Category: France

Eau de vie

I keep starting things and then I get stuck. I think it’s because I keep writing about things that are not the heart of the matter.

Today I had the opportunity to visit a cognac distillery. I splurged so I could have as much of the experience as possible. While I hope to be able to return to all my destinations nothing is promised and so I’ve stopped saying “next time”.

The experience itself was magnificent. There are so many things in this world to see and know. Having the opportunity to see how this unique brandy is made was for me priceless. Not simply for the experience but for the wisdom it imparted.

While describing the distillation process the guide continued to mention the “heart” of the alcohol are what they are after. They will take the time of multiple distillations to gather up as much of the vapors as they can. They take these and after hanging in barrels for decades they bottle them in glass jars and wrap them with wicker. Once they do this the liquid inside freezes in time. It no longer ages or deepens in flavor profile, intensity etc. the very things that age wine do nothing for this French liquor.

That’s what was replaying in my head over and over. The heart. Had I unknowingly placed my heart in a jar preventing it from aging or growing in depth.

The tour continued and we reached one of the final steps…blending ( I realize I didn’t give other steps…get your ass to France and find out the others). In this step these masters who have a catalogue of senses then decide which hearts are best together, not just for taste but continuity. All the bottles must remain the same, which means there is a delicate balance to be made with each bottle.Sounds like marriage if you ask me.

I have spent so many years in search of a heart that will blend and elevate me while also letting my strengths elevate them. Let’s get some prospective on this endeavor.

These men, these master blenders spend so many years refining their palate. Once they have risen thru the ranks but before they become a true “master” they must spend a minimum of 10 yrs, perhaps 15 working under another. Further they don’t do anything but observe for the first three yrs. Can you even imagine ?

Choosing that career isn’t really a choice is it? It’s a need, a desire, a passion and those require dévouement absolu!

All this is done for something that we consume. The only tangible thing is the name and the buildings that make them otherwise this thing that they dedicate their lives to will eventually be consumed or how about this; there is a “heart” in those cellars that 8 generations have all tasted. Each one knowing that the fruit of which they will never taste. Makes me think of that quote.

“ society grows when men plant trees under which shade they will never sit. That is continuity that is honor, that is love.

Here’s the thing once these men decide this is the life they have chosen and thru all the years of training and beyond their “job” is in actuality their life. Their palate is now the source of their life in many ways.

They can no longer do anything that could jeopardize it such as begin to smoke, change their diet etc. They, like the hearts must be frozen in time.

I have always struggled with my emotional self. I have seen it for so long as a weakness because of the way others have interpreted it. I have been blessed to have a good friend who has allowed me the space to be that emotional but always taking each opportunity to remind me of my strength, never negating my tears but rather seeing them as the fuel that propels my heart.

I am a master blender of hearts. I can create fictional intoxicating moments that transcend time, never aging but rather remaining pure. The problem? Well I haven’t found the heart to blend with my own yet. I work diligently to remove the predispositions I have to a certain life realizing that in truth I am moving thru time and space with no external direction. It must be the heart that leads, even if I can’t fully trust it’s wicked ways.

The question for me is what is the action or rather the next practical step to take.

Time for another digression although i feel that word is unfair. My digressions are usually pivotal to the story.

There is a film I love. It’s one man in a car for 90 minutes and in that actual time we see his life implode. At some point after he has shared difficult news with his wife he quickly asks her in the midst of her sadness and disappointment what the practical next step is. This thought process seems vital. We have these emotions within us that at times can direct our actions which are usually full of rage, disappointment and sadness. When what is needed often times is pragmatism. Hence men; they are annoyingly practical at times.

I have placed instead my illogical ways in those glass jars and retrieved my heart. I know that doing this will bring a certain amount of pain and uncertainty but I think I’m finally and truly realizing, that is the joy of life. To have experiences that we think will break us and soon we find that they have not. Instead they have sharpened our senses.

I am not truly in charge of my life and what it will one day look like. There are roads I will take that will be wrong but because I have allowed my heart to age I will be able to “re-center” and somehow find my way back to the path intended wherever that might be. I am done being the GPS I will be the little car on the screen taking turns and missing directions.

By the way the title name it’s what they call cognac when it’s reached the end and is finally ready to be poured.

I was recently asked how I was still single. My response now echoing in my head. “ I haven’t found the man who cannot see his life without me”.

When I finally blend my heart with another it will be my eau de vie. The water of my life, unable to live without it. I pray for my loved ones and the support I will need but if it is not offered….tant pis.

It has been longer than I should have allowed to fly solo again. I wish I knew why, perhaps the answer will come before the inevitable flight home. In the meantime I find myself lovingly wrapped in the arms of the stars. I have changed so much since that first trip not that many years ago. Let’s get to story time, I’m sure the mushy will come.

I’m not sure why I chose France, could be my love of wine, bread, cheese etc.. but I think more I wanted the quiet of the countryside. Those who know me (not really a pre-requisite), know that I prefer the country to a city. I like to see what God created, not necessarily man. Part of that comes from the close proximity of others in these endeavors, I like being alone. Wait did I just say that, hmm. Interesting to me only probably, but I have spent so much of my life crying out for a companion and yet solitude has always been my favorite. So much to speculate, still so many wounds and narratives I need to heal. Anyways…..

So France..not Versailles, not Paris but France. I like driving, it’s most likely the remnants of living in a city that requires a car to get absolutely anything. Years and I mean years ago when AirB&B first hit the scene I remember a conversation with my brother where he predicted its success because as he said visiting a place is a different experience to “living” in a place. I think this has influenced the way I do my solo trips.I like to pick countries that have vast landscape I can travel across by motorway, stopping when the desire or the view demands. I love B&B’s, I never feel as alone as sometimes I really am (this reminds me of my nephew Skyy- I remember one time he asked me to come over and then proceeded to spend all his time in his room, when I was leaving he got sad and I said to him why do you want me to be here if you’re just going to be in your room, his response…. “I just like knowing you’re here” , B&B ‘s give me exactly that. (Good to know my ability to digress is still intact).

During this trip I have a mix of stays, AirB&B’s, Hotels, and Chateaus. I have just begun but I can already see how the different offerings will allow me to experience more than just vacation, but home.I am currently making my way down to the South of France, but the first stop had to be Bordeaux. My wine addiction definitely made this decision. I am sitting on the balcony of my “Gite” staring out into nothingness and above to the stars that remind me just how far I am from the lights of “home”. I say home like that because I’m not sure what that really means to me. (Side note: Sometimes I think of these writings as a conversation I’m having with a friend so I’ll answer questions I think you would ask lol).

A few years ago my mother introduced me to the idea of having a word for the year. This word would be something I worked on (I think). There are questions you ask yourself and the word is supposed to come to you. I’ve done it before but it’s never been as passively active as it was this year. Along with the word I created a vision board. Again something I’ve never seen the fruit of but it was always a way I could bond with my mother so the effort was always worth it. At the beginning of this year as I went about looking for the images that would be displayed each day on my board, I came across a word I had hidden away.

Hiraeth (n) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was, the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

FYI this might not be the technical definition but the truth is every single word was meant for me to see together. One of the reasons I take these trips at the same time every year is because many many many years ago I lost some things very precious to me, the last remnant of love. Every time I take these trips I am deep in Hiraeth. I felt so seen, so free when I saw a word for the things I had carried for so many years. The tricky part ? My word of the year that followed…”Relinquish”. How could I ? How could I relinquish that which I had allowed to be imprinted not only on my heart but my body. I realize I have spent so many years looking for “a home which maybe never was”.

When I went to Ireland the first time I visited this small island that was just a garden. There was this high tower at the top of the island that during the war was used by soldiers as a lookout. Since it was high on the island that meant quite a few stairs, I mean a lot actually. But something pushed me to go up and so I did, when I reached the top and climbed the turret to the lookout I was confronted with all the emotional weight I had brought up with me and soon the tears began to roll down my face. I don’t know how to stop grieving. I think because it isn’t just people I grieve but what the loss meant for my future. I have remained with my heart frozen, allowing mistreatment, perhaps because I felt I deserved it (I’m good now…I think), but more I felt it was a way to not confront the fact that I truly believed my chance for love and happiness had gone. I left a part of my grief there on that turret that day, trying to reopen my heart, to return hope to my minds eye. Every time I have touched soil without them I have left a piece of them there. Yet as I sit nestled on my perch looking out into the darkness I realized I don’t need to leave them behind, I can carry them with me…forever. It’s the doubt, the fear, the hopelessness that should not be allowed to return.

I imagine much like grief this will come in stages but I think the next few weeks might be a good place to start. I can’t promise I’ll take you guys along for all of it. Unfortunately there are still things only God, a man who betrayed me and I know and for now I think that’s ok.

I can hear my mother “your only as sick as your secrets”. Hmm maybe thats true, but I think it depends heavily on what you consider a secret versus experiences in life that you hold tight to your chest because perhaps they were meant only for you.

Funny side note, many moons ago I found myself in the country of my birth attempting to heal my body and my heart. In a car ride with my father whom I had been “estranged” from for probably just as many years told me something interesting about secrets. He said in his mind there was no such thing. He said people believe a secret is something you have hidden. A secret can’t be shared, when it is it loses its status as a secret; someone else now knows.

I wonder who is right- perhaps they both are. Perhaps there are things we need to say out loud so we can let them go, other times there are things we need to relinquish to God because in truth he is the only one that can comfort a heart….I just said that and yet I don’t know if I believe it; the comforting part. I feel like people will say any good, positive feeling is from God and I get the thought process but when I sob, when my body shakes because I can’t control the emotion that seems to be pouring out of every pore, where is my comfort? I stop crying because at some point my body becomes exhausted my eyes heavy and my mind weary.

Is that God? I don’t know that living beings can answer this so I am left to decide to accept the assumption or not.

One of the struggles of these writings are that they usually occur late at night when all you can heart are the crickets and the cicadas, when the side of the world I’m on is sleeping as should I. Yet writing these things out is usually the melatonin I need to relinquish my hold on the day and close my eyes. I fear every morning waking without them and yet I fear the morning I will not awake just as much.

I have a fondness for quotes, I used to love when I would hear someone quote a book, person, poetry etc. I thought how amazing it would be to have the words, phrases of the greatest poets imprinted in my mind, ready to recall at any moment. Back in 2007 I started a notepad that kept all my favorite quotes, thru the years I have added and its growth has always thrilled me. I can’t quote them but I find that when the occasion arises I remember the “remnants” of one and quickly scroll to find it. Today there were many and yet only one that remained.

My love and grief has always been a difficult thing to share. Perhaps because I was so young when I lost them but more because love like energy can never be destroyed it has simply changed it’s form.

Death ends a life, not a relationship.

-Mitch Albom

Happy Birthday and Bonne Nuit