Break on through

I don't know what it is about guys, but they can hardly contain their excitement when they're about to break through a 2-foot stone wall. No concerns that they are standing over 20-feet high balancing on rickety scaffolding in the pouring rain each flailing sledge hammers and chisels. All they wanna do is break on through to the other side no matter the danger and I really think this urge is almost primal and gets stronger the older they get. It's like they've had to be responsible adults for 35 years, not able to break things just for the hell of it like like when they were kids, so when an opportunity presents itself later in live it's as if they revert to their 10-year old selves with mischievous grins and all. Oh, well, at least I'm going to hopefully get a new window out of the deal or at the very least, cash in on Hank's insurance policy.

Oh really, how old are you Hank?

After somehow learning to live with all the recent gaps and holes in our walls still needing patching as well as drywall dust from the radiators installation and new bathroom downstairs I thought, "how much worse can it get by putting a huge hole in the north facing wall of our home?" Well, actually it shouldn't be too huge I hope as the window we have is small, but  I can only hope that the entire wall doesn't come  crumbling down while I'm writing this. Fingers crossed. Anyway, I've always dreamt of a window in this room (Chambres des Lavandes) to create a little more light, enhanced view as well as provide a little cross ventilation, but I knew it wasn't yet a priority so when the guys told me they could do it right NOW or never, I signed on for even more dust, rubble and chaos in our already warn torn home and a agreed to a continuing deviation from all the finishing we needed to do in order to be ready for family visiting next month, not to mention opening our doors for summer in June. Yikes, does anyone have an Xanax?

This latest project on the exterior of the house has been sort of surreal and unplanned from the start. Our friend and neighbor Mickey dropped by out of the blue a week ago and said he finally had some time to help us out since he had been given his own set of challenges earlier in the year when his house burned down last December. Anyway, his specialty just happens to to masonry.

"So how about we remove the crepi from the house?" he asked one recent afternoon. For those of you who don't know what crepi is, it's closest equivalent would be a sort of sand-lime-cement based stucco that was used to cover many of the stone houses and buildings after WWII. Only this stuff can age terribly and I felt ours created an Adams Family-esque look to the outside of our house and we had recently had another mason come out to give us an estimate which ended up being so cost-prohibitive that we had to take this project off our to-do list for the time being.

But then Mick shows up with his availability so once again the bathroom, patching, painting, etc. are are back on hold as you have to strike while the iron's hot. Side note: This is extremely difficult for me as I am not only a neat freak, but a list maker on steroids so it goes against everything in me to switch gears until all the other things have been crossed off the list. Throw in the additional unplanned financial implications and I'm pretty mush teetoring on a mental meltdown.

So the boys get going the next day and have been moving at an incredible pace. I do not think I know anyone who works harder than Mickey, with the exception of Hank of course. He just doesn't seem to have a slow speed dialed into his genetics and although it's great for us, I can only hope he does not burn himself out. Maybe it has something to do with his prior life in the British Navy or more likely from all the 'training' he received as Chippendale's dancer back in the day. 

However he acquired his energizer bunny powers, we have been the fortunate recipients of them at the moment and after just over one week, the crepi has been removed from the entire house (well, nearly, because they had to stop to break in the hole in the wall today for the window) and the re pointing begun. All for a fraction of the cost we were originally quoted. Oh, that reminds me. We had that awkward moment when the other mason stopped by the house after the work had begun. I had previously called him to thank him for his estimate but explained that we just could not afford to do it this year (all absolutely true). He then quickly rambled away in French even though our mutual french friends have explained to him many times that he needs to speak very slowly to the Americans in order for them to understand. But the jist of our conversation was leaning toward negotiating his quote and that he said that he would have a bilingual client help out the process. Only thing is, he did not follow through. Mickey showed up the following week with mile-high scaffolding and we went for it. The guy was pleasant enough, but when he stopped by although he could not help himself from being critical of the products we were using so we've struck a small compromise and agreed to take some bags of sand/chaud/cement off his hands at cost which helps us all out.

Then, there's been our pool fiasco. Yep, the one we just had installed last year. The British contractor we hired did a real shoddy job and we've had problems with it since day one. First, we noticed that we were spending an exorbitant amount of time cleaning it. At times I felt like a mad scientist constantly checking the ph, chlorine and salt levels because I just couldn't figure out why it filled up with algae after a just a few days cleaning. Yes, we put in some that anti-algae stuff,  yes we added a little "Plus" here and a little "Minus" there to balance everything out and still, by the end of the week, a nice layer of algae sticking to the sides.

Every time I contacted the contractor to get some advise, he'd respond almost dismissively as if I was making this stuff up. After some persistence (he actually called me a 'bully'), he would finally grumble out a possible solution which we would immediately try only to find that nothing seemed to work so we just constantly cleaned the pool last summer and is why Hank looked so buffed so it wasn't all bad news exactly. 

Anyway, then the tiles around the pool began to crack apart. 

"Oh, it's just settling," our contractor would say. "Probably because there was not enough concrete poured around the pool." 

"But, you recommended that we do it this way and have our grass grow right up to the coping to save costs.You even sent pictures of other beautiful pools like this and said you wished you'd installed your very own pool this way," we replied to which he had never answered.

The same thing happened with the pool alarm he recommended we purchase in lieu of putting a fence around the pool. 

"Great" we thought because we loved the idea of this big expansive views of the beautiful countryside from the pool rather than an enclosure. Except that the slightest breeze set the damn thing off. Hank tried everything and after we found ourselves constantly racing behind the house to turn it off - couldn't even think of leaving the house unattended. So, again, we asked the contractor, "What's up with the alarm?"

To which he replied, "Oh, those things are just pieces of crap." 

"Oh thank you kind sir for selling us on the idea of purchasing an expensive piece of crap," we muttered under our breath.

So, it went like that and I was getting into stress overload as winter was approaching and we could no longer 'maintain' our beast and I was so afraid that this year's investment would be totally ruined by the following Spring. Again, we asked our 'guy' about it - okay now we really do come off as gluttons for punishment I know. He says, "just lower the water level below the skimmers, throw in some winterization chemicals, turn off everything, cover the whole damn lot et, voila! everything will be just fine."

Except of course it was not. When we uncovered the pool last month. Algae and dead stuff all over the place, more coping tiles popped apart, cracked and broken skimmer so we cannot even clean the damn thing. Even the pool itself seemed to have settled as the water levels vary up to 4cm. And although I did send the contractor photographs and detailed descriptions so that he had the opportunity to make everything right  (which he did not of course, although he did kindly offer to replace the 50 euro skimmer), we also contacted a real, legitimate, certified french pool person who has been out a few times to assess the damage and save the day in time for our first visitors. Unfortunately, it won't come cheap, but it will be done correctly and be guaranteed for 10 years. Surprising, but true fact: our pool was installed incorrectly and not exactly to code and our new pool guy has asked if he could use pictures of our less than one-year-old pool to show potential customers the dangers of hiring a less-than-qualified pool person. Our contractor didn't order enough aggregate, so it's hollow under our steps so they could have easily broken. It also may explain why it's 'settling' so bizarrely. Many, many other illegal things done but it remains to be seen whether we go after the guy to recoup some costs. That just sounds so stressful and time consuming and as Hank says, maybe we just cut our loses and move on. We'll see. I'm still kind a pissed.

So, two steps forward, two steps back and hell, the first floor bathroom still isn't finished. Damn, I better get back to work!

Rooms with a New View

They were beautiful. They were grand and we really wanted to keep the original antique french windows and doors with their original patina and all of their gorgeous hardware intact.

But, they were no longer practical and it was always a challenge to see if we could open them without popping a window pane, let alone be able to close them.

Same with the shutters. Half were practically falling off their hinges, so we replaced those.

Before last week

And after. Now, we just have to decide the right color for the shutters.

We're leaning toward muted blues and greens and will paint a few test samples to make sure we get it right.

Someone else seemed pleased with the new windows

Back to Work

In late September and early October, after having had enjoyed some last family visitors for the year, the house was quiet and with Hank re-energized after his trip back to Maine, we knew it was time to begin the final push to finally finish the house.

First off, we needed a real central heating system installed as soon as possible as we could not suffer through a third arctic winter at Petit Clos. In fact, I could actually begin to feel the stress returning after experiencing a few early frosts, but our hands were tied until the land and Topanga house sale were wrapped up which both fortunately happened by the end of September. So the first thing we did was place our order on the first of October with a local contractor for the wood burning boiler/solar powered system to be installed by mid-November.

Then we did something sort of frivolous and after two years of depriving ourselves anything considered unnecessary, we bought a cute little, zippy, barely used Fiat 500 so we would finally have a second car. One with air-conditioning don't you know!

Hank finished our bedroom which was the last of the rooms to be completed. Under the new paint job exists all new electric including about 6 outlets (versus the one original, sometimes sparking outlet we had lived dangerously with for over a year), insulation and new drywall on every wall and ceiling which allows for a little more privacy (you used to be able to hear a pin drop upstairs) as well as keeps us much warmer.

This was it before:

And then, he started the downstairs bathroom. At first we had decided to just do a quick remodel of the three small existing rooms - Sink/Dog bath shower, WC  and very crowded washer dryer cave so we could get just it done quickly and economically, but soon after he began, it just didn't feel right not to make it as nice as possible. This was our master bath afterall (and will be shared with Caleigh of course who will have her own separate entrance).  After that 'change order' decision was made, Hank then demo-ed the entire space, making room for both a tub and shower and thankfully he did not kill me when I suggested bringing the beautiful, yet space stealing clawfoot tub downstairs and replace it with   a more practical shower for our guests. The laundry and mechanical room have also been extended beyond into a new, much more spacious room built into the barn that will be able to accomodate storage and a pantry as well. Not to be confused, the following pictures are BEFORE:

And During:

I'll have to add the after pictures once we're done, but, these are the fun kinds of things I have been finding at the brocantes while shopping to decorate it.

Estimates, decisions and scheduling also began on replacing those beautiful, problematic and energy inefficient windows and french door. Yes, as much as we wanted to keep them intact and add double glazed window panes in order to keep the original aesthetics, it was cost prohibitive and still would not solve the problems with the icy drafts and fact that many of the windows still have special instructions for opening and closing. So, we're biting the bullet and have ordered new, double-pane, french windows, plus new shutters AND having them installed by someone other than Hank whose hands are way too full as it is.

We had our initial meetings with Gites of France who came to look at both our Bed and Breakfast rooms and potential gite to be started over the winter. Of course, lots and lots more paperwork for moi, but I think the association with this organization will really open some doors to the French and European markets. We'll also get started with promoting Petit Clos in the U.S. and Canada for next season and updating our promotional materials, so January will be very busy getting ready for hopefully many new guests next season.

We spent our second Thanksgiving in France with two ex-pats and friends, Natalie and her daughter originally from Canada, and Australian-American, Anne, who we had met at the post office last winter. Because Ginny and my dad had shipped canned cranberry - fresh cranberries have yet to be found in our neck of the woods - and pumpkin pie mix in advance, I was determined to have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner and ordered a medium sized turkey at the large superstore, LeClerc well in advance which was confirmed  to be ready the day before Thanksgiving. When I arrived to pick it up, I was told that it actually would not be ready until the following Tuesday. "That actually won't work," I explained, "as I'm preparing the turkey for guests tomorrow." "Je suis desole Madame (I am sorry)," the butcher replied and I literally did not know what to do and just stood in the massive meat department with my mouth slightly agape I am sure, looking around all the isles filled with everything other than a medium-sized ButterBall as I could feel my eyes begin to well up. "Why can't things just be simple for a change?" I was literally in sort of in a daze trying to come up with a plan B but just couldn't seem to decide on what else I could prepare (I did not want chicken on Thanksgiving), but I also knew I could not continue standing there staring into space either. People were beginning to look at me funny. I decided to walk around the huge store to hopefully find some inspiration. As luck would have it, my walk took me past a kind woman offering winetasting with wines from her vineyard. At first, I declined, but seconds later I screeched on the brakes of my oversized cart and I thought, "why the hell not?" She filled my glass and began telling me about a few of her vintages and I immediately felt a little more relaxed and finally stopped my sniffling as I had now at least solved the problem of what wine to buy for dinner. Then, with my mood lightened and feeling slightly emboldened, I marched back to the butcher and settled on a large guinea fowl which ended up being just fine since we were surrounded by good friends this Thanksgiving. Only problem was it was hard not to miss our dear families back home of of course, la dinde (the turkey).

Spring 2013 - 'After' photos of newly renovated downstairs bath.

Le Vendange

As I lie lounging in bed just enjoying the kitties and pooches surrounding me on a lazy Sunday morning - Hank is still in Maine and Caleigh at a friends - I couldn't help but think how absolutely perfect this moment would be if only one of these little critters could bring me a large, creamy and sugar laden, Café American in bed. Fairly certain that my groggy wish was an impossibility, I stretched out my legs toward the side of the bed and as I began to stand up, they buckled and I probably would have fallen on my face if I had not lost my balance and teetered backwards, falling safely back on the bed, barely missing Ziggy the cat. "What the hell?" I wondered as the pain in my thighs returned. "Oh geez, right," as I remembered what I had done the day before and so embarrassed by how out of shape I was.

Yesterday was Sylvan's harvest (le vendange) of his few remaining acres of Sauvignon Blanc grapes that had not been destroyed in last Spring's frost. Rather than utilize the modern machinery that many large winemakers use to cultivate the grapes in minutes, many of the smaller and more organic vintners pick their grapes by hand, taking hours/days/weeks depending on the acreage. Since Sylvan has been invaluable in assisting Hank with the maintenance of our vines we eagerly offered to help when he invited us to join he and his family for the harvest that would be held some time in September. Unfortunately, it happened to hit on a weekend when Hank would be out of the country, but I decided what the hell, I would still help out because he's such a nice guy and plus, he once said that I looked like Lynette (Felicity Huffman) from 'Desperate Housewives.' Flattery will get you everywhere, including a free day laborer during harvest season.

So, the big day arrives and I'm up early and hoof it over to where I presume his Sauvignon Blanc vines are located. But, because it is me,  I actually go to the wrong Merlot field and cannot find anyone which elicits a fleeting hopeful thought that maybe the harvest has been cancelled and I will not have to go through the awkwardness of not knowing anyone and speaking french like a small child.

But, no, I decide not to quit quite yet and continue walking up the hill through more rows of vines when I see the cars and vans parked along the road and a few people hauling crates of grapes. "Great, I'm late," I cringe and imagine that they are all thinking I'm nothing but a lazy, city slacker, but when he sees me, Sylvan quickly greets and introduces to me to everyone, gives me a mini lesson on what to do and I jump right in: kneeling, picking, cutting, standing, picking out bad grapes and heaping the now perfect bunch into the nearby crates situated throughout the rows.  I immediately take to the rhythmic motion and slowly but surely, start working up my confidence until I'm actually keeping up with the 'pros' who have probably done this all their lives.

Temporary warning road sign commonly seen in September

Over and over, you just repeat the same actions, but there's usually someone on the other side of 'your' plant and you get into this kind of a groove of he cuts there, I cut here and hopefully no one cuts the other's fingers! I did hear "Attention de les doigts!" (careful of the fingers) quite a few times. At first, no one said much to me and I didn't really mind as it was nice not to have to think, but as the hours rolled on and the ice began to break, his wife or his mother would ask me a question in English, I would try answering in French and we continued chatting until another row was finished. Then we'd move over to the next one and I would find myself across from someone new and could thankfully use my same 'material' most likely covering the weather, where they lived, how many children we all had, who makes the best baguette, Karl Beyrand of course!). After about 5 hours, we broke for lunch and I decided to head back to the house so I could rest my weary body after a quick bite to eat. The problem with that decision was that I didn't awaken until many hours later and when I finally did, I could barely move my legs, let alone walk comfortably back to the fields. Since Sylvan had told me to feel free to stop working at anytime because he knew my father and Ginny were arriving later that day, my first time grape harvesting experience was now technically over. But, I will definitely do it again, especially next year when we will most likely harvest our very own grapes rather than hire an outside company as we had to do this year. And even though I know that we'll be lucky if we just come out even when you consider all of the manhours spent with the vines pruning (taille), tying (attaché), weaving (crochet), trimming (coupé), Hank would tell you otherwise, absolutely loving every moment spent with his grapes (even though they are not even his beloved red varietal)