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22 December 2010
Saturnalia 2010
Richard has been wanting me to write 'a pagan year in the Provence' blog, but I have yet to set up a blog site. So what I shall undertake at this point is little different than my usual travelogue updates, and this 'year' I am basically beginning on the Saturnalia of 2010. On this morning, I woke to a snow blanketed Provençal winter wonderland. This is the time between time, the epagomenae or intercalary duration, a proverbial carnival, a time for the reversals of normal behaviour.
The day first materialized as little different than any other in terms of inaugurating the farmstead after a long period of absence. Renaud brought Florent to surmise our electrical set up and assess how out-of-date our old mas has become vis-à-vis the technological advances of the twenty-first century. The electrical nexus of trickster currents abounds, and poor Florent's van continued throughout to turn on its headlights and set off the windshield wipers. – no matter how many times he intervened and pushed buttons to stop it from its independent and contrary ways.
But then we were alone, and I was able to finish 'back bends', do email and have the usual brunch-lunch. And then the rest of the day was ours.
We are carless. I announced at the quincaillerie that I have three autos all of which are en panne. We have now diminutised the Toyota to 'Marionette' who served us well in getting us from Scotland to London to Amsterdam to Paris to Aups. But when she realized there is also a Madeleine, our Golf, she upped and died. Jealousy has no bounds, and when we went into town to purchase a truffe, Madeleine then died as well – sur la place. And so we are back to walking and wheel barrowing our butane tanks to the house.
The weather has been everything, and, in both gorgeous sunshine and inclement times the backdrop of the Alps is always impressive. Especially during the second half of the day when the low sun illuminates the mountain with a wash of golden light, it is pure Mediterranean; when there is cloud, rain, mist or even snow, it becomes classic alpine with drama, mystery and elemental rawness.
So after the wham-bam of circling the globe and traversing the North American continent and back, we have settled for a year in the French Midi. Joyce asks whether it feels good to be home, or is it a let down? I can say that in no way is it a let down; instead, it is wonderful. This tiny village is our most intimate connection to global life – whether urban or rural. It is here that we connect most with the natural and collective rhythms of a place. One reason is that we know this locale. The other is that we stay and have stayed here longer than virtually anywhere else. The people are gentle and friendly, and though we are not friends with everyone by far, everyone knows for the most part who the other is. All this is especially true during the winter off-season. In the summer, the population of the area will triple in the least. Now, it is itself. We are basking in the intimacy of our small town in the Provence.
This is not to say that we are not still tinged with sadnesses. We continue to learn of the health problems of dear friends. We ourselves become increasingly mindful of our frailities and limitations. We tire more easily and quickly. The days are much too short and exhausting all the same. And we still follow the events of the world beyond us which rarely are a source of joy but rather the perpetual unfolding of corporate, political and military manoeuvering. To my way of seeing, the American dream of democracy seems to be in its last act – that is, if the play did not already end some time previously and the sleeping audience just has not yet realized it.
True enough, this is the dark and darkest time of the year. It is a moment for pulling in, for assessing where, who and what we are, and for reformulating one's desires and goals. We missed the winter solstice last year, for it was summer in Australia. And as wonderful as that was, we were out of sync and did not have that necessary psychic dip that those of us aligned with the northern hemisphere depend upon. So here we have it – albeit on the fringe or margin of the severely inclement scene up north. As rough and tough as it can be here, it pales in comparison to what our northern friends are experiencing.
Today, Florent installed three new radiators – better heat, more efficient. Richard and I went to the marché and purchased a turkey for tomorrow's Larentalia and the close of the Latin yuletide. And Petit Claude got Madeleine once again running but advised that she is only a 'summer car'. In the afternoon, we ventured out to Penny and Hamish's 'drinks party' where we met Janet and Roger. Also saw Stephen and Roberto there. It was delightfully organized and most enjoyable and, we admit with trepidation, launched for us the social season. And in the evening as I was preparing the dressing, there was a knock on the window, and it was the pompiers distributing their yearly calendar. I donated €50, and they were darling.
And so, I began this little missile on the Saturnalia. As I now finish, the time between time has ended, and the sun has stood still to begin from here her renewed ascent. We can only hope and pray that she will rise to shine on a more balanced and generous world than the one we have demonstrated it to be otherwise. My hope and wish remains for the health and good fortune of my friends and loved ones. May the season bring the rebirth of all you desire both for yourselves and the well-being of our collective planetary adventure.