WHEN FRIENDS ARE FAR AWAY...
We've
lived here for three months (and half of that was in a tent in some
woodland out of the village) so I know rationally that it is fine not
to have made friends yet. I know that just because I have not
made friends so far, that
it doesn't mean I will never make friends here. However, who
considers these things rationally when they are missing their friends
from home and life as a family of four needs some serious fresh air ?
I am prone to emotional responses to most things in life, it's what
led me sob whilst listening Nadya Hussein on Desert Island Discs a
few weeks ago, as if I had forever forfeited the opportunity to bake
cakes or reminisce about the Backstreet Boys with friends simply by
moving to France. It was perhaps also the repetitive task of chipping
plaster off a beam combined with a lunch of tinned mackerel that led
to the emotional outburst but the bottom line is, if there's an
opportunity for teary melodrama, I generally take it.
When
we first arrived I threw myself into making friends so
enthusiastically that I think most people I met were terrified. There
were certainly very few positive receptions to my manically friendly
'Hellos' in the park or indeed anywhere where I came across someone:
in shops, in the street, on foot paths...
Today,
I think someone was about to say 'Hello' to us. Not the polite
Bonjour to each other the-way-we-do-when-we-pass-in-the-street
that everyone does here. He might have actually wanted to talk. He
looked our age, had two young children, reminded me of friends from
home and my imagination took off; someone to invite to dinner,
someone to have a drink with, we were no longer that weird family
conspicuous for their lack of friends, the possibilities seemed
endless. And then Little L cried out 'I need a poo'. I hesitated.
What was the probability that she would actually do a poo if I
ignored her and started to chat and, if she did do a poo, what was
the probability that the man would be put off from being our friend.
Perhaps it would be a bonding moment. All parents can bond over their
child shitting themselves when you really don't want them too. ('Shit
yourself all you want inside my love, just never when I'm trying to
make a friend and I've not got any wipes with me'). By the time I had
thought all this through Little L had repeated herself four or five
times, the volume increasing. I took a deep breath to stop the fury
at the injustice of this from overflowing and headed back home.
There'll be a next time...
Sometimes
I think about some of the great people I know and how they inspire me
and one thing that comes up is their open homes and their welcoming
in of, for want of a better term, waifs and strays.
When
I was born my parents were homeless (temporarily after a run of bad
luck) and a friend of theirs welcomed them in, first the two of them,
then the three of us. He even drove my Mum back to his home from
hospital with me, all new, next to a collie dog and a spare car
engine on the seat because my Dad was hay making. (English summers do
not allow hay making to wait, even for new babies to be driven home).
I have loved this story for as long as I have known it, in the way we
all love these stories which frame our lives from before our own
memories begin. Particularly I have loved how this friend of my
parents so unhesitatingly welcomed so many into his home; the
displaced, the unlucky, the unwell and that at the very beginning of
my life I was one of these people and so lucky to be so.
I
have always imagined that I would have one of these open homes and my
children would learn wonderful things from this. Like other friends
of mine, I would take hospitality to incredible lengths and welcome
everyone through the door. I have been so humbled by other people's
tales of their willingness to share their homes and time with
strangers or friends in need I've been inspired to do the same. This
openness seems to bring a richness to life, it's a small and peaceful
revolution against the pervasive suspicion and mistrust around us.
Then,
I realised that, right now, we are the waifs and the strays. So much
for my lofty ambitions... I am the person feeling homesick, feeling
lonely and, tragically, thinking every day, perhaps today is the day
I'll make a friend. So each chat with the librarian or our neighbours
means so much. Even each Bonjour that hints at something more
than just a polite formality but suggests a genuine wish that I have
a good day is sustenance.
A
man who works in the village kindly offered to show us some walks we
could try out that would be suitable for two small children. We met
with him the next day in his office and he showed us a few circular
routes along gentle forest paths. I explained that what I was really
after was a walk with friends, or people who might become friends, 'I
don't have any friends here, yet' I finished lamely. He looked
uncomfortable but not unsympathetic. It's true that when somebody
tells you they don't have friends it's really hard to know what to
say. Loneliness is a great taboo but we should talk about it because
it'll happen to a lot of us at some point or another and it's nothing
to be ashamed of (so goes my new mantra). Then, he scribbled down his
contact details and invited us out, along with his family on a walk
they are doing this Sunday. I was embarrassed, there's no denying
that, clearly he'd be explaining to his wife later that he'd had 'no
choice', 'they look really desperate', that he 'felt sorry' for us.
We
are the waifs and strays.
But,
it would be silly to let pride get in the way of an opportunity to
spend time with someone generous enough to offer... So we'll see.
Perhaps we've made a friend.
THE HOUSE
Things
are beginning to feel exciting. We have some bags of hemp and horse
manure for insulation and plaster respectively and this feels like
the turning point from demolition to construction. Little L spends a
lot of time planning furniture layout, always unorthodox and always
fun; sofa's on top of wood burners and a lot of purple paint. Sadly
we're much too boring to concede to her instructions but the
suggestions liven up the discussions about whether intact window
panes or a safe staircase are the priority before the move in. Little I
runs about the open floor spaces like she's found a cache of
amphetamines, throwing herself to the floor as if she's playing rugby
with imaginary friends and having a whale of a time. Ignorance is bliss.
Six
weeks until we move in...
Really looking forward to seeing you all next week, hopefully we can help with the building work as well, been laying floor boards with mum this week, becoming quite proficient. love hols x x
ReplyDeleteMore pictures in the next one please Petra!
ReplyDeleteBen x
Lots more pictures in the next one! Picture overload... X
Delete