So while my lovely husband and I conducted great conversations about the Wreck, these tremendous back and forth sessions of should we or shouldn’t we, while we studied the town sewage line diagrams for an excrement extrusion plan, while we considered how much we could save on the renovation through DIY or more correctly DIN (do it Neil), something very interesting happened. Someone else bought the bloody thing.
To be honest I’m relieved. I love it when decisions are made for me as it leaves so much more time for my other pressing matters like eating and navel gazing. I think it was meant to be because just as the Wreck was snapped up under our noses we were advised that France has officially declared us fit to be renters.
The universe has spoken and I’m listening carefully for a change. We’ll rent something here and officially hit the longest period in our relationship without a major renovation. But I have to keep an open mind with this. Having no income requires a fair bit of sacrifice. I have to learn to lower my standards accordingly and you know what? It’s not as hard as I thought it would be.
I’m not asking for much, just a place that’s cozy and comfortable, small and easy to maintain. Maybe something like this:
Maybe not. Sure I’d need horses, footmen, scullery maids and quite frankly I’m not sure I have the energy to break in a new staff. I’m kidding of course. This is part of a winery in the town of Chablis where we spent a lovely Saturday afternoon. Okay seriously, here’s something entirely more realistic:
This is another place in Chablis that I just love. The stone, the blue shutters, so Frenchy cool but it doesn’t exactly scream the simple life now does it? Plus that bell on the top would be ringing morning, noon and night so maybe what I need is a place that is peaceful, a spiritual sanctuary if you will.
Spiritual yes but I might feel a bit intimidated by this entrance. Besides this church in Auxerre is freezing, imagine the heat bills not to mention the bad karma of the whole Joan of Arc business. Right inside these doors is a life size statue of poor Joan on her knees begging for a strong wind to blow out the torches.
She stopped in this cathedral to pray in 1429 before the Burgundians sold her to the English and clearly she couldn’t find anyone to cut her hair either, yikes.
Anyway, my long rambling point is that everything happens for a reason. That house was simply not meant to be. Today I’ve learned that maybe, just maybe, Wreckless is the new sensible.