Story Draft for our final lesson of the writing group

Bess woke to the sound of birds chirping under the eaves.   

Her feathered friends had come for breakfast.    The dawn tweet had invited its way over the red chimney pots and grey slate roofs, coiled itself through TV antennae and the many wires and metal rods which sprouted and rooted themselves to the rooftops of Paris.   

Bess’s various collection of birdhouses, perches, branches, balls of fat with sunflower seeds and peanuts, aroused a great chattering and chirruping that resembled an earthy feasting on her window sill.     This birdy chitchat radioed through her windows each morning and kept her company. 

  Bess had lived alone since her partner had passed away and she hadn’t set foot outside her fifth floor garret apartment since.  The 1790’s building was a typical Parisian walk up with its threadbare carpets and creaky curved staircase;  a little daunting for her 91 years.  Bess had lost her spritely movements to arthritis  but her lively spirit remained and she glowed from within, her eyes were “pools of joy” as she gazed adoringly at Mrs. Blue Tit, Miss Sparrow and Mr. blackbird who came regularly to her windowsill but there were times when she worried into her future wondering how it would be at the end … 

Photographs of her partner, family and her beloved “Lola” a Pekingese she had cherished in days gone by were preserved, museum like, in solid silver frames on her polished commode.   Tiny porcelain boxes, exquisite perfume bottles, a magnificent powder compact in mother of pearl were treasured,  together with her famous collection of bird paintings illustrated by the naturalist le Comte de Buffon (a famous French ornithologist), they decorated her walls and enchanted each and every day providing memories flooding through time like a river bursting its banks tossing her childhood souvenirs back and forth, visions of her life coming and going with the ebb and flow.

Her modest rooms were spotlessly clean and when her chores were done Bess spent most of her days wistfully following the lives of those in the building opposite hers.    A young girl with pigtails sitting at a table by the window doing her homework  - a couple of women perhaps mother and daughter squabbling about spaghetti sauce and other nonsenses ….……… the silver haired gentleman who also sat alone by his third floor window to whom she often smiled at, waved to, and to her great surprise and quite recently exchanged friendship and now love notes.   Their relationship had developed over the years – at first there were glances out of the window – balcony conversations  -  birdy prattle and informal chat - conversations sent by Blackbird and Blue Tit.    A Romeo and Juliette romance,  forbidden love at their stage of life.   So when that blessed carrier pigeon volunteered to take letters back and forth between them they rejoiced in word.  

It’s never too late for love.

A thump outside her front door and that would be the delivery boy with her daily dispatch of French deliciousness:   

Croissants, pain au chocolat,  saucisson, stuffed ham with parsley sage,  sausages from Toulouse,  baguettes of bread   ….yumm these were the things she loved and craved above all.    A little bit of Paris that also provided lots of titbits for her feathered companions.

The friends had gathered for their morning conference.   They were discussing what they were going to do for Christmas.

Pigeon fluffed his tail and spoke up;  I’m off to visit my girlfriend near the Eiffel Tower, there will be lots of tourists who will feed us peanuts and sunflower seeds 

Blackbird,  House Tit and Grey Wagtail were going to a feast in the Bois de Boulogne as there would be a special meal laid on in this marvellous park in the heart of Paris for the birds of the City.  Sparrow had no family so he thought he would help Santa deliver parcels.   Starling who had stars in his eyes wished for new spots on his feathers and  gingerbread crumbs and sang with excitement.  

Robin red breast who kept apart from the other birds showed his brightly coloured chest with authority and chirped that although he loved his red jacket,  wouldn’t it be nice to have some gold buttons down the front. 

They turned to Bess - and you Bess what do you wish for on Christmas day?

 I wish …oh I wish ..well I know its impossible but I wish I could come with you all just once and feel the air on my face - plummet down near the little square, soar up into the clouds and  - sit on the branches of the cherry tree and perch on a limb with ease.  Most of all I’d like to visit my romantic admirer who lives in the building opposite me - we watch out for each other every day and I know he’ll be alone for Christmas like myself.   I’d like to take him some chocolates and a slice of cake - we’d drink wine together …and give him a little kiss and provide some magical Christmas cheer.   

 They all looked at her in astonishment….and then Robin red breast came up with an idea …..

They peeped a plan.

Bess had a great collection of feathers that her friends had left her as they came and fed on the windowsill.    She had kept them in a long eaten honey jar where they tumbled together, a kaleidoscope of colours.        There were delicate shades of grey, white, blue, orange and there were even some speckled ones.  

   Morning light found her face to face with Blackbird.   Excuse me Miss Bess but me the others and myself have an idea.   He opened the jar of feathers and whispered in her ear.     She nodded and set to work immediately. 

Tearing up the cardboard boxes from her deliveries - she fashioned a shape, made a pattern - and started to arrange the precious collection.   She laid the first feather starting from the base working out the design, layering and shading. 

Looking in through the window her friends were happy to see her busy and watched as she started to undertake her project  - bit by bit they brought her more feathers, bits of straw, string, paper, mixed her some glue and found some wire scraps that could help consolidate her wings to be.     They flew in and out non-stop to fetch and gather while Bess grew increasingly excited and worked all day and a good part of the night.   She imagined herself floating over Paris presents in hand; she would look down on the Eiffel Tower and perch on one of the many Chestnut trees on the Champs Elysees and watch the flickering fairy lights, she couldn’t wait to see the surprise on the face of her “third floor love” as she magically appeared to deliver Christmas fare. 

Christmas morning and Bess attached her fairy wings her cheeks flushed with excitement.   Her basket groaned full to the brim with good tidings:  ice cream, chocolate cakes,  ginger bread, a bottle of good wine.   

  Flocks of birds from all parts of the City came to give a hand.   There were pigeons, bluebirds, blackbirds, gulls, robins, starlings, house tits, pigeons, doves and all her feathered friends who fluttered together to lift her out of the window and soar and guide her like a great kite into the sky.    She raised her face to the clouds her heart uplifted and swooped to greet her lover - and together with the help of their wonderful friends the birds, they winged their way up to where tinsel tipped angels awaited.  

Forever together,    Forever more 

Feeling Proud

So thrilled with my English Conversation class.   We invited the Semur group to visit Montbard in English.    There were about 10 speakers and 20 people in all wandering through the old streets of Montbard, visiting the medieval tower, the Orangerie and Buffon's place of work.  

  A fascinating walk finishing near to the canal and overlooking the 5 companies that make up Metal Deployé.

Afterwards we had a drink at the Menagerie 27 - where there will be a boutique from now on until Christmas showing 30 artists from the area.

Assignment for my writing class - Cat and mouse

It was the smell of “cat” that was so overpowering and made mouse feel nauseous 

Cat poked his whiskers into the tiny hole and breathed in his prey

After the chase, mouse had scrabbled up into the nearest hole available in a stone wall

It was 6 o’clock and she’d been hiding for hours

Cat, stretching his full length up the wall to look into the hidey hole could see that mouse had a tail as long as her body.   That she was brown all over except for a white furry spot on her head, had salmon pink ears and a nose that twitched constantly and she smelled … well - like a mouse

He was eager to catch his dinner and switched his tail impatiently

Mouse cowered recoiling as much as she could into the tiny hole and she flattened herself as only mice can and played dead protecting her 6 babies still in their princess pink birthday suits

The cat chomped and ground his jaws to sharpen his teeth

Mouse craved a piece of cheese and wondered where her husband was;  she dozed off into mouse-land dreaming of ripe wheat pods, insects and fresh berries

Dad had repeatedly told his children not to go further than the gate post

Spurts of mousy urine  trickled out of the hole and fell in slow drops down onto the stones of the wall and cat knew it was almost time 

Big footsteps on the grass - and mouse heard the woman call the cat away from the wall

“Come on pussy leave that poor mouse alone - can’t you hear her squealing”

To no avail

The sharp stones in the hiding hole dug into mouse’s back and her tail was tucked into an agonising position - she squealed and squirmed with pain pushing herself as further back into the narrow hole as possible protecting her babies

Capture would be soon;  the cat’s dribble trickled downwards making slimy patterns in the sunlight and his eyes were yellow like ripe gruyere cheese sweating with bloodthirsty glee

Mouse washed her ears and gave herself a hug  - soon her little body would be stretched like bubblegum and chewed up into a ball - then blown into the air, played with like a soft toy, trodden on, flattened and rolled in the mud, thrown again up high near the sky - she might feel the sun rays onto her back providing a little warmth, hope …then she would not feel the teeth sink into her neck, nor see the blood seep from the wound and the cat’s mouth become as red as a cardinals hat - neither hear the babies squeal one by one as they were taken chewed, spat out and swallowed - whole.   She wouldn’t see her husband cringe in their home safe and warm but terrified and sad watching her fate unroll before his eyes.

Cat discarded the corpse - entertainment provided for the day - the long wait rewarded with play having caught the object of its instinct he went home and curled up on the window sill.

It was the way it was and always would be.

Assignment on Drift and Plot

The invitation to the chateau was tediously grandiose.  An intimidating dinner of shimmering silver and crystallised glass;     knives and forks polished to within an inch of their silver plated lives,  placed, measured and millimetered to equal distance between each setting -  Sophie wished she could take French leave …

Salad was served as is the custom in France seeped in olive dressing,  she remembered to fold her lettuce and not cut.    This was a French rule learnt in the early days of arriving in France when she had been reprimanded on cutting the lettuce into bite size pieces - Non Non “My dear”  it’s very bad manners to cut your lettuce leaves, in France we fold them into 4 

"Comme ceci, vous voyez” and then pop the packet into the mouth - 

Anyway,  on this particular salad feasting Sophie was about to move her folded lettuce bundle to her mouth when she perceived a tiny head with antennae, beady black eyes and fragile shell;    looking a little closer she saw that it was a baby snail.  “Please Miss”, he cried “I’ve lost my mother could you not eat me and help me find her”   Sophie stopped in mid-mouthful.  

Goodness how on earth was she going to find a mother snail at this chic dining table.   

Opposite her was an Elvis P.  type person with a quivering quiff and fabulously coloured jacket lining who was just lifting his fork;   she noticed crouching underneath the last lettuce leaf on his salad plate what could only be the baby snails mother.   “Oh Mr Marmalade shoes” - could I just ask you something - she had to stall his eating before the mummy snail disappeared down his gullet squashed, crushed, and digested (or not) forevermore.    “I didn’t help but notice your amazing shoes while we were having an aperitif in the Grand Salon - where did you find such an interesting colour of leather”?    He stopped in mid-sentence - interested in being interested in himself - funny you should ask “My dear”,  “I was in Milan just the other day and saw this divine but totally di…vine pair of shoes made of cowhide”.   Sophie flinched.   “They cost the earth,  but my mother,  who, between you and me is as rich as they come,  forked out the 6.665 euros for them.”     

As he was talking he was waving his hand about, gesticulating and doing so flicked inadvertently Mummy snail over to Sophie’s plate.  She reunited the family to her pocket, they slimed together happily. 

 “Excuse me for a moment,  I think I left my headlights on” 

Escape  -  Back at the farm Gertie was feeling congested.  In fact her udder was taught and full like a water balloon filled with milk,  teats leaking and she was near to freakout time.   

Gertie thought this was really too much - mistress Sophie who had inherited the farm from a distant aunt - was never on time for milking.  But ah - 

Footsteps on the cobblestones - whew!   and soft delicate fingers relieved her milk overload.  Gertie battered her luscious eyelashes and shifted her weight flicking her tail …  “ Sorry” said Sophie muttering a story about a snail which Gertie couldn’t totally comprehend  

“Just come to say goodbye” the not such a young as she thought boy with the studded pointy marmelade colour shoes so totally out of place in her manurey backyard,  was strolling among her cows poking them on their hind quarters, “now this one would make a wonderful pair of shoes” …Gertie swung her head round to give Sophie her special stink-eye stare 

Assignment on two people divorcing then deciding not to after all

“You silly toad,” she said.   “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Look here at your reflection in this pond ;   skin as rough as n° 5  sandpaper,  an overstuffed pot belied tummy,  gross, repulsive and sagging  ……do  you really believe those prickly warts and slimy jaggy skin incrusted with mud and muck can still seduce at your age”?

She stuck out her tongue and swallowed a Daddy long legs  - whole.

It slithered down her throat.

Mr Toad gulped and drool dribbled down his brown speckled chest;   he was hungry.

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

Silver fish came up to drink the slimy dribble as it splashed into the water - he watched fascinated as the swirling matter disappeared in a swish

Mr Toad looked over at his wife - years had thickened her waist, wrinkled her warts - made her eyes bulb out and she couldn’t jump as high as before to catch his dinner - their conversation had diminished to croaky rasps and she wheezed in her sleep and kept him awake - 

“Oh my darling Mrs Toad, I love you but I just can’t help myself - young flesh is too hard to resist.”

“Mistress Toady lead me astray with her young moist skin, never ending slimy green legs and her tiny uneven warty bum and that long luminous tongue …..she sings a sinuous trill trill trill….”

“Enough! Enough”!   “Have you no memory - all those leaps and bounds to get you your favorite food - sitting on your eggs for hours on end and wearing out my claws washing your back”

“did you forget our  wedding held on the banks of the Goony pond  - all our river friends were there - swan, badger, weasel and otter, the duck family,  and even cricket came to congratulate us.  Our  fishy friends made my wedding dress ;   those silver scales shone with love” 

“Yes yes yes he enthused, I wore my best gold jacket spun with fireflies threads” 

“What about our tadpoles all grown up now into fine toadlets with families of their own…”.

“But I can’t resist her”

Toad bowed  ….

”So, therefore, ugh umm ….. I have the extreme dishonour of asking you for a …well a ….. divorce”…

 he croaked croakily…..

“We made a handsome couple but now its time to move on - a toads life is short and I want sweeter things”

“Well how about this for sweeter things then” …

Mrs Toad caught the biggest, largest, fattest damselfly with sapphire coloured stripes, intricate lace like wings and diamond eyes -  on the end of her tongue.

She held it just above Mr Toads nose - his eyes crossed,  it looked juicy and wriggled exposing its soft tender belly

His throat expanded pulsating

Oooh ..  “My Princess” he gulped,  saliva oozing out of his mouth

Bucolic, rural and idyllic

« Authentic» is the adjective that comes to mind when I think of my house in Burgundy France.  Bucolic, rural  and idyllic are next on the list.   When as newlywed ex pats we bought our 200 year old secondary home to escape Paris at the weekends in 1972 little did I know that 42 years on it would be my permanent home.

Little old ladies in black pinafores with straw hats and clogs have gone to another world – their stone abodes restored and revamped by grandchildren who have studied, married and brought their families back to the village  founding another generation of friendly and heartwarming people.

The welcoming bowls of cherries, strawberries and lettuce have continued to be placed on our doorstep all through the years and even to this day the generosity and kindness of the villagers has continued.

  

Retired from my lingerie shop after many years in historical Semur-en-Auxois the medieval city close by;  I now enjoy watching the lizards slide across the patio flagstones baking themselves in the sun while I clap my hands to shoo the flocks of birds who peck at my cherries and who love to hide in the peach trees.

Vineyards line the hills where I walk my dog – rabbits, deer, and wild boar are a regular sight in the forest – october brings baskets of field mushrooms, black truffles and wild herbs to our table.

I might live in the heart of France but Paris is just an hour away by TGV and I can even catch lunch in London by Eurostar.

An artists's Loft in Corsica

The plastic Tupperware transparent cube with wheels  provided by the Ajaccio  city of Corsica took us from the airport navette to center of town.   This was a  free bus service although “bus” is a big word as it only measured 1 meter wide with space for only four people and a maximum of 2 suitcases.  

A welcome break after 4 years of holiday abstinence, we were greeted by 29° sea breezes, boulevards lined with palm trees, garden squares, beaches and panorama sea views from every point of the city, cloudless skies, waving palm trees and wonderful sunshine.

   

Nathalie our designer artist friend who’s loft we stayed at in the center of town overlooks the vieux port.   5 flights of stairs and no lift but the climb was well worth it. 

Napoleon’s birthplace, a large and simple residence,  is omnipresent with a museum devoted to the Bonaparte family in Corsica.  “La maison de Napoleon” museum, Boulevards, Hotel de Ville and the fabulous historical library are named after him.  

Nathalie’s loft is totally modern with a spacious open plan and mezzanine where she works as an artist.  Her collages, sculptures and paintings line the walls but what struck home was the vitality and vigour provided by colour in her flat.

Walls were painted in primary colours - one blue, one yellow, red, green, and some pink fuchsia skirting and banister rails.   This theme follows throughout the apartment.  Siemens kitchen in red and black resin surfaces, a large fridge would have taken up unnecessary space so she has two smaller fridges and a freezer under the bar which divides the cooking area.    Oven, microwave and induction cooker where everything is orderly with each drawer organised by types of utensils;   What a pleasure to shop in the daily market downstairs and prepare a meal in this kitchen.  Tolix  alternate with plexiglass transparent chairs sit under the black resin round table in the dining area.

   Living space is white and black with a woven carpet and curved plexiglass coffee table and piles of expensive magazines held together by belts to provide extra poofs.   A collage made of cardboard with the words (“cache misère) for the television - a great idea.   Out of all the artworks the most exciting and worth copying (sorry Nathalie but I just might have to) is  her world map measuring  1,50 m x 0,70 cm.   This is a colour map of the world with each country painstakingly outlined and then the shape cut out in different patterns and designer wallpapers.  Each country distinctly stands out by its choice of paper motifs and shade.  Even the smallest country has been minutely traced, cut out and pasted on top of the country shape.  So for example Ireland has a green flowery design and the UK brown stripes - you get the idea.

The overall effect is mesmerising and to reproduce would occupy many a winters evening.

On her last visit to dinner with us in Burgundy JM had given her some deer skulls - these she has skilfully covered with wool knit, ribbons, fabrics and buttons, displayed as sculptures and would fit into any international art gallery.   Her steel S shaped bookcase stands out on the wall, piled high with philosophically intellectual books most of which I couldn’t even attempt to understand the title let alone read the actual book.

She has made a see through wall hanging separating the spiral staircase leading to the mezzanine and the kitchen area    Plastic place mats in the said colours - each mat is hung together by metal hooks in the shape of a staple at each corner and delicately and transparently divides the kitchen area from the spiral staircase the mezzanine and other bedroom.   Measuring at least 4 meters from ceiling to floor light and sunshine filter through producing a rainbow of luminescence. 

Out on the terrace a bright yellow table greeted us with matching cushions; pink fuchsia deckchair and mediterrean plants which we dutifully watered every 2^nd evening.

We shared breakfast with a screeching seagull and it’s  baby squawking and constantly begging for food.  This distracted us from watching the comings and goings of the port;  Ferries from the Continent, cruise ships 300 meters long spewing out Germans, Scandinavian and American tourists who shopped, ate and awed this beautiful  capital of Corsica.  

There is so much to describe about the beaches, restaurants, food, people and shopping that will have to be written at another time as the day progresses as washing, ironing, filling the fridge, and generally getting the house back in order awaits me,  but I'll be back and until now  .....Au revoir la Corse je reviendrai.