Moving On

Well, we're on. Precariously still, yes, but we're moving forward and I just pray that I'm not going to write an entry a few weeks from now about how everything fell through. Happy thoughts Cindy... We purchased our tickets for 2 adults, 1 teen, 2 dogs & a cat for December 26th (sorry Nipper, we don't think you would survive the trip. By the way, does anyone want a 19-year old cat that pees in purses and caterwaulers in the middle of the night?). Our Visa de Retour arrived which really made us feel like our luck was turning around because instead of having to reapply for everything again next year, we now just have to pick up our residency cards (carte de sejour) when we return to France. I also had to bite the bullet and commit to quitting my job last week so they could hire the candidate they had in mind to eventually replace me. My last day is December 17th. I have to say that after a few pretty rough years feeling overworked and abused, they have really treated me well throughout this whole ordeal. Last week I began to inventory old files from the past 4 years and I actually started to to get into this mundane task and it reminded me of the Survivor episode when the remaining four contestents reminisce about the fallen players previously voted out. As I typed each of the production titles or talent estimates, it felt good, sort of cleansing to say so long, I survived you (and some of the evil players associated with you) and now I'm letting you go.

We've been packing and trying to determine just what personal items and furniture will make the cut (and have room) in the 20' container we've hired to be dropped off on December 20 and we need to inventory all of that as well. Now, this is an activity that I would have to rate a negative -5 on a scale of 1-10 for fun things to do with your spouse. "Do you really need to keep your 1978 nikon camera, light meter and multiple lenses & colored filters that has been in storage for the past 15 years?" Yes he does. "Do you need to keep your Barbie carrying case with clothes and dolls, including a "Twiggy" doll circa 1966." Of course I do! But, we are getting through it one box at a time without wanting to kill each other yet so that's good.

We put our house up for rent yesterday and have already had quite a few replies including a nice local Topanga family who say they are very interested in a long term lease and took home an application. We can't do anything until our loan goes through which will hopefully happen this week as it is still one of the last wildcards for us. Although we're verbally approved by the bank, until we have that check in our account, we're not going anywhere. And of course, just to throw another possible curveball into our plans, a couple (motivated home buyers) scheduled a showing of our house last week and apparently really liked it, so there's that possibility ready to disrupt all of our current plans hitting just before the holidays.

We are also going to Boulder, Colo. to see my cousin and his family in early December with plans to forfeit our CA id's for Colorado ones as Colorado has a reciporacal agreement with France that will enable us to avoid having to go through a year of French driving school and plaster a large letter "A" on our car for 3 years. We've read and been told by many expats to do whatever is humanly possible to avoid this long, tedious expensive process (all in French!).

So, things are moving along and if all goes to plan, we'll be at Petit Clos a few days after Christmas and celebrate the new year in our new home. But first the holidays to enjoy with family and friends before we go.

Perpetual Waiting Game

Awoke to a frantic email from Isabelle in France who had been helping us, yet again, this time with renewing our residency cards (carte de sejour). She explained that due to the November 1 expiration date of our Visas, we would need to be back in France by the end of the month if we were to extend them for another year. We'd been in wait mode for so long, that although the thought of pulling everything together so quickly seemed daunting, I was ready to go. This long, drawn out and constant uncertainty really needed to end. And not only for our sake, but for all of our supportive friends and family. In fact, I was starting to avoid going out for fear of running into someone who would politely ask the now obligatory question, “so, when are you leaving?” and I still did not have an answer. Plus, our lives had been the focus for way to long and I was afraid that we had probably burnt everyone out over “pursuing our dreams” and I just wanted to put us all out of our misery by actually doing what we had been talking about for so bloody long and go.

Everything in our lives has been on hold for over a year now. Our house had been on the market for what felt like an eternity, our jobs were precariously temporary and Caleigh had no idea where she was going to school the next month and some of the not-so-nice kids wondered aloud if she was making this France thing up for attention.

Ever since our return to the states last April, I hadn’t renewed the newspaper or Netflix and I had grocery shopped as if we were only going to be here for a few short months. I couldn’t fathom buying more than the 25-foot foil container or a large quantity of tall kitchen bags and I cringed when all that was available was the box of 100 coffee filters, because surely, I was only going to need 30 at the most and I hated to waste. I know, that sounds so cheap (and so me) and in retrospect it obviously backfired since I had refused to buy Costco quantities (or renew my $45 Costco membership for that matter) and ended up spending so much more every time I had to replace something (damn!). We didn’t get new cells phones because we didn’t want to sign another contract so I made due with my old LG flip phone (with antennae mind you) that was really beginning to make me self conscious in this city where most people owned the latest and greatest iphone or Droid. Hell, even my mom had a cooler and hipper phone than I did.

All of my winter clothes were back in France and I had put off buying anything new because we kept thinking we would be returning the following month. Now it was November and the weather had cooled and I was wearing the same outfit of jeans, long-sleeved t-shirts & tennies every day and was seriously contemplating asking Vanessa if I might peruse the wardrobe from our latest shoot in NY... That, or go shopping at Topanga’s newest thrift store perhaps?

Later in the day, I received another email from Isabelle. This time there was a problem with the Maire authorizing our paperwork because he had never met us. Was it possible, she asked, if someone of authority could call him and prove that the form he had in front of him contained our true signatures? Bien sur. I went on an all out assault as I really wanted to avoid having to go through the bureaucratic maze of obtaining a visa again. Not to mention, having to re-apply for the carte de sejour again next year; both of which required yet more original documents, appointments and lots of euros. So I madly type an email to the kind Notaire who handled our farm purchase, along with our wonderful British immobilier who has done much, much more than sell us a house. Rosalind almost immediately replies with an enthusiastic, “of course.” Then, our dear friend Arlette gets involved and leaves the Maire a very detailed voicemail of our plight. So, we wait to hear next week.

In the meantime, the re-finance we have been working on has gone back and forth between two lenders due to their promises changing along the way. As of last week, we think we are back on the right track and if all goes to plan, we’ll have our funds by end of November and hopefully be able to depart by mid to late December. But, still we wait to confirm that.

I’m interviewing my replacement tomorrow, so that is a bit scary as I will be cutting the cord of financial stability yet again. And as appreciative as I’ve been to retain my job of sitting in front of a computer and working 10+ hour work days nonstop for months, I am so ready to trade that in for home renovating, farming, and preparing for our first Chambres d’hotes guests as early as next June. I am sure that my new day will likely be a 14+ hour work day, but at least spent doing what I love.

So we wait a little more. Hopefully not too much longer and as soon as this waiting game is finally over and we have the green light for departure, say bye-bye tired old LG flip phone and hello new life.

Groveling

"Grovel," according to Merriam-Webster is 1) "to creep with the face to the ground: crawl, 2) to lie or creep with the body prostrate in token of subservience or abasement."

And grovel I did just days after I had given notice at work. I began trying to reach my boss that same week, but as luck would have it, our office was moving to a new building and all forms of communication were cut off from Friday through Monday. You can just imagine what fun I was to be around that weekend.

When I arrived in the new office space on Monday morning, rather than my name being posted on my designated cubicle, it just said, "Petterson Replacement," I knew I had to move fast. I ran into Elizabeth first thing and asked her if she had a moment to talk. She was actually very relieved that they would not need to replace me so quickly and told me that the job was still mine if I intended on staying. She said that they will continue to interview candidates for my position now that she knows our eventual master plan, but she said she was fine in keeping me for the time being which was incredibly kind (and smart as I continue working 10+ hour days, every day which is still nowhere near enough time to finish everything). I also offered to work from France which she did not dismiss entirely and she even asked me pointed questions on how that might work. Other than the time difference, everything else would remain the same since I work from home 95% of the time right now. If I were willing to work some evenings, it might just work.

Phew, catastrophe #1 averted for the time being.

But what still remained was this overwhelming feeling of uncertainty that dominated all of our lives and had for over a year now. Was this plan still viable; even worth the incredible amount of stress it had caused? We all knew how it was beginning to take its toll on me with my emotional outbursts and reliance on more wine consumption than I should. But Caleigh was another matter. She kept her feelings to herself and generally appeared strong. She even acted supportive of the move in order to make us feel better. Unfortunately, bottling up her true feelings had probably made her act out in ways that she said she wasn't so proud of due to the impermanence of her life. Hank was still the solid rock of our family; so much in fact that he would not even entertain the possibility that our dream was not attainable. And although I envied his confidence, I was also frustrated at times because I often felt that I was handling the financial realities on my own while he got to do "all the fun stuff."

So, what to do? For one thing, we had to admit to ourselves that our house was just not going to sell this year even though it was considered "the best value" in Topanga according to local agents. That was difficult to do, but such a relief when we decided to take it off the market. No more spotless house and generic decorating. Bring back the family photos, yay! By taking it down from the MLS listing, we could also go forward with the re-fi that I had begun the week before. This time though, we would pull some more money out of our equity; rent our house in Topanga, possibly have me work remotely and hopefully have enough to make the move to France for a few years and begin renovations. During that time, there was also a chance that our previous home value would return, making this plan sort of an investment in our future. Wishful thinking I know, but the thought of not being at the mercy of low ball offers in the middle of winter was a great relief.

Chaos

"On croit que, lorsqu'une chose finit, une autre recommence tout de suite. Non. Entre les deux, c'est la pagaille." - Marguerite Duras

(We think that when one thing ends, another one begins right away. No. In between, it's chaos)

Still reeling from Friday's news that the buyers have pulled out. Zip. Nada. Oh my God, we're screwed. Of course, I handled the news as mature and level headed as usual and cried all morning long. Up and down the hallway, I softly wailed as I imagined our complete financial demise. Did I really just give my notice a few days earlier?! Hadn't they already someone in mind for my position? How would we ever live on one salary with two mortgages and a maxed out Heloc? We'll lose our health insurance, not be able to pay for our cars. I was basically living my worst nightmare with terribly negative thoughts like I must not deserve success. That what I have been dreaming was not meant for me and that I never should have thought that I could change my course. That I should go back and grovel for my job and just be happy with mediocrity and expect nothing more. On and on I beat myself up all day. I did manage to get on the phone to a few lenders to see about a refinance before my paychecks stopped coming and we are approved for one if we choose to take it early this week. Thank God for the thrifty survival instincts of my Scottish roots.

Later in the day, when I had no more tears left, I somehow managed to remind myself that this glitch was not insurmountable. We still had each other; we had our health (well, my mental health might have to be questioned I'm sure). But, some how, some way, we would overcome this latest hurdle. But what really gave me the most strength was my daughter. After hearing our news when I picked her up from school on Friday, she immediately groaned, "oh no...I am so sorry mom." Her empathy was so genuine and deeply felt that I was just floored. She was being so mature and had separated herself from her teenage needs, despite the fact that moving to France is the last thing in the world that she wants to do, to care about mine instead and right then I knew that no matter what happened, I had been a success in raising a compassionate human being (well, Hank helped too obviously!) and that could hardly be considered mediocre.

*The above quote was completely stolen from its use in the wonderful book about living in Paris that I'm currently reading by Vanina Marsot called, "Foreign Tongue," which I highly recommend :)

The Key to our Future

It is our last night before we return home and what an amazing 10 days it has been. I have gone back and forth between giddy excitement that this beautiful old maison and piece of french countryside is indeed ours, to absolute terror over the magnitude of this venture. I think I have been too scared to write because my hope and optimism do seem to wane daily. We have also been incredibly busy every single waking hour with the signing of papers for our final deed with the seller in front of the Notaire (note to self…maybe wait until you’re over your jet lag before signing important legal documents in French), aquiring home & farm insurance (ditto), going to residency appointments, shopping at the DIY stores for supplies, and cleaning & working late every night. I even attempted working for DDB last week with only intermittent internet access on top of having contracted the flu on day three until I finally just hit the wall and could barely move.

Oh, and we sold our house in Topanga the day after we signed our deed. Once our counter offer was approved and signed, I gave notice at work because I wanted to give them plenty of notice. With a 30-day escrow with our cash buyers, we were looking at returning in 4 week’s time, on the 20th of October. We had a lot to do in a very short period of time.

The house at Petit Clos was an absolute nightmare when we first opened the door and unfortunately, we did not get the benefit of having our beautiful antique french furniture left there greeting us to soften the blow. M. Coussy’s adult children sold it all out from under him (and us) and because this was part of our original agreement, he had to make good in the form of financial compensation as well as throwing in a Ford 5700 tractor with attachments (Hank’s little baby). Plus, to add insult to injury, they left all of the crap. Gross, disgusting, rat-poop-infested and moldy crap including a broken down naugahyde sleeper sofa, the stained mattress and bed that grandma probably died in, along with her wheel chair and bed pan, and about a quarter inch of 50-year-old grease in the kitchen. There were hundreds of empty wine bottles left in old plastic fertilizer bags and of the three large crates that originally contained just as many nice bottles of Merlot, they were kind enough to leave us an entire crate of vinegar that caused us to curse their inconsideracy on a daily basis. I kept picturing them in my mind saying, "oh, these stupid Americaines won’t know the difference between good wine and vinegar" which pissed me off even more although I had absolutely nothing to base this made-up assumption on. I just didn’t like them.

But then we would have our good days. Like the evening that we walked through our vineyards with a nice glass of Bordeaux and goofy ear-to-ear smiles while we admired the rolling hills and fields during the coucher de soleil (sunset). We discovered the fig tree filled with ripened fruit as well as rows and rows of wild blackberries and chestnuts under a gigantic tree and what looked like blue berries until I tasted one. I spit it out and washed the potential poison from my mouth with my wine as we laughed at what ignorant city folks were truly were and just hoped we didn’t unintentially kill ourselves.

We discovered that our local boulangerie about a kilometre away was run by a friendly baker who specialized in in making pain de campagne loaves cooked in a traditional wood-fired oven. We also got used to the odd hours for shopping again and learned which villages had their marches on the typically dead Sundays and Mondays when most everything else was closed. We were invited for drinks and dessert at Isabelle and Thierry’s who gave us invaluable advise on artisans and stores in the area and we all laughed about Hank and his new tractor and whether or not the owner may have left us a lemon without a good transmission because "why else would he leave it?" according to Thierry. I visited Colette in her new, sunny apartment in La Sauvetat de Dropt and she made me a wonderful lunch of different entres, including homemade dolmas that she had just rolled from the leaves on the grape vines growing on her patio fence, egg salad stuffed tomatoes and a rabbit pate. We caught up for over three hours and she informed me that she has quite a few local French and British women interested in our "cooking club" upon my return. I cannot wait.

We experienced the French bureauracy first hand as we obtained our residency permits after having our required medical exams in Bordeaux. This was not an easy task as it is mainly done through mail correspondence and designated appointments that we had no control over (ie. If we were actually going to be in the country on the dates they had scheduled for us). If not for Isabelle, who persistently called and argued with the secretary at the OFII office in Bordeaux (Office Français de L’immigration et de L’integraion) on our behalf, I am sure we would not have been successful. We were pleasantly surprised by the friendliness of everyone at this government office and Hank of course had all the doctors cracking up in his limited French. After various medical questionaires and exams, and submitting even more copies of our passports and house deed, we were stamped and approved as legal residents of France. Now all that is left for us to do is renew it by November when our original 1-year VISA expires.

I met with the vice principal of Caleigh’s school and scheduled her return in early November when they resume school from the October break and he informed me that she could have free french lessons 3x a week after school. He personally offered to help ALL of us with our French which seemed incredibly kind.

All in all, my French was not as God-awful as I thought it would be. I could actually understand so much more than before, especially in restaurants and stores. My mind seemed to have relaxed a bit and hopefully it will continue so that I can actually utter a coherent sentence someday.

So, we’re back in a month for good. I’m still giddy & terrified depending on the day, but definitely ready for this next chapter to finally begin.

Nite.

going for it (again)

After last weekend's dismal open house - I think one person stopped by - and pouring over all of the most recent comps and sales in the area, we came to the conclusion that we had to make a very difficult decision. Either we reduce our sale price lower than we ever imagined and even offer the buyer's agent's an incentive or we take our house off the market and wait it out for three years or so. By pulling out in what I am sure will be seen as one of the worst possible times to sell a house, we would be assured of a substantial and true nest egg in a few years time. By desperately trying this last ditch effort to sell, we risked being able to adequately finance this venture for more than a year or so.

Luckily, the answer came fairly quickly to both of us. I had actually cracked open "The Life Organizer" book that my dear friend Rose had sent me recently. I have never been one to read self-help books and probably would not have opened this one either except that I had a few hours to burn during our open house and figured that by the way I had been feeling lately, it could not possibly hurt. And it actually had some fairly inspirational ideas about taking control of your life and relearning how to prioritize the things that were most important without getting so stressed out all of the time (my perpetual state of being these days). And one particular section really stood out when it asked you to answer the question, "what do you NOT want," as a process of elimination to find what you are truly looking for. When I could easily answer, "I do not want to sit in front of a computer for 10 hours every day and be bombarded with email or IM requests every other second. I do not want to fight the traffic in LA anymore. I do not want our daughter to be continually influenced by LA's often warped sense of values that seemed to revolve around constant indulgence and riches."

"Your question is your answer Butterfly."

Hank did not need the self-help book. He just knew the answer instinctively so we called our agent and told her to send us the paperwork. Of course, as soon as we released this energy (I know, I know, I'm getting all in tune with myself all of a sudden), there is a call from our cash couple AND a man who had looked at our house exactly a year ago and could not get it out of his mind.

"Stop the presses Fariba!" And of course she does while we wait for answers from both parties to hopefully make offers so a bidding war can begin. Well okay, just one decent offer and we would be ecstatic (and take it). We are supposed to hear something today, although we are both trying hard not to get our hopes up too high yet. But least we do have a little hope right now which is something we have been lacking for the past few weeks and I am definitely holding on to it.

p.s. it is also interesting to note that we took St. Joe out of our garden last week as we figured that he must have found out that we were not Catholic nuns seeking a new convent and could do nothing to help us.

Nous ne sommes pas des poires!

We have had quite an interesting week. It began with an email from the seller's son, Pierre, saying that while his father was away on holiday, he had been given responsibility to sell Petit Clos house furniture and he was writing to ask us if we would like to purchase some of it. "It" being items that had previously been agreed to be included with the sale of the house. We were baffled and wrote to our agent immediately to ask her what this was all about. She in turn emailed Pierre and told him that it was our understanding that these items were to be included with the house to which he responded, that he was "very sorry if there was a misunderstanding on our part, but perhaps the deception could be offset by the fact that he is selling these pieces for well below their market value."

Hmm, we wondered. Could we possibly have misunderstood? Hank and I are are like that. We will doubt ourselves at first before fighting back and yet, this just felt wrong. The seller had said from the beginning that he wished to leave most of the contents of the house as he only planned to keep a few things. We readily agreed as long as it was not his intention to just leave all of the junk. An inventory sheet was generated, checked off and signed just weeks prior. Furthermore, I couldn't help but think of all of the beautiful bedding my mom had just made. Was he now telling me that those duvets were not going to have homes on those gorgeous antique bed sets?

We emailed our friends Andrew and Arlette, wondering what would they do in this situation. Arlette is a little french firecracker and perhaps we could ask her to speak to Pierre on our behalf. She responded right away and told us to hold our ground. After 20 years of living in the U.S., she said that she had forgotten how us "frenchies deal with things." She said that there was a fine line between being nice and understanding and being "une poire" which literally means "a pear" but also meant being weak and therefore open to being taken advantage of. She said that you've got to have balls and that you will be respected more by the French if you do. I didn't need any more encouragment. I wrote back to Rosalind,

"There has been no misunderstanding....." and went on to reference our signed inventory from the seller. Furthermore, I asked, "what was the point of the list then? what were his plans for everything else? was he planning on selling all of the treasures and just leaving us the junk? Also, where was the integrity of the man that we had been assured of in the notaire's office all those months ago?"

We went to bed a bit discouraged but happy that we had not reacted like weak little "pears" (nous ne sommes pas des poires) and woke up to a response from Rosalind that said that she has spoken to the father who said that he had no idea why his son did this and told us to just ignore him. Thank God. I was so happy to confirm that he was indeed a man of his word.

So even though we will not be 100% sure that everything will be left as agreed until we do the walk through with Pops next month, at least the son has kindly given us what he described as an "under market" value of $5000 euros for some of the items that he can reimburse us for should he defy his father and proceed in selling our furniture anyway.