Paris International Agricultural Show

I'm so used to A&P shows, being a kiwi, but I haven't been to one for decades. The last would have been in Christchurch. My childhood included being dragged around the annual show, getting animal poo on my shoes and being assailed by excremental odours. But there was a charm to it; watching horse and cart races, ladies in fancy hats, sheep dogs demonstrating their skills. The difference with the one in Paris is that everything is indoors and it happens in winter.

It's huge. It covers several giant pavilions and there are four sections to it: livestock breeding; products and gastronomy; crops, plants, nature and lifestyle; agricultural services and professions. there was also an area for cats and dogs, I don't know why.

The mascot for the show this year was Bella who belongs to the Tarentaise breed of cattle. This site provided information in English http://en.salon-agriculture.com/Discover-the-Show/Who-is-Bella/All-About-Bella

Her personal information

• Date of birth: 7 May 2006
• Place of birth: Haute-Loire 
• Mother’s name: Leila 
• Father’s name: Notaire 
• Her children: 5 daughters! Douce, Etna, Fushia, Gaillarde and Hella

Bella, like the other members of the Tarentaise (or Tarine) breed, has eyes framed by black rings, as if she’s had her makeup done! Her coat is tawny in colour, uniform and light. Her hooves, mucous membranes and extremities are very dark, protecting her from the ill-effects of the sun. Finally, she has lyre-shaped horns, the tips of which are also black.

Bella has an easy nature, and is gentle and curious.
 
We started with the pavilion displaying food specialities from each region of France. Chocka with people, we just had to have patience. I tried a pineau wine from the Poitou-Charente region (my ancestral home). This is not to be confused with a Pinot. A pineau is a wine mixed with cognac, from the same region. I quite liked it but then I quite like ruby ports, muscat grapes and late-season dessert wines- sweet stuff!




Chocolates and other confectionery, meats, wine, artisan ice-creams, more wines, cheeses, jams and other preserves (especially duck products), even more wines, perfume products from Grasse, it just went on and on and we barely scratched the surface. One unusual product was the tourteaux fromage, 5euros each. They were cheese cakes which looked a bit like canonballs because the cheesy top is cleverly burnt to look like metal. My feet were killing me from my poor choice of boot for walking around so we headed off to see the animals.

Sheep of every kind, races I'd never seen before, dear old Rambouillet sheep who helped NZ's fledgling merino wool industry, hello Southdowns (I recognised you). Most of them had had enough of people and had their backs firmly to us. Cattle were chained and had handlers to protect them and the public against any interspecies conflicts.

I liked the engraved cattle bells many of them wore. Goats of every imaginable type of horms. Pigs in all colours, there was even a performance area for animals to ponce about in, doing their thing like rolling in the dust. The show is equally interesting for children, especially the chicken-hatching, right before our eyes. Such a struggle for some to get out and clearly there were the strong and the weak.


JC was much taken by a giant tractor, quite the Rolls Royce of tractors. Too big for most farms it nevertheless won admiring glances. This show is worth a visit if you're in Paris for a few days while it's on. Wear comfortable flat shoes and allow 4-5 hours minimum.

Beware traffic. On the day we went Paris was at it's worst and it took 3.5 hours to make a 1.5 hour journey and the parking problem was evident, even with a parking building nearby. Take the train if you can.

The Road to Authorship

This post is about what's involved in becoming a self-published author.

Living in France wasn't my only dream and it wasn't the only one that had to bide its time. Before my decision to pursue France I had the idea of becoming an author. Lots of people do and some of them do it. I was going to write an autobiography on growing up as a baby-boomer in NZ. And then I met Nicolas and my emphasis changed somewhat. My relationship with him was built on blind trust and hope. I told him back in 2008 I was going to write a book and include him in it. He wasn't fazed, instead suggesting he could put me in touch with his own publishers in France, when the time came. That sorry story came to an end at the beginning of 2010 and out of the muck came my determination to go it alone to France and thus the beginning of this blog. Now there will be a book, only it will be different to the original subject.

Becoming an author is a bit like moving to France; scary, expensive, confusing, liberating and usually lonely. Having finished my manuscript about my experiences in changing hemispheres and surviving the French I sent off query letters to literary agents and, where necessary, included sample chapters, synopsis and proposal. Most have predictably never replied. Those that did said it wasn't their thing. One said good luck and that she thought I wrote with poise and polish but...... well, I'm grateful to have got that much feedback.

Oh the hours I've spent trawling forums about becoming published. It seems I've got more chance of winning Lotto than getting a book deal and it's not necessarily due to the quality of the writing. You've got to be an established author or a celebrity to get a look-in. Even getting a book deal would mean a wait of at least 18 months before it would be available for readers and then my royalties would be miniscule after everyone's taken their percentage. Screw that, I've got better things to do than waste time doing stuff guaranteed to be a waste of time. So I've been researching self-publishing.

Nice little mine-field for the unwary. You can choose vanity publishing and get ripped off with huge fees for supplying almost nothing but you do end up with a book in your hand that maybe no one knows about or wants. It probably hasn't been professionally edited, more likely run through a spellcheck. I need to give myself the best chance of succeeding and that's not it.

More research and consideration of doing absolutely everything myself and then just finding a boutique printer to run off some copies. Nah, this is the digital age and I'm not a graphic designer. I need a little bit of hand-holding and confidence in presentation and distribution.

• Create an account with CreateSpace, Amazon.com's print on demand publishing arm
• Find a professional editor who understands commercial requirements.
• Research book interior templates styles and costs for later reformatting for print and ebooks. A license is required.

The manuscript will need to be rewritten depending on the editor's markups and suggestions. I must be prepared for hearing feedback I don't like. My editor is not doing proof-reading. I'm more interested in whether the structure and flow are working so hopefully around mid March he'll have found time to send me back my marked-up manuscript from the US. He was Stephen King's first editor and markets himself like that though I do wonder why, after 2000 book edits, he's not had other major successes. He's more affordable than anyone else I could find. Tick.

I'll need to format the manuscript according to a purchased interior template and then create a stable pdf that meets CreateSpace's requirements. There's uploading to be done. Do I want to complicate things with photos in my book? You can publish without a template but it'll look amateurish.

I agonised over whether to just go with a free ISBN (International Standard Book Number) from CreateSpace or be truly independent and buy one myself but I found I'd have to get one from the French afnil agency for that and their site is awful to understand and it talked about also having to have a legal deposit. It all got too hard and expensive so too bad, CreateSpace will be my publisher, not me.

Ooops, don't forget taxes/royalties. This has to be organised with the US tax department. Holy shit. Which country do I use as an account for this? More searching and worrying about implications with either NZ or France. I don't have a postal address in NZ but I do have an accountant there. Nope, have to go with France as that's where I'm currently living. So I had to research tax treaties between the US and France... article 12 royalties... 5% withholding tax. I spent over an hour on the phone with the IRS. Turns out the advice I'd found on the internet was already out of date and I needed to make a new international call elsewhere and wait... to get an EIN number as a non-resident taxpayer. Then I would need to download 3 copies of W-8BEN, fill them out and send one to CreateSpace, one to Kindle Direct Publishing and one to Smashwords once I have each of my account numbers with them.

So far, after placing that second international call to the international EIN section and spelling everything out over the phone I have now received my precious EIN number to avoid withholding tax on my royalties. I'll still have to pay tax on them in France.

Find a professional book cover designer who knows how to make thumbnails look good and takes endless revisions. Tick but oh oh, I can't get started on this because the internet is showing me there are now many other products out there with the same name as my book. I must change my book title.

Oh oh, there's a BBC reporter who has written books and she's on several pages of Google search before I ever find myself. I must change my name. This was all doing my head in. Requests for help on various chat forums didn't help much. Most close alternatives were taken according to Google and Amazon. Choosing a new title and author name was surprisingly difficult. After much deliberation I am publishing Follow My Heart under the name of Frances Lawson. So, maybe I can now let my cover designer know the book title and author. I'd better finish writing the blurb and bio.

Hang on. I've changed my book title so now I'll have to change my website name. Cue domain search for the title of my book - and it's available but at an staggering price for .com, so it'll have to be .co. Now I need to ring my US hosting company and ask them to transfer all my website content over to the new domain name. Simple, thank you Go Daddy. Next, change some content on the website and amend my email signature to show the new site. Phew!!! Does this ever end?

I suppose once you've done this self-publishing once and set everything up it gets a lot easier. To do it properly with a decent professional look is not cheap but it'll be slightly cheaper than a vanity publisher and I will have a high quality product(s) to sell indefinitely (paperback and eBook). Be warned, this is a huge amount of work and then marketing the finished product will be a job and a half too. I'd love to do better than earn back the (mortgage) money I've invested in this dream project. Tick bucket list.

My thanks to all those who've trod this path before me and left footprints for me to read.

Count me in!

I'd like to count for something. Generally I'm totally invisible in France, except to the tax and the work and immigration departments. I have no friends other than Jean-Claude, no 'colleagues' at work. I'm not part of a team or group. I have no parents who contact me; Dad is dead and Mum has dementia. Contact from my daughter is infrequent. In short, I have to be emotionally self-sufficient. This is a skill that's necessary when you emigrate alone but this situation of isolation does get a bit trying.

Despite regular attempts to form friendships, even inviting people to my home, it has resulted in zilch. Feeling like I don't count anywhere I ignored a little message left in my letterbox that announced France was holding a census. I shrugged it off as I hardly saw the point in filling out the papers since I never know how long I can stay here (given my work situation). So what did it matter if I was officially not there?

A couple of weeks later a letter without an envelope appeared in my letterbox. It was from the Mairie (town hall, local government) reminding me I needed to get hold of some census papers and fill them in. Come and do this at the Mairie before 14 February, it urged. Okay, okay.

L’Insee organise le recensement de la population du jeudi 16 janvier au samedi 22 février 2014. Objectif : mesurer la population vivant en France, pour mieux s'adapter à ses besoins. Il n'y a pas besoin de se déplacer, mais il est obligatoire de répondre aux questions. 
 
At the Mairie I explained why I was there and was given the papers to fill in on the spot. They are much less detailed than in New Zealand. They never ask any questions about ethnicity or religion - it's illegal in France. There were a couple of questions I needed explaining because the French love acronyms and I had no idea what they meant. No one checked if I'd filled everything out correctly but I assume I have.

 Most basic living in France is impossible without at least an intermediate level of French. I get by these days but it's not easy. So although I'm not identified I have at least been 'counted'.

My desire to be a little more visible drove me back, recently, to the Mairie, to meet the mayor again. I'd had a meeting with her mid-way through last year to volunteer my services to my town. Madame le maire was very interested but when I sent her a letter reaffirming my areas of expertise and asking how to move forward on that there was no reply.

Disappointed,I let it go but lately my isolation has been really bugging me anew so I thought I'd try again. I was told to come back any Tuesday between 10-12noon and wait for an opening. After reintroducing myself to her I explained I was still keen to be a volunteer. How could I help? How could I make social contacts in my community?


She explained the local elections were coming up and so she couldn't launch anything at present. I'd need to wait a couple of months but perhaps I might be useful to the heritage association. I like the mayor. Her name is Francoise and she's an affable sort of person, very approachable. I hoped something might eventuate but I didn't get too excited.

Two weeks later I received an email inviting me to attend the Annual General Meeting of the Historical Association, to be held near my home. Hmm, that's good, I thought but I still didn't get too excited as 99% of all my efforts to advance myself go nowhere, but I always try to decrease this percentage.

I arrived in plenty of time. An opportunity to exercise my French in a group of strangers who all know each other is always a challenge. AGMs tend to be boring affairs and this one seemed typical but I tried to pick up some new vocabulary in between the bits I couldn't understand.
The mayor attended and said hello to me. Well, that's good, my name is engraved on her memory now, I thought. During the meeting she introduced me informally as someone who could assist with English requirements.

The response was muted - well - the museum of millstones etc is very technical, really. I piped up saying I had a youthful brain and could learn. Everyone is retired and probably conservative. The mayor pushed a little more and tried to get them to come back to the issue of me helping. I hadn't expected them to be welcoming me with open arms but some slight enthusiasm for some younger blood and expertise would have been good. Never mind, they don't know you, I told myself. I decided the only way I could start getting any credibility and interest was to pay the membership fees and become official.

This association focuses on preserving and promoting the historical heritage of my town and its area roundabout. That includes the tourism aspects. I'm always interested in French history and culture so it could be a good fit for me if they'll let me fit in. I have lots of ideas and experience to offer - I know I could advance things, certainly the websites. My background in marketing, tourism, education, communications and public relations should be ideal.

I met a lovely lady there, also named Francoise, who took an interest in me and invited me to sit with her. She and her husband are retired bakers. As we exchanged contact cards I hoped that something might come of this. Next month, first Thursday of March I'll be back, hoping I can be included in some of their activities - count me in!

Puppies - real and manufactured

It's winter here in France and always seems interminable. I know in two to three months temperatures will improve. We haven't had a snowfall this winter, for the first time since I arrived in this country, and it seems a little milder. May that continue. While I'm waiting for the climate to warm up a bit so I can start working on my balcony garden for this summer, I decided to visit the garden centre and do a spot of window shopping. Yes, it was too soon. Yes the selection was limited, except in two particular areas. I arrived during the weekend puppy sales. I'm not a doggy person and the only dog I tolerate is Baika, JC's hunting dog who loves it when I arrive there. These puppies didn't seem to be your average mutt even if some of them weren't particularly pretty.

Such a wide range of breeds, lots of cuties, some stroppy ones and all VERY expensive. I couldn't believe the prices; 600-900 euros each, that's about NZ$927-1400. Breeds such as bulldogs, beagles, silkies, spaniels and others I couldn't recognise. The whole shop smelt of doggy urine despite their living conditions being clean. I cruised past the gerbils, rats and hamsters busily excavating mountains of shredded paper, on past the guinea pigs who weren't a patch on the ones I used to breed, rabbits and mice hiding in plastic houses. I carried on outside only to be met by yet more animals, much more hardy and exotic.

 There were many tortoises, zebras, reptiles, a gorilla, a penguin and even a polar bear. I seemed to have discovered the outdoor ornament section. Not a gnome to be found but all seven dwarves. No concrete sheep. Metal birds with stilt-like legs and even higher price tags eyed me as I stood rather nonplussed.

Do adults really pop these creations in their gardens? Isn't it rather incongruous in France to have a zebra instead of a fox resident on the parterre? Oh well, I whiled away a few minutes with this menagerie while JC was investigating large cheap plastic pots.

Clearly the garden centre staff were also desperate for some sort of change in the seasons because most nursery spaces were empty and they were resorting to forced bulbs, bows and glitter-sprayed orchids coloured blue. Yikes.

The bulbs looked lovely but they don't last long and then I'd have nowhere to put them in a couple of weeks. I kept my hand on my wallet as I moved through the store with nary a backward glance at the yipping puppies. I hope the flesh and blood and fibreglass critters all find loving and responsible homes.

God help me though if next weekend it's kitten sale week. I'd choke up, I know I would, because I can't have a pet with my current precarious lifestyle, but I want one. I hope one day I can have a cat once again, before my life expectancy is less than the cat's. For nowt i looks like I'll have to be content with a fibreglass toucan.

A pebble in the pond

I've been very focused this week. One might say determined. I dropped a pebble in the literary pond and am hoping the ripples will reach the right person who will partner me in my writing ventures. I've just sent off the first 11 submissions to literary agents in the US and UK, looking for representation for my first book Follow My Heart.  It seems like a good thing to do for the first day of February and a good thing to do to advance what I'd like to do more of in the future, that's write.

I have lots of ideas for future books inside me. It's always been in my mind to write a companion book concentrating on practical ideas and recommendations for those Non-EU citizens who'd like to live and work in France without the benefit of a legal attachment to an EU national. How to do it alone, if you have to. Checklists of strange things to expect.

Growing up in NZ as a baby boomer also interests me. I've just read a book focusing on doing that in the UK. While it recounts many things similar, it talks about people and places irrelevant to New Zealand and we had our own stuff going on then; political, economic and social. It would naturally draw on my own experiences over the years 1955-2008. One might even consider it a prequel to my current book.

There are also some children's books I'd like to write. Quite often when I was working in my garden I'd come up with ideas for stories but then they flitted right out of my head. When I was studying to be a teacher back in the 70s I had to write a children's book as a major assignment. My lecturer told me it might be good enough to publish but my head was busy elsewhere and I'd have had no idea how to go about it, too hard, soon forgotten. I kept it for decades (written before computers) but I may have lost it in my last shifts. No matter, I think it would be too old-fashioned now. The world has moved on. Technology invades all.

I have other books I'd like to write on creating communications campaigns, women's issues. Nothing major but drawing on learning and experience, sharing that for others who might benefit. Everyone knows that 90% of books never get accepted by a traditional publisher so why have I chosen to go down this path?

I think it gives an added credibility to the author, that if you have run the gauntlet of rejection from agents and then rejection from publishing houses yet still have your manuscript accepted in the end it's because others see something in it, usually money. Even then most books sell pitifully and don't earn the money back for the publishers. One hundred-1000 copies is usual but I want better than that. I'm going to try for it. Some of the books I've read in my genre are pretty bad, many are just average in terms of writing, some sell 6m copies over 20 years and get turned into films. Book critics tend to take traditionally published books more seriously though that's loosening up a little.

If no-one picks up my book I may have to self-publish but that's fraught with rip-off merchants, still it gets it out there. Otherwise it's a matter of turning it into a kindle-only version, inexpensively. Whatever I end up doing I'm going to be spending a lot of time and emotional energy trying to market it or I'll get nowhere. Still, it intrigues me and I think back to when I was barely out of my teens and wish I'd known of all the possible paths I might have taken in my life instead of being forced to do what my Mother told me I should do (be a librarian or a teacher). There's also the typical niggling worry authors face that the book I've written is crap. So that's why I'm spending many, many hours researching the right agencies and agents, sending only the material they ask for, honing and honing everything. Will I be successful? Will this make a positive difference in my life? Or will I join that endless list of earnest people who tried but...?

I should know about  the first batch of agents within 2-3 weeks. If the response is positive I'll be asked to send more material, maybe the complete manuscript and then there would be even longer waiting. Perhaps in six months I'll have an idea as to whether I need to choose self-publishing or if I'll become an author, 'for real'.

One book wouldn't be enough, you need several. I'm still trying to find my niche, the place where my efforts will actually bear some more comfortable fruit. I reach out to unlikely people who have succeeded in areas of activity that interest me. No pollination yet though, I haven't found the right visiting bee.

Photo taken of a grand old rambling property just along the street from my apartment. It was a morning of intense fog and frost. An hour later the whiteness had disappeared.

A parent with Dementia

I live 18,000 kms away from my mother who spends her days in a bedroom in a rest home in Christchurch, New Zealand. Every few weeks I make an international call to see how she is, knowing I'm going to have to deal with someone who is no longer capable of functioning independently and with whom  I cannot discuss anything important.

We've never been close. I have no recollection of ever receiving a kiss or a cuddle or a pat on the back as a child or young adult. She never had any maternal instincts towards me though that was probably not the case towards my younger brother. Some of her treatment of me in the past has been downright inexcusable but I wouldn't want to be in her shoes these days. Her brain and personality and even her identity are rotting away from some form of dementia.

When the second and more devasting earthquake hit Christchurch in February 2011 Mum's house was damaged to the point where it wasn't liveable and there was nowhere safe for her so after a few weeks at my brother's place he put her in a retirement home which handles people like Mum. She needs nursing care. Last week I managed to glean a tiny bit of information from temporary staff at the home. It seems Mum has frequent urinary tract infections, is incontinent, and hardly leaves her room. But she still remembers me as her daughter who lives near Paris.

Each time I speak to her it starts the same, she's close to tears and very distraught by the earthquake because she has lost everything. It's as if it happened yesterday for her but it was, in fact, three years ago. She's angry because she was put in a home with nothing to do, surrounded by old people with no interest in life.

As we chat, me making encouraging noises and trying not to argue with her view of the facts, and her repeating the same sentences she says every phone call and often repeated during each call, she seems to develop some lucidity and the intelligence she once had makes a phantom appearance. We discuss the corrupt state of politics, my employment difficulties, but it's always dangerous to ask her a question.

 I made the mistake of asking her if she had received her Christmas and birthday presents. I'd made an effort to buy and make things that might be comforting and interesting for her and help her remember things she enjoys for a little bit longer. It cost a lot for me and I needed to know it there had been any point to my efforts to help. I received a listless reply saying she didn't know, she couldn't remember. Her room is not large so I asked her if she could see them anywhere. No she couldn't and wouldn't know where to look so they are probably not there.

"Well, I can ask the staff if they've seen your parcel arrive. It's from France so that should stick in their mind,' I said.
She became very afraid and agitated at this suggestion.
"I don't think that's a good idea. It'll just make things worse. They'll get angry and it'll be worse for me then. Best to forget about it."
"But Mum, what's the point in me sending you things from France if you never know if you have them. It costs a lot of money and if you get no benefit, well..."
"You're very rude, that's not very nice," she said.
"OK, but what do you suggest I do? Is it reasonable to keep sending you stuff you don't remember receiving?"
"Oh, I see what you mean," she replied.
I needed to settle her distress so I said not to worry. I'd keep things cool.
"Is there a TV room at the home?"
"Oh... I think there is one somewhere . No one ever visits me, there's nothing to do. I buy the paper and read that, that's all. Someone gave me a thing to watch photos. I'm doing that, it's about my trip to France."
"That's great."

She rarely asks me questions but she asked about my health. I explained about the arthritis and I could almost hear her nodding. This sort of 'normal' but superficial conversation can lull you into thinking your parent is almost normal but then she'll say something paranoid or start repeating her sentences and I come down to earth with a thud, knowing the next time we speak she'll be worse. I tell her to look after herself and keep helathy and that probably her house will be repaired this year.

"I don't know anything about it. Nobody tells me anything."
"As far as I know it's repairable, just a matter of waiting your turn after the more urgent cases, Mum."
"Well, you seem to know a lot more than I do," she says, sounding somewhat reassured. "It's all terrible, this earthquake. I've lost everything and I'm all alone."
"You never know Mum, keep up your spirits and look after your health and just maybe you might see your home again. You're in a good place for health treatment."
She perks up at that but immediately slides back into listlessness and as with every phone call I make to her, she gives up on the conversation after only a few minutes using the excuse of it costing me an arm and a leg.
"Actually Mum, it's free, doesn't cost anything."
"Humph, don't see how they can do that."
"It's part of the internet and TV package I pay for here, all down to competition for customers."
"Oh, well, I don't understand all those things these days. I spend all my days in this room. It's not much to have in life at my age. Must be costing you and arm and a leg so I'm going to hang up."

It's tiring for her to make an effort, to try to remember. She doesn't talk about her distant past and she rarely takes an interest in what I'm doing. She never asks about my daughter, her grand daughter anymore. I know one day she'll forget who I am and who she was. Each time to try to talk to her and lift her spirits I'm left tired myself. I know it's useless to send her things now.

I put the phone down and rang the rest home back. It's usually someone new that answers each time, they always seem to be on temporary assignments, no continuity. The lady couldn't be sure the package had arrived but she seemed to think something had arrived from France. My mother would speak about a daughter in France. Mum had a lot of falls, constant infections which made her condition worse but she was on antibiotics at present. That's all I could find out but I reminded them to contact me if the situation got bad.

Feeling helpless and mal-informed because of distance I sent an email to my brother. After a couple of weeks he replied to my questions saying Mum couldn't cope with being away from the home for more than an hour, she always wanted to get back. She never did anything but lie on her bed. She never took part in any of the activities organised for residents. He said several people had sent her presents for Christmas but when he turned up to check on her two days later they were still sitting, wrapped up on her bed, unopened.

Typically she has lost interest in a life she can't cope with, where paranoia can make her fearful. I thought back to some upsetting phone conversations I had with her when I was still living in Auckland, trying to make contact with her, trying always to connect and now I can see that more than 10 years ago dementia was already present. She's only 84, it's not that old but it's now common to have dementia at her age and younger. My father was determined never to die slowly like that. He said he'd put a pistol to his head before he'd go into a home. He got his wish, he died in 2000 of a massive heart attack while working in his workshop doing what he liked best, at the age of 70.

I don't know if I'll see her again or, if I do, if she'll even remember me. It's a dreadful disease and I'm trying to understand it. Its not hereditary. Her parents didn't seem to have it. Today I finished reading a delightful and sad book called The Little Girl in the Radiator: Mum, Alzheimers and Me, by Martin Slevin. It's sensitively and honestly written and sends out a plea for more money and research to be devoted to what will destroy more people than cancer will. It's an illness that poisons life for patients and their families and friends and I hope it never happens to me. In the meantime, I'll continue to ring Mum when I can so that for a few moments she doesn't feel so alone.
Image sources 
http://www.nevermindthebuspass.com/health/exercise-cuts-dementia-risk-more-than-low-alcohol-intake/

http://krucina-period5-geneticdisorders.wikispaces.com/Alzheimer-Description

What comes...

What can be done to reduce my anxiety levels this new year? I need to know what are realistic options for me to stay and work in this country. They are so limited, I know but someone out there must be able to give me some guidance. JC can't help at all. He's never had to seek employment in his life having been in the same job 40 years. He has no idea how to help me but he knows that laws in France have so many layers even experts struggle to understand things. I asked for suggestions from a network of EXPATS in France but received no response at all.

I think I'm going to have to find some money from somewhere and hire an immigration and work lawyer who is bilingual. I found one based in Paris on the internet. Expensive? probably but I only need to know what I can and can't do. I'm not a complicated case. What are my options and how can I achieve my goal of becoming French, working to support myself and stay inside the law.

I know the cards are stacked against me but I've made it this far. In a little over 3 years I'll know if I can stay in France; if I can stay employed that long, that's the rub. It's not easy for anyone older than 50 to get a job anywhere and in a country with 11% unemployment and so many rules that create obstacles to businesses it's not surprising there are so many out of work here. My employer is bankrupt and recently had to accept a bailout from the government just to pay staff and keep open. I could never have predicted such obstacles before I left NZ.
There are many days I become demoralised and depressed but I still need to take some action even if it's going for a walk to get some gentle exercise. Last week I decided to walk to a neighbouring village and back. I'd driven past it but that's very different from walking it. You see so many more interesting details when you walk. What began as an idea for 30 minutes fresh air turned into an hour and a half of walking, exploring and stopping to take a few photos. I really don't like exercise for exercise's sake, it's boring and uncomfortable which is why I gravitated towards dance in the past and now to taking photos when I walk. It gives me an instant payback. Though it's the middle of winter right now  I figure I can find the odd day when it's fine.

This country is downright interesting to me in a way my own isn't. Much of this can be put down to the past cohabiting with modern times. I've included some example in these photos. I live in an urbanised environment but everywhere I can find rural experiences and history on my doorstep and they affect me in a positive way. My soul is quiet and peaceful in this country. I can't say the same for my head and heart. They are churned up with the fragility of my situation. Yes I know the saying that we have to accept what we can't change. Trouble is, I was brought up in the generation that said hard work and focus will get you what you want. It's not true but I'm certainly programmed to it. Maybe this new year will bring some positive change. At the least I'd like it to be no worse.

President Hollande is in the foreign media for having an alleged affair; being chauffeured around Paris on a scooter with his bodyguard bringing hot croissants for Hollande and his actress lover for breakfast. His girlfriend has been admitted to hospital since the news was announced. I suppose she's mightily upset. The French don't care. This affair is not on the news or in the papers to any great degree. The French consider what he does in his private life is private.

This is a man failing in his job (according to media reports), putting his efforts into allegedly cheating on his partner while millions are unemployed, systems fail, necessary reforms never happen and the country heads to even more credit rating falls and possible bankruptcy. Will it hurt him or will he be seen as yet another virile French politician? Probably there will be little change to his popularity ratings which are at rock bottom in France. It may damage his 'international image' though, but time will tell.