Someday Syndrome

A Rainy Visit

Since my parents arrived, it's rained at least a part of every day.

Wed. 21st:
A drive in the foothills that ended in a walk in the rain.

Thu. 22nd:
A drive in the mountains that was blocked by snow in the pass.

Fri. 23rd-Sat 24:
A visit to cousins' (without me) that had about an hour of sun.

Sun. 25th:
Doing nothing and deciding to go to Spain.

Mon. 26th:
A rainy drive and a light (rain-free) dinner in Tarragona.

Tue. 27th:
A (rain-free) tour of Tarragona then a rainy drive to Pamplona.

Wed. 28th:
A rainy drive through mountains then a (rain-free) tour of St Jean de Luz where Dad did some shopping.

Thu. 29th:
Coffee with my cousin, a tour of a straw-bale house (on and off rain).

Fri. 30th:
Packing up with the rain stopping long enough to move furniture to storage.

Sat. 31st:
Perfect day after morning rain, taken up with packing, moving and driving to Bordeaux.

Sun. 1st:
Rainy Bordeaux with a tour of the (dry and warm) Museum of Aquitaine.

Sounds dull doesn't it? But we all actually had a good time. Other than the lack of sun, we had all we needed to keep time from dragging on forever: good food, good wine and good conversation.

Plus my parents are eternal optimists. Their favourite line the whole time was: "It looks to be brightening a little."

Someday Lessons:

• It's not worth wasting your time with boredom.
• Fun can always be had, even during the rainiest of holidays.

Lessons in Patience

I've always lived in the present in one way: I lack patience. When I want something I want it NOW.

Take learning Spanish. I want to know how to speak it how to understand it. But I don't want to have to take the time to learn it. It takes too much time to master a language.

That being said, when a Spanish person speaks very slowly and directly at me I can usually understand what they're saying (thanks to knowing French). And I have a Learn Spanish book and CD from friends, but I haven't studied it at all. That takes time, too much time.

But then I'm reminded of an advertisement for a piano company that I had cut out of a magazine and hung on my bulletin board when I was a teenager. It quoted a woman saying something like: "I decided not to learn how to play the piano because it takes ten years to play it well. That was ten years ago."

There are so many things we don't do because they take too much time.

Like getting a novel published. Yes, I'm done the first draft of my novel, but that's just the beginning. From start to published, it generally takes three to four years. And then most authors have on average four finished books before they get their first publishing contract. So I'm looking at five to ten years to becoming a published author.

That also takes too much time.

But writers don't write because we want to get published. We write because we have to. Of course being published is great (especially as a way to earn a bit of money), but I would write even if I knew I'd never get published.

Like the way I've decided to move forward with my writing despite the long haul ahead of me, I'll learn Spanish, knowing that it's going to take me a long time before I can understand and speak it well.

It's a lesson in patience.

Someday Lessons:

• What have you put off doing because it will take too much time to learn to do it well?
• If you love something, the associated time commitment is easy to take on.

The Nine Longest Hours Ever

On Friday night, my life existed in very long ten to twenty minute blocks.

That was the amount of time my stomach took to build up to the next visit to the porcelain goddess.

No, I hadn't been drinking too much. I had food poisoning.

Those nine hours, from 6pm to 3am, were some of the longest hours I have ever spent.

The worst part was being alone. Not that anyone could have done anything for me. But I was in a hotel in a large city. I had no local contacts. My medical insurance papers were down in Sauveterre. In other words, I got a bit panicky at times.

Mainly because I had nothing else to do.

Fortunately, I knew that food poisoning lasts about eight hours and as the rest of me felt fine (i.e., no fever or body aches), I knew it would all pass eventually.

But for the first time since arriving in France I missed everything about my old life. I missed my house. I missed my cats. I missed my family. I missed my friends. And I even missed my I-have-to-work-too-hard-to-get-by career.

I was seeking comfort and security. But it passed, along with the evil acid in my stomach.

At 1pm, Cate arrived and I had a little thank-god-you're-here cry, and then we went out to find Beckett's grave.

Someday Lessons:

• Sick and alone time takes the longest to pass.
• The appearance of a friend makes most things better.

Oh Lazy Day!

Today I didn't leave the apartment. I wasn't sick. I wasn't busy writing. I just didn't feel like it.

I lounged in bed until two o'clock. I didn't eat until seven in the evening. I spent some time cleaning and doing laundry, but only in spurts and starts. Otherwise if you asked me what I'd done with my day, I'd have to say "I dunno. Nothing."

When was the last time you had a day like that? Llike a day off from school as a kid. No needs, no cares, no schedule.

So, park the kids in front of the TV (you can do it this once without guilt), order them pizza and take a mini-vacation in bed, with a book, a crossword, a movie or absolutely nothing. Stare at the ceiling and don't think.

And don't look at the clock – time has no meaning on a nothing day.

Can't do a whole day? Then take as much time as you can handle and work your way up to a full day of nothing.

Someday Lessons:

• Be lazy! Do nothing for a whole day.
• Sometimes we need to turn off all clocks (including the internal one).

Lunch Today:
Two handfuls of peanuts (my mother would be horrified!)

Rattling Dishes

I'm listening to Natalie Merchant's Beloved Wife, and I'm again reminded that with old age comes a sense of too much time perhaps. The narrator in the song has been left bereft by the death of his (or her) wife after fifty years and doesn't know how to go on. The anguish in the song always brings tears to my eyes.

My inner-romantic longs for this grief, being unable to continue because my love is no longer with me. The cynic wonders if this is another example of the someday-my-prince-will-come myth. "Does this type of love happen anywhere outside movies, books and music?" the cynic asks.

Having never had a romantic relationship last longer than two years, I know something of that grief already, however. It's a pre-emptive grief, knowing that it becomes less and less likely to be with someone for fifty years (just by dint of me getting older!). The grief is for missing a man who has not yet (nor may ever) come.

And yes, I'm an extremist, an all-or-nothing sort. The band Cake in their song Love You Madly talks about wanting a love where "all the dishes rattle in the cupboards when the elephants arrive." I agree completely. To me, anything else is a waste of time. "I don't want to sit across the table from you wishing I could run" as Cake puts it.

I'm sure many of you who are in long-term relationships want right now to tell me that I'm being unreasonable. That love isn't like that. That love is also about not liking the person you're with sometimes. I'm totally prepared for that, but even when I don't like that person, I want to be madly in love with him. I'm not looking for happily-ever-after, just enduring passion.

This is why I've been single in my life more than coupled. I have set myself (not others – myself) a certain goal and am committed to sticking to it. For you see, as much as I dream of a dish-rattling passions, I don't let not having one bother me (much). If I never feel that passion, I'll still be content. At the end of my life (whenever that is), I'll know that I never just filled time not being true to myself in any large-scale way.

Someday Lessons:

1. Dreams are good, but don't fill time waiting on those dreams.
2. If you're true to yourself, you'll never have to just fill time.

Lunch Today:
A fluffy omelette with tomatoes, cheese and hot peppers.

Waiting for Days to End

There is no such thing as having too much time on your hands.

You either have too little (meaning you're doing too much), or just enough (you've found a balance), but you can't have too much time.

My Grandmama (my dad's mother) had too much time. She had decided that she had lived long enough and was bored. She didn't have many connections outside family and she didn't have many interests anymore. She'd endlessly rearrange her jewelry and call us in a panic thinking someone had stolen something when in actual fact she had forgotten where she'd last hidden it. In other words, she was waiting to die.

My Grandma (mom's mom), however, had just enough time for everyone. She was housebound by an inner ear imbalance, but stayed connected to multiple generations of family and friends. She crocheted and she loved to entertain. She never seemed to just fill time.

I can be like Grandmama sometimes, where I spend the day waiting for it to end. It's not because I have nothing to do, but because I can't find the energy to do any of it. Sometimes this feeling is caused by being overwhelmed by too much activity, other times by a dip in my emotional state. When I snap out of it, I realize that I've been avoiding life and dive back in.

Fortunately that hasn't hit me in France. I thought it might since I have little that I have to do. But I know myself well enough that when I recognize this feeling, I do one of the following:

• I get out of the apartment and go for a walk (which never ceases to cheer me up given how beautiful it is here)
• I go visit my cousins (good conversation and amusing toddlers)
• I write or plan writing projects (since I'm here to start my writing career) or
• I surf the web and chat with friends (or play mindless games for a while, zoning out).

Someday Lessons:

1. Too much time does not exist.
2. Don't wait for days to end – make a conscious decision to act.

Lunch Today:
Wheat-free Turkey and Chevre Quiche

Update on yesterday's posting: After deciding what I needed for my kitchen, I went out to a charity shop and bought the coolest 1950s laminate and metal hutch. My counters are now empty and everything stores well in the new piece of furniture.