Belonging

Our village of Talloires

The name of my blog, book and social media accounts might be misleading. After all, I am not always ... in France, Madame. But, now that I have become known as "But you are in France, Madame," I am loathe to part with this identity. I like it. And, figuratively, it is true. But, Catherine, you might remonstrate, it is a wordy title: one that is hard to remember correctly. Yes, you are right, but if people want to find me, they do.

So, where am I right now? Not France. I am an hour and a half outside Sydney. For those of you who have followed me since the beginning, you would know the twists and turns of our path since leaving France. Briefly ... Sydney, buying our beautiful French home in Talloires on the Annecy Lake, an unexpected and lengthy Covid lockdown in Sydney and our recent delayed move to the Blue Mountains.

New discoveries in the Blue Mountains

We still have our French home and we visit when we can, but our long-term future there is not as clear as when we left. Back then, we presumed that we would have a two-year hiatus in Australia before resuming our full-time French journey. It hasn't turned out like that and so we have sought interim adventures, challenges and destinations. 

Our French home

I have turned onto enough new paths to know to expect joy, reinvigoration, beauty and amazement each time ... loneliness, too, plus discomfort and weariness. That comes with navigating the unknown and the quest to belong.

In the months following our arrival in France, our first smile from the bar tender at Le Café de la Place in Menthon, an invitation to morning tea with the mayor's wife in Giez and bumping into someone who recognised us in Annecy were steps towards feeling like my husband and I were not just extras on the periphery of French life, being swept along in a fast-flowing current of change. Those interactions felt good and we deliberately sought out more. Sub-consciously, we knew that if we were feeling more confident about our new life in France, we were in a stronger position to help our children adapt and thrive.

Our first home in France - Giez

I am still looking for my signs here in the Blue Mountains. Our dinosaur shenanigans in the street brought one neighbour out for a friendly chat; we have been invited for afternoon tea and lunch; are refining where we can buy a good baguette, sit for a while over a coffee, pick up op-shop treasures, walk or ride, and collect firewood (with a permit) to avoid another astronomical heating bill. But, at the post office with my latest book packaged for a customer, I caught the eye of the girl behind the desk. There was a glimmer of recognition and a return smile. The hairdresser, too, today asked me when we were heading back to France. Very soon, I was able to tell her, happily - but my point is, she knew to ask. 

Small steps.

Thank you to all of you who have supported my latest writing project. A book with readers is like its author - much happier.

Here again are my three books. Clicking on the links should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase.

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

And now ... first review for "With bare feet and sandy toes"

I have said on many previous occasions that connecting with people around the world has been the best part of my writing journey. Readers have (mostly!) been supportive, encouraging and generous. And, despite being competitors in one sense, authors that I have bumped into virtually or in person have been keen to share successes and eager to chat about improving our craft and untangling marketing strategies.

Reviews are critical to remaining positively visible in bookstores and on Amazon, but waiting for them to drop after a publication can be tense. Mardi understands this as an author. But, we have a lot more in common than writing and the rollercoaster emotional ride that it engenders, as she explains in her review of "With bare feet and sandy toes" (below). It can be found on her blog along with information about her books, details of her cooking classes, her newsletter etc.

If you have not yet come across Mardi on  Facebook, Twitter, Instagram may I recommend that you take a look at what she does. Right now, she is completing the final day of a six-year journey (not full-time) along the Camino de Santiago. Following her as she has walked has been a true joy, and prompted many a daydream. 

This is part of my Summer Reads series where I’ll be sharing book recommendations –  a series of “not just cookbooks”.

For Summer Reads this week, I’ve got another story that’s close to my heart!

Catherine Berry of But you are in France, Madame, and I have a lot in common. We’re both from Adelaide and both love  (and have lived in) France. A few years ago, I happened across Catherine over on Instagram (she’s also Our French Village House – another thing we have in common, rental properties in France that we operate from afar!) and downloaded her book, But you are in France, Madame and read it in one sitting. I loved that part of Catherine’s story (because I found out we had even more in common than just Adelaide and a love of France) – you can read my full review here) – and equally loved the follow-up story, Weaving a French Life: An Australian story which came out in 2020 (you can read my review here) where she describes the very delicate balance of loving two countries at the same time – something I know all too well about!

You can imagine my delight, then, when I discovered she had written a memoir all about growing up in Australia in the 1960s and 70s – what a PERFECT summer read and a trip down memory lane for me!

I read this book in one sitting thanks to jetlag, but also because it was so “more-ish” – each chapter had me nodding my head in recognition. Written to be read either as a stand-alone book to the first two or as a prelude, I’d say all the books make you want to read the others. This one completes the trilogy of Early Life – France – Australia (with her heart in France).

This book really transported me back to my childhood – the sights, sounds, and smells of growing up in Adelaide. I had to smile at SO many memories – from the warm milk “enjoyed” in the lunch “shed” at primary school, trips to the beach in summer, being subjected to confession at a Catholic school, and watching Test Cricket matches (sometimes over 5 days!) on the tv to the absolute wide-eyed wonder of a first trip to Europe as a teenager, there was SO much in here that I related to/ remembered.

Life really was simple when I was growing up in Australia and this is a very accurate depiction of that time. It’s a delightful breath of fresh air as Catherine remembers her hopes, dreams, and fears growing up in a more innocent time. For anyone who has happy memories of a simpler life as a child (wherever you grew up), who wants a book that will put a smile on your face or who wonders what life “down under” looked like 50 years ago, this is a PERFECT beach, couch, porch, backyard, plane or train read for the summer!

Thank you, Mardi and congratulations on your Camino journey. One day to go ...

Here again are my three books. Clicking on the links should take you to where you need to go wherever you are in the world to make a purchase.

Merci et bonne lecture

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

Book 3 ... published

 

Alex and I were married on December 30 ... a few years back now. It is a lovely time of the year to celebrate our anniversary as we are often with friends and, if we are extra lucky, in France. There, the seasonal festivities are layered with extra cosiness as we watch the snow fall, cradle beakers of hot wine with our gloved hands at the Christmas markets, rug up properly to go on cheek-reddening walks and indulge in our French mountain meals.

Making the trip from Australia, does; nonetheless, add a degree of difficulty to gift giving. But, my husband is ingenious and romantic - he always has been - and our last anniversary in France was no different to any other. His gift was a painting, or a little photo of the painting, that would hang on our wall when we returned to Australia after our Christmas holiday.

We had come across artist Robyn Rankin before heading to live in France and the first of her works that we purchased was the delightfully titled "To dither a daisy and lots of love too." It featured our two girls. No, it wasn't a commissioned piece but it could have been as it exuded joy and gave us happiness: just like our girls. Even the physical characteristics were not too dissimilar. 

As for my new gift "She just knew her toes were magic," it took me back to my childhood: that magical period where, if I had managed to kick my feet just a little bit harder and swing a fraction higher, I would have flown and joined all the other dreamers gambolling in the clouds. 

When I was thinking about a cover for my newest memoir With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s, I reached out to Robyn to see how she would feel about her swinging girl - my special anniversary gift - being my cover. 

Robyn thought it was a splendid idea and together (and once again with Alex's design help), we have come up with a beautiful book cover ... don't you agree?

I invite you to head to her website for details of both the artist and her paintings. 

And, of course, if you would like to continue to journey with me as I revisit my early years, I would love to have you along for the ride.

Here again are my three books. Clicking on the links should take you to where you need to go wherever you are in the world to make a purchase.

Merci et bonne lecture

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

With bare feet and sandy toes

Being watched as I write

I have just sent my third book to the printers and am waiting for my author copy to be delivered. When it gets to me, I will have that moment of awe, amazement and pride, then I will proof it ... again. How do I feel? A little lost, to be honest. My days, nights, dreams and conversations have been consumed with this project. What is interesting is that, when I talk with other writers, this after-writing time is almost universally hard. For fiction writers, their characters become part of their lives: they create, communicate and live with their characters for months and it is hard for them, ultimately, to say good-bye to that closeness and familiarity. It struck me that, as a memoir writer, the same applies to me. Perhaps it is even more difficult. After all, each time I write, I reconnect with a person from my past and that person happens to be me. And during those months that we are together, I reminisce, I cringe, I puff up with pride and I laugh. I cry too. 

Let me share the title of my latest book: With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s and 70s. In a divergence from my previous memoirs, I don't head back to France. I go further back than that.

My cover is special, but I want to wait just a little longer before I share it, and its story, with you. In the meantime, here is the quote that I use in my front matter, which gives a little taste of the story it precedes.

Overhead in the Paris sky
Two airplanes fought it out one day

And one of them was my whole youth
The other was my days to come

Guillaume Apollinaire

In yesterday's Instagram post, I reflected on being a writer. Ali, whom I met serendipitously, posted a photo of the street in her French village that inspired the cover of But you are in France, Madame. I commented that connections like the one that I have with her have been the most surprising and rewarding aspect of my publication journey.

And, to demonstrate more completely how fulfilling and global my conversations have become, I want to share a beautiful e-card that was sent to me on French Mother's Day by a friend whom I have met through my books. I was so touched by the thought and today happens to be a most appropriate day to look at it again. It is Noah's birthday but, for the first time, I am not by his side to give him a cuddle and celebrate. He is studying for exams at university in Canberra and I miss him⏤and my most cherished role: Mum.

I cannot get the link to work, so let me describe it for you. Music plays in the background as an empty vase fills with flowers, each with its own little gift (see below*):

The message at the end reads:

Hello, Catherine, 

Reading your second book now, and I am once again so impressed with your honesty, your determination, and your love for your amazing husband and children. So universal, and at the same time so personal for those of us who are all French at heart! 

This is partly why I write but if you'd like to throw a little bit of luck and self-belief my way as I step out once again on this solo memoir-writing path, I'll look out for it. 

And if you'd like to dip into my first two books before number three is released, here are the links:

But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps

Weaving a French Life: An Australian story

*

Tulip: there is sunshine in your smile

Cosmos: harmony, peace

Lily of the valley: return of happiness, humility 

Allium: unity, humility, patience 

Lilac: first love 

Lily: birth 

Poppy: pleasure 

Jasmin: grace, elegance, modesty 

Rose: love, simplicity, happiness

Give peace a chance

I was sitting on the front porch drinking coffee. ‘5 Ernest Hemingway passages that every gentleman should know,’ Alex read from his phone. “Only gentlemen?” and I raised my eyebrows, already put off by the over-used, formulaic title. But I had taken the bait. See, the marketers do know their stuff. 

The first was a banal everyday scene set in Paris, which for some enables any prose to transcend the ordinary without undue effort. 

The fifth passage was from ‘The Old Man and the Sea.’ 

Then, while the old man was clearing the lines and preparing the harpoon, the male fish jumped high into the air beside the boat to see where the female was and then went down deep, his lavender wings, that were his pectoral fins, spread wide and all his wide lavender stripes showing. He was beautiful, the old man remembered, and he had stayed. 

At that moment, a cockatoo flew towards us, its wings wide like the spread fins of the male fish. Not striped lavender; pure white. The bird landed on our fountain, slurped, cocked his head and grinned. I’m sure it was a grin. It looked for all the world like he was seeking praise. “Ok. You’re clever,” I acquiesced as I turned my gaze coyly, alighting on a geranium standing tall. I had worked the ground in that spot yesterday, denying the sprawling lavender its unfettered claim, and clearing a space for the hedge it was using for support to push through.

The open face of the lushly red geranium was looking straight at the cockatoo. 

“I can’t fly but I have strong roots and, if you stay by my side, I can stand my ground.” 

 Could it be that nature was sending me soothing messages after my disturbed dreams last night?

Please world, give peace a chance.

Links to purchase digital copies of 'But you are in France, Madame' and 'Weaving a French Life: An Australian Story'.