Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Summer in my widowhood continues…with some fresh challenges and, let me be honest: a few more wins than I expected.

This is the first summer I have worked throughout (ie, no holiday at all) since 2016 2015 2014 Oh I give up… Since the last summer in South Africa in 2012. Perhaps the 7 day trip to Italy in 2015 was the shortest summer holiday ever, but then again, I wasn’t working exactly (although we are in agreement these days that raising children IS a full time job).

That all sounds pretty darn sad, but given I just came off some weird kind of sabbatical, I really can’t complain.

And yet I do feel a little hard done by. To think that we had considered travelling to Greece this summer for an island in the sun treat.

While Europe whittered away its lazy summer days on beaches with sun-cream and spritz’, I bemoaned the twice-daily commutes to the city, changing from short shorts and tiny tops into a sweaty uniform when the average temperatures were 34 degrees, sweating more profusely than Anton ever did (I lie. That’s a huge exaggeration).

This summer I’ve missed out on golden gin-hour sunset walks and eating a meals with my girls. Actually, I took so much for granted over the year I didn’t work, and now that I am back at work, I miss that period immensely. [Not to sound like a whino, please can someone remind me WHY we have to work? Sigh. Damn society and living expenses…)

Summer. She’s like a golden airy goddess evocative of blissful memories: family. Road trips, sandy beaches, ice-cream melting. Delving into the list of books you’ve not got round to, siestas, late evening al fresco dinners with bottles of rosé overflowing and octopus salad (ok, yes. I think all holidays in summer should be on the Med). It’s about being able to forget about the day-to-day grind for a few ephemeral moments.

Is this the social media version that I’ve come to expect? So perhaps it’s only a privileged part of society that properly gets a mental break over the summer.

As the final week of the school holidays rolled by and I had been freed up of working splits, I reached out to my crew. (Ladies, I need to find a better title than Mom Friends. I’m open to suggestions…). We hadn’t been out together for a while – and as is the norm for Strasbourg families, we had all gone our separate ways for the summer: home-to-see-family trips to Canada, Ireland, Sweden, Ardèche, Normandy, Brittany, England and America. It was a treat for me to see them all again, and while I had no tales of broken down vehicles, (as in our travels last summer) I was able to find comfort in what I have achieved.

Summer 2025 for me will be remembered by and large with the following, and in no particular order of importance:

• 1. Working and split-shifts – the latter being where mental health really does go to die imo. There is definitely something about this archaic form of work that needs to be addressed. In my experience over 9 weeks, I failed to eat a decent meal, my sleep patterns were erratic, my ability to do admin hugely compromised. Having stopped working those shifts last week, I have had such a weight lifted off my shoulders and am really grateful that I can actually breathe again.

• 2. As you know from my letter last month, I passed the French driving license. This is a story that goes back to 2013 when I wasn’t able to exchange my South African license for a French one – there’s a legal requirement for the change to be undertaken in the first 12 months of moving here and my 🇿🇦 card had past its validity date and it wasn’t financially possible to fly to South Africa to renew it within 8 months. (Let’s be honest: it takes about 3 months for that insipid government department to actually supply a new one 😔), so for 11 years I relied on Anton to drive everywhere. I also made good use of the great public transport network and my bicycle. The only way I could drive in France would have been to hire a car with an International Driving Permit (an expensive and ridiculous notion) or just do the theory and practical exams. In French. As you can imagine, I wasn’t wholly committed to driving under those circumstances. However, by year 11 when Anton wasn’t able to drive, I realised I couldn’t put off becoming legal, so I sat the theory test 4 times (ask anyone: it is possibly the most illogical exam anyone has ever sat), and finally was able to do some lessons. I breathed a sigh of relief when I passed the exam last month, but it didn’t stop at that. The next goal was to have myself insured to drive, and given I’m considered a ‘young driver’- ie, a novice- my insurance premiums are loaded. Is there anything as humiliating as being charged double the standard fees despite 30 years of experience? Next thing I need to sort out is the change of ownership of the cars into my name. Our cars have a legal document registered to the car stating who is the owner, and all fines and insurance is tied into that document. Currently if my cars are caught performing an infringement, it’s my darling late husband who will have points removed- and in my 40’s, I’ve realised there is no point in fraudulent activity. The admin for changing the document has to be done online and while I’ve made an effort to do so, I suspect I’ve missed a thing, and I may have to ask my notary for advice, as this change in ownership falls into inheritance.
• 3. Speaking of inheritance, we are marginally closer to having Anton’s South African estate closed. I’m grateful to other aspects in my life that I’m not waiting exclusively for the inheritance to be finalised before being able to merely exist, but nonetheless, there are creepies that niggle and itch when it comes to inheritance. It’s a soul sucking experience that I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I wish I could write an article as a guideline on how to simplify death: inheritance would be a significant aspect to it. Not to mention, nobody can really prepare for death, no matter what measures you put in place.
• 4. Another exciting achievement this summer was that I did manage to pass the level B1 French test that I sat at the end of June. I cried when I got the result. I cried because I had given up and didn’t think it would happen. And I cried because now that I’ve got it, I have 5 months to put in my application for French nationality. (If I wait until 2026, the requirement for language proficiency will be B2, and that will require a much more advanced form of lessons needed to be done). I cried because I still had South African documentation sitting at the Department of Inefficiency AKA Dept Home Affairs in Lyttelton that would require a proxy letter to be collected. And how, pray tell, does an expat get official signed proxy in a country where English isn’t the accepted language? Half expecting to travel to Paris (160€ in train fees and a day away from work), I attempted to use the mayors office route here which some people will tell you isn’t an option: they won’t sign any documents if it’s not French. Thus, armed with the regulation ream of papers required of a government agency, in English and French, and my most generous kind smile, I begged them to sign a proxy letter. They did so, albeit with a warning stating since it’s for government official-ness, they can’t guarantee it’s legally binding…. I cried (again) a week later when my sister walked out of the Dept of Inefficiency with my marriage certificate. Having expected yet another 8 week delay to get the certificates apostilled, I stumbled on a (slightly more expensive option) via a South African notary and the High Court: a week later my certificates were in France. There really is nothing stopping me from lodging the application is there? (Obviously there is, so I’ve made an appointment to speak to an immigration lawyer because I’d rather get it right first time.)
• 5. I have lamented the absence of a travel-filled summer holiday and I am really happy that I did take the chance to go down to the south of France before I started work. At the same time, Alex and Beth were able to go away in the own capacity. Beth was in Brittany with friends, and Alex took the train to Paris with her bestie. For the rest of the time, their friends have been around the city and – to warm my heart- their friends have converged on our home for games, movie marathons, and chilling out at. At various points I’ve arrived home for my afternoon siesta to find a clutch of bicycles adorning my garden, the curtains in my lounge blocking out sunlight while the film projector is playing some Marvel movie at full volume. This had made me irrepressibly happy because I’ve always wanted this for my girls, and with Anton around- sick or not- the girls would never have been comfortable to have this. Ex and P, if you’re reading this, thank you for the freedom you’ve allowed your teens to hang out with mine, and I am sorry that they have been home late on more than one occasion. There may have been a distinct absence of real meals on offer, but going forward, when I’m home and anyone needs a lounge to unwind in, my doors will always be open.

Somewhere along the chaos of August, I also had a small emotional breakdown when the pressure of work got a little overwhelming. I won’t bore you with the trials of the job, but one week in particular was harrowing when I assumed to prepare Barbary duck legs in a Bain Marie at 63 degrees for 4 hours. By the time service started I realised how wrong I was, how epically I had failed at something I definitely KNOW BETTER than to do. Perhaps that I’m such a follower of what goes before me that I lack the confidence to trust in my own abilities to “fake it until I make it”.

Following that failure above, the passage of where split shifts and mental health combust and flame out, alongside slow summer trade and epically scathing restaurant reviews, for days my psyche was in the gutter. I found myself questioning choices, and what would Anton say if he was here to talk to. I regretted going back to work, thinking how much easier it was to hide myself in my home with my writing, memories, sunset and nostalgia. That in fact, perhaps life would be easier in South Africa. After all, it’s what Anton wanted, to a point anyway.

It’s coming down to the wire to be able to upload this before the end of day today, being August 31st. It has taken me two rewrites and about 10 revisions in an effort to make it less convoluted and verbose. What has been so difficult about writing my newsletter this month? It’s not an essay that I find interesting, evocative or even particularly good. It does, however, contain news and emotional commentary (to some degree), but it’s also a long way from my writing earlier this year.

Why? Why do I think this is the case?

To be blunt, I think it’s because the grief is a little further away. It is still hard talking about, reminiscing about Anton’s last year on earth, about how I believe he was depressed returning to France at the end of last summer. About the awful winter we endured. I do cry when I have to think about my loss. But those moments are not all-consuming any longer. Life really does move on irrespective of how we would like to just hang on to a moment so that it doesn’t slip away forever.

However, the way I’ve rambled on here to simply tick the box is -for me anyway- an indication that I’m moving on, that I’m not consumed by Plathian sadness any longer and perhaps my life is definitely less entertaining than my scribblings justify. [ROTFL emoji inserted here]. Maybe next month I’ll be able to write something more pointed and succinct.

When I went out to dinner during the week, I felt at ease with myself and full of joyful anticipation. I put on makeup, took a vain little selfie because I was happy with my appearance and perhaps there was a light in my eyes that hadn’t been there for a while. I thought maybe I could change a profile picture somewhere on my socials to reflect the change in seasons, but having overthought the idea, I look a little too smug. Weirdo, right?

On that note, school starts up again tomorrow. One kid is starting high school (oh Anton, you were supposed to here for this), and the other kid has her Last First Day of school. Of course, Anton should have been here for this, but he’s not, and will never be, so there’s no point in lamenting this part of life, so simply, I’ll leave you with this thought:

Thandeka Joy Dusty Bandit Carr du Plessis is probably the biggest loser this September. On Tuesday morning, as we all 3 head to work and school, spare a thought for her as she prepares to spend her first day without a companion in more than a year.

My darling friends,

Thank you, as usual, for your time and friendship. It’s surreal thinking that I have experienced a whole spring and summer without my love. However, all is not lost. Obviously I have a bond with my girls that is tighter than ever. With them at my side, we will conquer life together.

Hugs and Bisous,

Xx