November’s storm 2011

Horrific winds from the southeast brought an inundation of rain. Melissa continues to be with Petit Claude while he waits to procure whatever it is that will prevent the fluid from leaking out from the power-steering. So to reach the ophthalmologist in St. Maximum-la-Baume, we had to take Magda, the Volkswagen cabriolet Golfe, who is questionable at best and also leaks right over the driver. I used plastic garbage bags to keep the rain from getting myself soaking wet. The ride to and back was frightening. We had to cross through rivers which were now raging across the roads, over rock strewn areas, with crashing thunder overhead and howling winds all around us. Emergency vehicles with sirens blaring were passing us in both directions, and, upon the return, we were now diverted and were required to cross over Ponteves. But at least Dr. Maistre was pleased with Richard’s eyes – as Richard continues to be as well, and we were given prescriptions for glasses as well as further medicine renewal.

Back home, because of the atrocious weather, Bob and Kathleen had not yet left for Nice – deciding there was little they could do there before their evening plane to Paris and that it was better to stay in the Var until later. They had lunch at Les Gourmets. The land all around us became a lake, and our road itself turned into a horrendous and unpassable river. But at least Bob and Kathleen had already left, and we were in with only manageable leaks in the house.

This was Friday, the day that the rains began. I did manage to get to the marché the following morning, but the usually full market had only the three vegetable stands, the egg vendor, possibly a poissoner and the roast chicken lorry – nothing more. At least half the place was flooded and unusable. In order to get into town later with Richard’s prescription for his glasses, I decided to take Marionette who, though uninsured, does not at least leak. I parked on the Grave Torrent, but there was no way I could get across it without getting drenched to my knees. The village itself looked as if it was under siege. Back home afterwards, when attempting to back into the carport, the Toyota bogged down into the mud of the now soaked earth. We were unable to get her out. We were then inside for the next 48 hours. We continued to receive phone calls and emails from friends up north inquiring if we were OK. On Monday morning there was a brief cessation of the constant downpour and even some sun. We were then able to free Marionette from her mud trap. I hosed her down from the wet earth that had come to cover her during the retrieval attempts and got her finally into the carport. By Thursday, the rains finally stopped, and it cleared.

For the rest, we phoned Chloë on the eve of her 22nd birthday. She is well and is loving Amsterdam. But I was no longer talking to my little girl but instead to a young woman.  On the day itself, Bob and Kathleen arrived, and I had made a quiche for dinner. We also learned that Liliane had to take Micheline to Marseilles that day for a blockage in her heart valve. In Paris, Françoise was knocked down on the pavement and almost run over by an electric – and hence silent – delivery wagon. She was black-and-blue but at least had no broken bones.

The following evening we dined most enjoyably at La Table. On the Friday of the rains, worried about the financial situation and thinking as far as the possibility of bank closure, I went to the bank to withdraw a bulk of cash – only to learn from Nadine that she did not have the authority to permit me that. The laws have changed since earlier this year, and to prevent money-laundering, money can only be transferred now and not simply withdrawn beyond token amounts. I did not think to say that ‘money-laundering’ involves attempting to get money into a bank rather than out. However, by the following Tuesday, I saw the bank manager, and there was no further problem. That afternoon, Audrey and Guy came for tea/cocktails with Dave Brown and his friend Dennis. Audrey had made some delicious apple tarts and brought some mousseux, so we really did not need to do anything. It was a pleasant gathering.

Beyond all this, we have managed to watch on DVDs both Jirí Kylián’s Sinfonetta, Symphony in D and Stamping Ground and Alfred Hitchcock’s The Wrong Man – the former a gift from Saskia and the latter from Mary. We have also gone for a meadow walk and, during it, discovered a whole new pathway through an enchanted woods that is just further down our road. There has been another Literary Luncheon – this time with Angela Thirlwell talking about Ford Madox Brown. Both Norma and Maureen were especially fun on the occasion. That evening it was a simple liquid dinner of margaritas. We have also finally been able to catch up a bit with Simon and Angela and went to their home for a Sunday lunch. And Micheline has been repaired and is back home again with Nicolas.

Since the conclusion of the storm, we have been enjoying perfectly beautiful and sunny weather that at this time of the year accentuates the autumnal colours as well as the raw beauty of the Provence. There is a tinge of sadness in the air as our year in the Midi draws to a close. This still seems to remain an oasis from the world turmoil with its financial gyrations and conflicts that contain some hideous atrocities concerning person-to-person. Occupy Wall Street encampments are now being raided by the police, and I am beginning to wonder if the ‘American Fall’ is about to be postponed. It is obvious that it will take a lengthy amount of time in the first place, but whether we are currently witnessing its commencement or simply a prelude is yet to be seen. With le rêve provençal, however, people are still smiling, the overall tempo continues, and life seems good.

But perhaps the best news could be that there was a missing boar (also an Indonesian hang-belly) from the collection kept next door to the organic farm – so Wilko might just be still living after all. It is now hunting season, however, and he does not know not to run to humans. A hunter would not notice his wagging tail. So we can only hope.