Meeting Expectations

The big moment arrived at roughly 3.30pm on Friday afternoon when my lovely wife stepped out from the quaint, little, Carcassonne airport customs hall into the cold sleety drizzle that had just started to fall. This was the first time that we had seen each other since we parted on bad terms some three weeks ago. During the intervening period, we had conversed by text and email and instant message, but had spoken rarely, just twice - so it goes without saying that I was both extremely pleased to see her and also, very apprehensive. Both emotions were vindicated. She wasn't going to waltz back into my life as if nothing had happened without letting me know it, but I could tell from her smile and her eyes that she was glad to see me.

The second big moment, and in some ways even bigger moment, came some fifteen minutes later after we had driven the short distance from Salvaza airport to our apartment in town. Would the hard work of the past four weeks and the two months before Christmas live up to the billing I had given it? Would it pass the scrutiny of a designer with exacting standards? Would it have the 'Wow' factor that was so desired and demanded?

"Oh my God, that's fucking gorgeous - look at that!", just about summed it up, I guess. There were many more exclamations, expletives and expressions of joy to follow. She liked it, I'm very pleased to say, and on behalf of 'the genius' I must say, we are both very relieved that our efforts have come up to scratch - at least on the bathroom building front that is.

There is no let up though. Once the euphoria of both stroking the American Black Walnut vanity tops and marvelling at how well the Rum Caramel paint scheme blended with the so, so problematic, Spanish porcelain tiles had passed, the conversation switched very rapidly to the unresolved design and build issues of the separate apartment and the studio that we hope to be letting to British holidaymakers in the not too distant future - meaning, in less than three months' time! As a result there has been much discussion about layouts, tiles, paint colours and finishes - each one impacting on the other and each one with a cost / complexity equation to be factored into the mix. The resultant brain stress has not made for a relaxing weekend and trips to the local DIY and tile shops have only served to add complexity to the available options rather than the clarity that was demanded.

But for however many unresolved design and build questions there are, there is for me, always, the self-inflicted uncertainty of my relationship; the one conundrum I would give all to be able to resolve. The one that will, probably, never ever be fully resolved, because that is the way of human nature. Mind you, this place. the Languedoc, Carcassonne, the South of France, is doing it's very best to heal the wounds and fix my malfunctioning mind. Earlier this evening I experienced one of those moments of lucidity, of calmness, of peace of mind that brings a sense of clarity to the confusion in my head.

My wife had retired to her bed, as she does sometimes at this hour, to watch a movie or to snooze. The genius had taken a glass of wine and gone to sit in the bath and ease the aches of another day's work. I was sat at the kitchen table reading an old English newspaper. I hadn't noticed that the the CD I was playing had come to an end - I was engrossed in an article about suckling pig. I was then aware of the church bells ringing the hour at seven o'clock - sometimes I don't hear the bells at all because I'm playing music or the traffic is too loud or the wind is in the wrong direction - but tonight I heard the bells very clearly, sonorously marking the passing hour, making me realise how little other noise there was just at that moment. Immediately I heard the first ring, I walked across the kitchen and opened the window to hear the peals more clearly and was struck by the fabulous sunset at the top of the street, later than previous because of the summer time hour added the day before, and the moon visible directly above my head, and the lack of wind and a sudden feeling of spring after the week of wintry weather that had caught us all by surprise after the shirtsleeves of the week before.

I can't really explain what I felt just then. A moment of peace with myself? An acceptance of my problems and issues and their place in my life? I don't know really. I felt happy and content in a way that I hadn't done in London for many years. I immediately thought of the people most dear to me, my wife and my children, and wanted to share the moment with them.

It sounds ridiculous when I try to put it into words but it obviously had an effect because I overcooked the sausages for our supper and, believe me, that's something I'm really upset about.