May 2023

May 2023

Before leaving Amsterdam, I had another evening with Jimmy – we watched a documentary on The Pet Shop Boys. On the Sunday, the doorbell and the mobile did not work, so I missed Carlo and Jean-Christophe until after they had lunched, but then they came over, and I met their delightful friend Michelle.

Then it was back to the farm with Marie-Laure accompanying me between the Gare du Nordand the Gare de Lyon and our having coffee together during that interval. Robin and Richard met me at the train station in Les Arcs. At home with Pili here as well, we were then four for the week. We enjoyed Pili’s delicious Argentinian empadas one day for lunch.

The weather has been a strange mix of bakingly hot sun and much needed rain – at times even torrential. The overall gloom has depressed Richard and me to some extent, and the weeds in the vegetable garden are growing ferociously. The hoeing and weeding are endless. And despite an emotional disappointment in Amsterdam, for the rest things have been blissful. Joanne’s zero-year birthday which we celebrated drunkenly with Yvonne after she had photographed us all together, and which Audrey at the Café du Cours commented on most spiritedly after Yvonne had posted it on her Instagram page, was most special and memorable. The next night we took Pili & Robin to La Table which remains my favourite restaurant. The following day we visited our dear lost and most reduced Adelaïde who washome from the clinic for the weekend. Terribly sad. Penny thinks it is dementia. On a more positive note we Zoomed with Nancy a few days later for her birthday.

The rains have continued so far into June. With Macia & Phil, we watched Elvis at Penny’s. For me, the film is splendidly done, though Richard thought Tom Hanks was over-acting. The final clip of Elvis himself at the piano in Las Vegas a few days before he died at age 42 was most moving, and the endearing image has remained with me since. Penny accompanied Susie and me to the Mairie in connection with our request for permission to construct a pool. And Scott has been sorting out my laptop problems, removing viruses and restoring my ability to send emails. Petit Claude has been working on and off on Magda, but because the EU is phasing out petrol autos, the defunct part is no longer available.

We have begun our 9-day nefastus today. In all, I am finding that it is indeed a strange world of limbo. I am becoming more conscious of – especially – short-term memory loss, and also of an increasing inability for name recall – of both people and things as well as of words. My father complained of forgetfulness continually but still made it to 96. His driver’s license was eventually suspended, but he did not accept that decision by the authorities. I remember once saying to Dad as he was driving in Hoboken, “Dad, that red light!” “I see it,” he replied. “No, the one you just went through!” In any event, this present bubble of blissful happiness in which we are / I am dwelling makes one shrug over the limbo of disconnections and even, if not in this case being superseded by weariness and rage, the real world of horrific levels of unnecessary waste and destruction let alone cruelty. Paradise is an isolated bubble – perhaps for the aged in particular, but could it not by demand be applicable to most everyone? That is the question that now most comes to mind.