Concrete fences and their charms

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Forgive the inadequate editing of this blog. The pics have appeared before the text,which was not the idea.  I have yet to master the intricacies of Blogger .

Detail of the variety of painted and unpainted concrete and metal railings property known in these parts as 'Blenheim Palace' in the background.

Part of our new wall, nearly finished, adjoining our neighbours' gates to the left: 'Buckingham Palace'. What were they thinking?

Our own gates with as yet unpaved drive

Old, maybe abandoned, property opposite Blenheim Palace. But they have a letter box.

Another immediate neighbour, 'Next Door', and part of their fence. Part of our property in the background.

'Blenheim Palace', one of our new neighbours with incomplete boundary wall.

Looking at the houses in this region tells me something about both the history of Poland and its economics. So many of the houses appear to be new builds, and many more have been and are being refurbished. Great care is taken these days defining property boundaries with a variety of fence and gate styles. These range from painted cast concrete fences, one section after another around the whole property, to a variety of communist era metal fences, quite pretty, which tend to be attached to older houses. Our own gate is from that period, and I am keeping it. But here we are bounteously surrounded by painted concrete that Henry says are made of pastry.  

'Next Door' with pastry fence and our yellow house and 'Buckingham Palace' in background

From our upstairs terrace looking over the as yet unpaved drive, the unfinished well and my new garage. In the background is 'Blenheim Palace'.

Again from upstairs looking over the land between 'Blenheim' and 'Next Door'. This has been bought and we will have yet another palace and yet new neighbours.  In the distance is the new boundary wall for 'Blenheim'. We tried green for our side of the concrete but I am not sure. Plants will soon cover it.

As for the economics: there are so many really rather extraordinary properties built in the last 10-20 years that peak my curiosity. Before, Polish migrant workers could not return because of war and then because of communist rule, but now Poles can not only return home but they have good money to invest in their palaces in which, presumably, they will retire. 

A little house in our town. This is not one of the palaces built for retirement.

I can’t complain about all the cooking. For one thing, I love to eat. And eat well.  Here we have the freshest ingredients that I can’t let go to waste.  Plus having started on the bread journey I am determined to work at until I have got it. Following a few disasters I decided to go back to basics. It is all about taste, and though former loaves looked pretty they didn’t taste of much at all. Now I am working with starter dough and learning all I can about natural fermentation and how this effects taste, in a big way!  Never mind all the fancy recipes with poppy seed and what have you, right now I am trying to get a really good basic bread, (every time!) that is fluffy and tastes great.  So, today’s lunch was borscht with bread. I thought this loaf was far too dense, so judged it a failure BUT, it tasted great.  That same evening family dropped in and scoffed the lot, so can’t have been so bad.

The borscht was made with our own beetroot, of which we have tons. And they are so sweet!  Not like the Sainsbury’s crap.

I was struck when in San Francisco by the West Coast attitude to Europe, viz. their architecture, Hey, we are 6000 miles from you guys… (or from civilization, as I thought of it) so who’s to say its wrong to, say, top an Egyptian column with a Corinthian capital? We think it looks good, so it’s staying. After my first shock and prudish horror I could appreciate their view. Similarly with baking, or with anything else, they do it their way and it can be good. Not that a mix of Corinthian and Egyptian is the best idea anyone had. However San Francsico bakers did come up with the original sour dough bread, which is a unique, rather strong taste. I didn’t actually like it that much but using starter dough definitely adds flavor and interest.

So, where does that leave me? I am combining US and French methods and attempting to get the best from each of them.

A gate in the wall of the Stopnica monastery

Still life with exercise machine. As if we dont have enough, we were given these beautiful pumkins. Quince tree in background

Twenty-six years ago this month, my son Tom died of leukemia.  He was 18. I have a friend who’s son, Ben, was friends with Tom. Every single year on the day, 16^th  September, Liz emails or sends me a text. For 26 years!  Sometimes I had forgotten. Then I felt bad and had to work it out with myself, to forgive myself. Sounds daft.  As I write this it seems so long ago that I had to do the sums again.

I was right.  My father at 97 is in the last months of his life. Then it will be my turn to be the oldie.

The Trip

We did it; 2 weeks of travel from Poland to Vienna to Slovenia to Italy to Geneva and finally, finally, home.  Henry spent the most time in the car, only emerging to eat and to go to bed. A different bed almost every night. Poor old boy got pretty sick of that but was gallant and not once complained. He couldn’t walk, could see precious little but could see the landscape, which he loved. He wanted to make the trip (and probably regretted it) but never let on.  The main thing was seeing Vienna once again. With most things he doesn’t know what he wants, and this was no exception. ‘No, I don’t want to go to Vienna….’   then very glad that we did.  It has been decades since he was there. 

Not all the memories were bad, happily. But he did tell his great granddaughter when we saw her in Geneva how he was thrown out after 3 years of medical school and firmly believed his world had come to an end. But he survived that and much else. Quite a good lesson for a 15 year-old who is convinced there is nothing as important in her life as facing exams.

We went for Henry to see one last time, and for the food and drink. On the last we were not disappointed  as Italian coffee for some reason is like no other, and the wine divine. But the pasta of which he and I have fond memories, was very poor.  My Australian cousin and his wife are always posting fabulous pics of food they eat on their many trips to Europe, but they eat at the best places, fearfully expensive, and the food is first class.  We are too mean in our family to do that, and still think we can do it on the cheap.

Back home and I am feeling overwhelmed. How can we get such a large plot and the house under control in one lifetime?  We seem to have mountains of STUFF. 

Being summer (as I write) most effort is dedicated to the garden, which is producing faster than I can cook and freeze! Let alone bottle. So who said I would be bored?

The Dolomites

Yet another pasta

In Vienna with my cousin. She is 80, can you believe?

Lake Garda, Italy

An Italian fountain, somewhere!

Off to Italy

Henry, former travel guide who once visited Venice 14 times in one year, reckons we are dicing with the weather if we delay, so we are off on Tuesday.

He doesn’t see the need for a wheelchair, though we thought it a good idea. He doesn’t want to see anything, he says, happy to sit in cafes with a glass of something and soak up the atmosphere. Sounds ok to me.

But he is weak which means taking it very slow.

Apart from his stint as a tour guide in the country, his childhood summers there gave him the language and the taste for the country.  As a child we took off for holidays in the car driving across endless France, finally reaching either Austria and the mountains or Italy and the Med. My parents were used to low planning and going where they felt like. My mother did all the driving; even non-stop one time when Henry was struck by  a recurring complaint, Rotlauf. It is a the fierce infection. The name means redrun, which says it all: beginning in the lower leg it moves up the body to finally kill, once it reaches the heart. His mother had it, before penicillin. She had to lie quiet in a darkroom for days, he says.   On this occasion mother drove from Austria straight to London for massive doses of antibiotic. Father in the back, quietly terrified.  It recurred recently; we had to go to Emergency and get the penicillin. It seems to be working, but it laid him a bit low.  It was fairly early on a Sunday and the place was deserted. Not like St Georges, (London) which never sleeps.

The 'guest house' got well and truly used with the party of 5: son, Laurie and family came for a week. It was really good.... they were exhausted from all the changes in their lives, so were happy to chill. It made the world of difference for them to have the house and spread. It is very comfortable and I am happy to be able to offer it as a sort of free hotel to friends and family.

Finally son cut off his pony tail which was not his best feature, and got a Polish haircut! 

All the men

Grandson Grisha and his cousin Vanya exploring the garden.

The cat feeling at home

Family dinner, pre haircut. Note Henry's masks on the wall,

The Archers

The Archers

We are more settled; inevitably as time goes by we find out respective feet. The place is like the Archers. I went to the Post Office and they were gossiping just like Susan. Though whether they have a Rob in the town I have yet to find out. Certainly hope not. But there are ‘bad’ people here, as everywhere. People who are dishonest and cause havoc. We have one in the near family who is causing untold trouble; such has been her way since the beginning, sadly.  We have yet to work this one out.

My first (early moring) selfie

Sunday at home

But otherwise all is good and we couldn’t be happier. Henry is very well looked after and, as do we all, appreciates his new life.

We are planning a trip. We shall all go to Italy by car, in September, for a couple of weeks. Henry is very keen.  His father was part owner of marble quarries in Carrara, and he spent all his holidays there.  His Italian is second nature, and his years as a travel guide will be used to advantage!  Though he can’t remember, can’t see, can’t walk, he is up for it!  The trip will be all about food and drink. Possibly a smattering of culture. Happily our family friend, Sandra, is coming too, so we will be 4 in the car. We can do just what we want. Finally she has retired and is available!  I am glad of that, very glad; I feel I need all the help I can get. H is very dependent, frail.

I met Sandra at the Royal College. She was the administrator for the Glass and Ceramics department. She lived very close to me In Southfields and I would see her scurrying to work and if we were both on the train we might smile a bit, but I was shy of her.  But we became very good friends and she has become close to both Stefan and Henry. When she was thinking about the proposition we didn’t balk at letting her know it was Henrys’ dearest and last wish she should come. No pressure, then.

 

Making borscht with OUR beetroot

Next week we will have son and family to stay next door. They have moved too, from Garmisch Partenkirchen to France, very close to Geneva where Laurie will be working. No more long commute for him, as he was doing while still holding his job in Germany. He can now concentrate as a freelance interpreter and cycle to work. So the whole family has relocated and is starting a new phase.    

 

View from our bedroom

We have moved.

3 July 2016

Meltdown at Valonia Gardens

This week it got to me. I got all shouty and ratty with my men, and felt especially guilty about my poor old dad. But the stress finally hit and I couldn’t deal with it.  The moving date is fast approaching but we do have time….. but with everything topsy turvy and use of 2 kitchens on 2 floors and I couldn’t find anything.... 

However, as they say. All is fine today. Our friend Lynn from sunny Wales came all the way to say goodbye to friend, Henry.  My parents had been surrogate parents to her when she needed them, known each other since she was born and she is very fond of him.  She and I both needed a drop of calming down, so we hit the bottle and miraculously things got a lot better.

Today another H’s cousin came and stayed a goodly time. Brought an excellent Cotes du Rhone and once again nerves were soothed.

No, I am not an alchy, but I am getting a taste. I do NOT drink a lot but there is no denying its soothing qualities.

I am delighted to report that where a couple of short weeks ago our Henry was fading, suddenly he is taking himself to the pool ON THE BUS and SWIMMING his 10 lengths. Earlier, he could barely walk and could only visit the café at the pool. He has definitely recovered his mojo.  Good.  Then he will be strong for the trip!

5 July 2016

Erica Federer, my mother, born 19 May 1920, suddenly took a turn for the worse and died. Extraordinary timing. Did she know?  We leave for Poland in 8 days.

UPDATE.

We are here!  We have been here 9 days now. Tomorrow is the day of the funeral and we will not be there.  Strange and sad. 

Well, we made the move, folks!  Henry has taken to it and loves everything, it seems: the weather (35); the people, all very kind; the food, SO tasty and fresh; the house and the garden.  He has been swimming, and goes for walks everyday, despite the heat and is at home.   

It takes a while to settle in and for me to find my place. Things are different here, I don’t have 2 parents to look after and a house to clear. Suddenly I am a retired lady with plenty to do but not in a rush, in a new setting with new challenges. But, so far so good.  We will be having lots of visitors, they have already started, and they will stay in our next-door house and be independent!  Perfect.

Two of the younger members of the family

Henry and Stefan in kitchen

Remi still figuring it out

Henry relaxing

Henry at home

One last bbq

Of the Referendum I can only say the way it went was more than disappointing. Along with so many friends, some of whom have written from the US and other places to ask, perfectly reasonably… what on earth have you guys done?  Good question.  This story will run and run.

 

On the eve of our return to cool London I am sweating in 35 deg. heat.  Summers here are as extreme as the winters and I shall just have to get used to it.

We have been here 6 days, plus travelling, and as usual Stefan has been a Goliath and achieved masses.  Guest house is moving right along; he has tiled most of the floor which suddenly transforms the whole place, as well as cooling it down in this horrendous heat. He only did not complete because the store ran out of supply. A mammoth trip to Ikea sorted more furniture, including a kitchen for next door. We bought a mattress for one of the pair of old fashioned beds Stefan found at our local London market, and he assembled it to accommodate the extra 3cm it required. 

 

Front garden with hollyhocks

My job was to sort the dozens of moving boxes, dig out anything necessary (precious little) and rationalize somehow. Happily, though the house is not big, we have SHEDS, which help relieve pressure.

 

From inside kitchen

My big question is this: what do people do with their unwanted stuff? S has not been able to enlighten me. Where are the charity shops?  They have to be somewhere. Once I have answered this question, I will be their biggest contributor. I can’t wait to unload some of the zillion shirts, and the rest.

I have prepared Henry’s room and I think I have thought of everything he might need.  I keep imagining him here sitting in the sun with a beer and with people dropping by (which they do constantly,) and having a thoroughly nice time. I am just keeping my fingers crossed it will all go according to plan. Watch this space.

Henry and Stefan in London

The idea of people dropping by is totally horrifying to some of my English friends. I see their point. And honestly I am not frantically keen, as I do like my own space and time. But, I also see it as a huge compliment that they want to see us and hang around. And after all, I do take off when I want to, and retreat to my room!  In addition, the support that this community gives each other is something quite new to me. Things get done, materials procured, people turn up. You are NOT on your own.  I have chosen that life rather than stay alone in London, and I am convinced it is an excellent choice.  And I am so grateful that Henry is up for coming too.  Imagine if he had said, no way….?

 

Supper ready

First pea crop

So, one last barbq tonight, then later tomorrow off on first leg to Poznan. Back by Tuesday. With 2 weeks in London to have family/friends visits, bureaucratic stuff to do, throwing out a LOT, finishing the house and readying for the 5 tenants.

Then I scoop up Henry and off we go on an airplane while Stefan will come by car, along with the cat.

Terribly, terribly exciting.  No more rushing to get stuff done before we have to leave. We will be here all the year round…..Yeah! 

If you have been, please keep on reading and see how it all goes.

Who Moves to a New Country at 97?

So my dad, at this age, with his 5 languages that do not include Polish, is up for moving with us to Poland. Who does that?  I am very impressed.

 

Hilarious situation with the builders. Found a Polish company who proceeded to send us a succession of assorted painters and decorators.  Be careful of what you wish for.

First guy, Wassily., Ukrainian, no English, though he has lived here 10 years. But has worked only with Polish, so can get by with that, mixed with Ukrainian. He started staying with us as the trip home to east London was too long. 2^nd week he brought a ton of Ukrainian food sent by his wife by the usual route: deposited with the bus driver and driven all the way to London.  So far we have had indifferent, communist era tough meat and gravy, but then a jar of fish in some sort of sauce that wife had prepared with the fish from their local streams! Really good. And what we call swonina which is pork fat, eaten widely in eastern Europe, with salt and garlic. Pretty damned good on fresh, crusty bread and a dose of alcohol. (I have got so quick at the bread now, and it is getting better and crustier all the time.)

2^nd guy is Romanian, Konstantin. He said he has no Polish or English, but he has Italian, and it turns out German, and after all a tiny bit of English.  So he and my dad can talk, though they don’t as one is working (or having a fag and talking on the phone) and the other either eating or sleeping.   It turns out he is skilled at nothing and Stefan has to show him everything so he has now had the boot.

The house turning Magnolia

New boiler in garden

The hall turning white

Half done room

Where I was panicking with the thought that we have ONLY a month, fact is it will all get done as there is not so much to do.  The time is going fast though.

The cat story:  I thought in my innocence you get your plane ticket, then you go to the any extras bit on the site and pop in ‘cat’. Immensely more complicated. And expensive. I wasn’t going to get much change from £1000 after I paid for her, changed my flight to suit her travel arrangements, arranged to pick her up, and the rest. If you want a really good income and don’t fancy the funeral trade, try the pet carrier trade. So after a few wasted hours we decided Stefan will fetch his brother from Stopnica for a few days  to help to finish off in the house and they can travel back in the car together. We will all leave at the same time.

We have tenants already. 5 students on placements took the house even in its incomplete state. The house is unusual in that it is wedge shaped. Some of the ceilings have rather beautiful curves instead of corners, which are a challenge to paper.  My dad was a set decorator in a former life and enjoyed patching together dark, patterned wallpaper all over the ceilings… wallpaper everywhere, all dark in tone. For that time it must have been quite cool, but now looks dated. And the house was filled with IKEA style chests of drawers, everywhere, so you were always bashing up against one of them; and bookshelves in every available cavity.  All gone.  All those books in up to 5 languages, gone.

Later

A real struggle to get the time to do the blog but what is happening is quite exciting and worth the effort to write about, even if it is hurried.  The house is FULL of builders, inside and out. We scurry like mice with armfuls of STUFF, dumping it all in one small back room as the advancing painter armies rattle their paintbrushes. Only one room is completely done, and we are sleeping in it.  Father being very patient but he too gets nervous when he hears their advances and needs reassurance. When we leave for 10 days he needs to be provided for with a bedroom, bathroom of sorts and a kitchen that is not full of stepladders and paintcans. And loads of food!

I was a bit concerned when I realized the colour I had chosen for the exterior is called Magnolia. But while we were in the paint shop I was on the phone listening to a guy who was outlining every detail of the new building insurance I am having to take out. Stefan showed me the colour card and all I could do was point. Had I known its name I would have been more careful!  This wasn’t B & Q, where their paint has names such as Natural Calico. Far more seductive.

However, Magnolia works.

So, countdown. Day after tomorrow we leave for 10 days to Poland. We leave nearly blind father alone with the cat and the builders. I hope he can manage to heat up the food and find himself enough drink.  But he refuses help and insists he will be fine. Poor guy is suffering so much from dizziness. So hard to walk, but he persists as he must keep moving. Not lots of fun.  Once we are back we have 2 weeks to finish up. Ship off the remainder and clean up.

Reading

Been hard to concentrate on the books I want to read as they are either in Polish or about Poland and need my brain.  As I was badly missing reading I got myself a couple of books from the charity shop which are very readable, as long as I can stay awake.  E.M. Delafield’s Diary of a Provincial Lady, which looks hilarious, and The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, Aimee Bender.  This last has rave reviews from the ‘better’ papers, and indeed is so far no struggle to read and promises well. How lovely to escape into a good book.