First half of September 2011
September has always been a nostalgic month for me – the end of the heyday of summer reflecting the end of youth, a time for looking backward rather than forward, a time for missing the times of ascent. As a child, it spelled the end of the endless summer and a return to the confines of school. Although I adore the autumn, there is a moment between the glory of heat and holiday and the advent of fall that has always become an anguish of depression. This has not yet happened this year. Perhaps that transition is muted in the Provence, but this month has in addition between an onslaught of sobering health confrontations.
On the first of September, I had a canaloplasty in Draguignan’s Polyclinique de Notre Dame. It went well, though the bandaged ear and diminished hearing as a result has been annoying. I do recall that wonderful moment when I was informed that the anaesthesia was starting – and then it was all over. In my autumn years, I have become familiar with this experience. And if death is anything like this, we will not know when we are gone from this existence.
Virtually blind Richard had to do the driving when we could leave. We went first to the blood lab to find out why, after a week, we had not received the results from Richard’s tests that we had been told to expect in one or two days. There we learned that he is positive for hepatitis C. That has been the biggest of shocks. The next day in St. Maximum-la-Baume, Richard’s eye surgeon said that that did not matter, and two Saturdays later, Richard had the “very serious” cataracts from his left eye removed in Gassin. Already by that evening, he was ecstatic over the sharpness and colours he could see once again. The contrast between what had been his better eye and now his ‘new’ eye is astonishing, and he is acutely aware of the world in which he has been living and the brave new world that is already half on the horizon. Although we knew he had cataracts, we had been told in Rhode Island that it could wait a year. However, by February, he suddenly could no longer read. Although we do not have medical insurance here, it seemed that it would be worth whatever the cost to go ahead and get the procedure done as soon as we could. At the time we were dealing with sprains, pulled muscles and dislocations, and it took a while to locate a medical expert. Then we had to make our appointment with the ophthalmologist more than three months ahead – finally seeing him on the 18th of August.
We both retested at the blood laboratory last week in Salernes, but getting the results takes a good ten days. I have seen the ERN specialist once since the opening of the ear drum and will return again on my birthday later this week. We have meanwhile seen our local doctor who feels that Richard should not do the sonogram on his liver until after the cataract surgeries are completed. As the second one for Richard is 24 September, he sees the specialist in Draguignan for the hepatitis on the 6th of October. And neither of us has been drinking since learning of Richard’s diagnosis.
We were still able to get to the exposition in the old olive mill in Tourtour later the same day as my canaloplastie. Richard has five paintings there, and we went with Santima. She has been overall a dream – cooking us splendid meals, being fun and enjoyable to be with, and phoning both our insurance companies in the Netherlands and learning that they will cover for the medical work we have been undergoing in France. The three us were invited two days later to Penny and Hamish’s for dinner with the extra treat of Daniel Ashley-Claydon being there as well along with a friend of his, John, from Australia. Even without the alcohol, we had a good time.
Santima took us to the Calalou the following Monday, the evening before she departed for Amsterdam. That evening we had Philippe and Monica come for dinner. Philippe is the first person to have asked me to tutoyer him. The next day was our day to sit with the paintings in Tourtour. We had 188 people visit the exhibition in all. That evening we dined in Tourtour for the first time at La Table which was at least as good as all the recommendations we had had indicated it to be.
Whilst her apartment is undergoing renovations in Amsterdam, Saskia has been staying in our house – months longer than any of us had expected and to the point that she has had to hire a lawyer. Of course, I have been happy to have someone in the house, but it is frustrating for her. At least the Ukranians have vacated the ground floor apartment. I still do not know about the Moldavians in the basement flat. I am no longer speaking with Ricardo. But in any event, Saskia came last Thursday with her mother Paulien, now a marvellous 86, for dinner. Saskia’s entire family – beginning with her aunt Birgit and uncle Ru who had a house in Salernes – epitomises for me the culture and sensitivity of ‘Old Europe’. It was a delight to have the evening’s time with them.
And that has been the month to date. We have had had a blessed few days of solitude, although we are now looking forward to the arrival of Heather and Moses early this evening after their vendange in Beaujolais. The Cherry Hill Seminary class has ended – for the most part. I am currently working on a response to the Charity Commission’s denial to allow the Pagan Federation into the Register of Charities in Britain. It’s a long, detailed and tedious process.
Yesterday was the ten-year commemoration of 911. I followed some of it through the radio and laptop. I still remember the astonishingly beautiful day that it was. Following the events on the TV, we were not certain what had happened when the first tower collapsed, but then when the second began to come down, I screamed Richard’s name. And then, almost immediately, and on top of the sickening horror of what had just happened, I had the further sickening horror of knowing right then and there what it meant for the present administration in Washington. I had my arthroscopy the next day (it had been scheduled for that day but was postponed at the last minute), and the day following Mother hired a limo to drive us to Manhattan where we had a further doctor’s appointment and were scheduled to return to Europe the following Monday (which we did). The atmosphere in the city was eerily quiet and yet emotionally collectively bonding. Richard had wondered why we had to be there, but as soon as I was in the city, I knew why and that I had to be there. New York is my first city and, in a sense, still is my city. We visited the various memorials that had sprung up across the town – along with the plaintiff photos of missing loved ones that had been mounted by family and friends. It was an unforgettable time I believe in everybody’s lives. We have since seen the squandered waste of such a rare opportunity that followed in 911’s wake and what often seems to me the prolonged demise of the American experiment. I cannot comprehend the lack of imaginative daring and desire to move us all beyond the tiresome ‘me and mine’ and bullying powers-that-be into something more accommodating for universal hope and sharing. However long it is for any of us, life is still always too short, too wonderful and too fully beautiful to have it any other way – for everyone, at least as the predominant aim and goal.
For the rest, perhaps just a bit short of the canicule or dog-days, we have been enjoying the inundating feast of fruit from our beloved fig tree. We at least are wanting for little. May the gods be thanked.