rapture, then this is it. I have never tasted steamed broccoli with this sweet flavor. La terre. This effusive French earth. It permeates and influences everything; families, food, culture. I see it here on my own hillside.

I turn in knowing that this is the first of many early mornings and sunset wonders that soon await me. Nascent spring, March.

Happiness permeates my jetlagged body. Here’s what I know though. It does not get any better than this.

(originally written March 27, 2006)

Last night, here in the Berkshires, the wind howled like no one’s business. Frankly it was almost scary. It felt great to hunker down in the bed with my nightly reading materials. I was amazed that my house was not shaking. Having stood the test of time since c. 1810, those ol’ post and beams have seen it all, I guess.

Its very cold here today, and the color palette remains lacking, or better put, positively half full, but limited. Gray, brown, white. Stiff neck drinking in the gift of blue sky today. It’s crazy how the eyes almost atrophy from the lack of color.

I showed yoga teacher Karen some 8×10’s from the region yesterday. She remarked as many have, how wonderful the images are. Incredible subjects inspire, would be my guess.

What I notice is the fact that there is such a richness in tone and color- such a saturation. I look at them and feel nourished- like the blood orange I just ate- ping of color, zest of excitement. Its almost time to go back, to get my eyes moving again. to build that head of steam, to suck in every nuance of the landscape. Its been really great to have these photos to infuse me these wintery months.Being mindful of when and where I took them, cements the imagery and the feelings.

Soon I will again return and reawake with the overflow of spring invention. I will commit these to pixels while walking with Slaine.

I can hardly wait.Taking photographs completely relaxes me. Very much like meditation. Everything in me changes as I focus in. Colorful nourishment.

With so many people remarking that I should make these images available for sale, I am working on just that. If you would be interested in purchasing them, a way to set your intentions for coming and experiencing for yourself, please do send an email to: info@metavacances.com . They will be nominally priced, with the intent of sharing an intention. I think if you look at them enough, you too will soon be sitting in this wondrous landscape. Just have to get the web program functioning. Please be patient and let me know your thoughts.

When you least expect it, gifts appear. While learning about blogs and wanting to see what others write while thinking of France, I came across two lovely sites. They have quickly become part of my daily smile factor. Julian Merrow-Smith, a wonderful painter, living in Provence with his equally talented cellist/writer wife Ruth, were, I thought, my very own little cyber space secret. That is, until last Thursday, when Julian had his 15 minutes of fame, in time zones, too many to conjure, all across the US and on line.

A lovely little piece in the New York Times, featuring his work and its means of distribution via cyber space, put the Phillips/Merrow-Smith household a bit on its ear. New found clamor from a larger adoring cyber space audience found its way to their in boxes, hourly, in mind boggling numbers.

It was interesting for me to observe this instant fame unfold. Prior to Thursday, one could look at Julian’s paintings at a dreamy pace. Now, within seconds of receiving Postcards From Provence in my in box, the daily said object of my affection is quickly sold. And sadly, those whose fingers are not as quick, seem to be more disgruntled with the idea that they can not possess, than with the joy, that they can delight.

Finally, after reading enough of these, my meditative ephiphanies from France, practicing yoga and sitting on the hillside in stillness, floated to the surface. I put in a blog comment about attachment as a cause of suffering- a basic Buddhist tenet. Whereas it’s probably 5:1 disgruntled would-be patron to the “oh, I get it” viewer, I hope more people will understand the nature of the “you’ve got mail”serendipity, and just enjoy. And let the man create!

Lucky me, with many serendipities. Were it not for the calmness I gain from yoga and meditation practice, I could not see the difference. Were it not for my passion for France and the above, I would not I have thought to create metavacances. And were it not for my toe in the water of blogdom, I would not have found the Phillips/Merrow- Smith’s wonderful offerings.

Serendipity indeed.

And have a look for yourself. Just take a deep breath and enjoy!

meanwhilehereinfrance.com and shiftinglight.com