tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81170316772307696802024-02-20T05:43:21.739-08:00London Soufflé: What Life Taught Me (The Long and Short of It) Words and photos copyright Samantha van Dalen.
Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.comBlogger1121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-1140173053597534412023-06-23T05:08:00.005-07:002023-06-23T10:49:03.109-07:00Kevin Costner's latest divorce<p>I have worked very hard in my life and made many sacrifices. When I am gone, there will be a couple of books, oil paintings, 70 articles in the Huffington Post (written and painted in my own hand) and hundreds of clients who will hopefully remember me as a fair and truthful legal arbitor in their French Property adventures.</p><p>I understand Kevin Costner: he seemingly works hard, not driven by money but he wants to ensure the legacy he will leave behind. Steve Jobs commissioned Walter Isaacson to write his Biography in an effort to set the record straight with his kids of why he wasn't always around. Hopefully the book provided a bit of solace for the days and nights that Dad wasn't there or seemed overly pre-occupied by the destiny he was creating.</p><p>The truth is you can't produce anything of substance or value unless you work damn hard. Perhaps such a concept is no longer in vogue but in a hundred years, Kevin Costner's films, some of them award winners, will be viewed with admiration.</p><p>I like Kevin Costner very much. I find him extremely attractive for his body of work. Clearly, any marriage is fraught with difficulties and problems and without compromise, it ends up falling apart. But sometimes you can compromise your life away and the fire in your belly is forever extinguished.</p><p>I divorced my ex-husband and completely transformed my life; the act of doing so impoverished me (I asked for nothing) but it made me determined to claw my way out of the darkness. It took years but now I live a comfortable life. I lost a lot along the way but gained contentment, or rather, the knowledge that I am what I am by the grace of God and living life on my own terms.</p><p>When there are children involved, as in the case of Mr Costner, it is relatively hard to be completely self-absorbed but a man's life is not worth living if he can't do what he is meant to be doing. I am not far in age from Mr Costner and I too understand how fast water accelerates through the plug hole as the sink empties. Whether you fear death or not, it is a strange and horrible sensation that time is running out.</p><p>The soon-to-be ex Mrs Costner is fighting for vast sums of money in child support and alimony. May it make her happy. But I fear her idea of contentment and the priceless value of each moment are at odds with the one who will be remembered by millions for the small measure of joy he brought into their lives.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKkDpWFlx3Yldk0OAR-VDCg4dfV76BBSW5t_aNSJ3hNfMVneclhDYNk9f7Zn9NoPDWNARIttiNvZG1KymAD7m-OiO-Iy2X8Ft-_EZHeg6gMWk-SaCbYMI3ZPBEc2FqIBg4C-_NeHjp2hKRpQqswn8WFT557g8GSc2zEQRkFxsNgZAVjUCWltownHvJCd0O/s4608/French%20rose.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2592" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKkDpWFlx3Yldk0OAR-VDCg4dfV76BBSW5t_aNSJ3hNfMVneclhDYNk9f7Zn9NoPDWNARIttiNvZG1KymAD7m-OiO-Iy2X8Ft-_EZHeg6gMWk-SaCbYMI3ZPBEc2FqIBg4C-_NeHjp2hKRpQqswn8WFT557g8GSc2zEQRkFxsNgZAVjUCWltownHvJCd0O/w360-h640/French%20rose.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;">A rose I grew in my garden in France.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">Photo and words copyright Samantha van Dalen 2023.</p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-33724200356191028982021-11-07T04:01:00.001-08:002021-11-07T04:04:54.204-08:00A Christmas Story<p>I heard this story at mass today and am posting it here for no other reason except that I hope it makes you feel good.</p><p>An impoverished home on Christmas Eve where a three year old girl is grappling with a roll of gold paper while she wraps a gift. Her father berates her for using too much paper. The little girl continues wrapping the box, her small hands clumsily cutting and folding the paper while her father scolds her loudly.</p><p>On Christmas Day she hands the box to her father. 'This is for you, Daddy.' Her father, filled with remorse, hugs the child and thanks her warmly. He opens the box and there is nothing in it. Once again he flies into a rage and screams, 'Don't you know that when you give a gift that there should be something in the box?!' The little girl's eyes fill with tears. 'There <i>is </i>something in it, Daddy! I filled the box with kisses for you.'</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivS7BsLu2kpoqUG9sPMoDn-Y0Ukxw-69eAbGrPAuMHr4z1Yn4vv-HYUQ8W1Mom7hUig0WdpS3lGvWACjk-Xu8tYGDp0pnP6v8SIMxjPdkDyV9TLntdIOgxH1pSue9VU9Ro3nuBmW1YIbIL/s2048/20181211_081616.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivS7BsLu2kpoqUG9sPMoDn-Y0Ukxw-69eAbGrPAuMHr4z1Yn4vv-HYUQ8W1Mom7hUig0WdpS3lGvWACjk-Xu8tYGDp0pnP6v8SIMxjPdkDyV9TLntdIOgxH1pSue9VU9Ro3nuBmW1YIbIL/w640-h480/20181211_081616.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Photo copyright SvD.</p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-78534034818602068922021-09-27T01:44:00.003-07:002021-09-27T01:48:43.607-07:00Times might be changing but remain the same....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Indeed we are living in ever changing times but we seem convinced that yesterday was 'better' than today. Part of my experience of getting old is a type of incredulity when looking back at the past which is difficult to explain. Did I really do that? Was life so uncomplicated then? I also see my parents and their peers in a different light because the struggles and difficuties they encountered I have lived a hundred times over. Recently I have been dreaming of past loves, friends and acquaintances. Sometimes the dreams are so vivid but when I wake up I remember these encounters only vaguely. As we age we seem to inhabit a vortex of emotions both past and present and mostly we do not understand how happy we are <i>right now</i>. I have recently re-read 'The Incredible Lightness of Being' by Kundera which explores the relationship between Tomas and Teresa during the invasion of Czechoslovakia. I would highly recommend re-reading favourite books at different stages of life. 'Wuthering Heights' for example when devoured as an 18 year old is completely different as each decade passes. Every time we revisit a book we see the common theme of then and now. Who we were before determined our understanding of the passionate Heathcliff and the philandering Tomas. In our latter years we sympathise with both characters because we understand more about the conundrum of life which is both absurd and elegantly simple. Let me expalin. We deliberately complicate our lives ignoring that in the end we require very little of everything to be happy. 'What!', I hear you exclaim. Money, for example, won't make you happy, it merely encourages you to believe you can't live without it. There is an expression in Latin 'Poverty made me a genius'. When you have to innovate in order to survive, you develop other qualities too: courage and understanding both considered 'virtues'. Those who float through life unchallenged rarely achieve either.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq62IQ711S8j0ufdIo3KBha5aTf7nBfSH42mTLyIDOZVuN6SkoBisfYJ1GPcYraz2r816nBu9eG7oUXZ6oZN_aDIpLr6o_FVksfKyMqUrz9X16Dd32-i8yehusPDVjfhFM-p9VOpRuZNzd/s2048/20210806_112425.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq62IQ711S8j0ufdIo3KBha5aTf7nBfSH42mTLyIDOZVuN6SkoBisfYJ1GPcYraz2r816nBu9eG7oUXZ6oZN_aDIpLr6o_FVksfKyMqUrz9X16Dd32-i8yehusPDVjfhFM-p9VOpRuZNzd/w640-h360/20210806_112425.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoC5FAYTxGEv5QKGOFgkFG5wvoZ7Y3-ygzJLPUIwv0LXR7cdFojlAnmQ3GqxOUC3MYdgWa0ZGe21zBCnu9WZYqSHcwdGbKi4exh91MR9eK9YvG5X1B26S6_epqbpkrs0Fn3R1uEO6mp4EP/s2048/20210805_135830.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoC5FAYTxGEv5QKGOFgkFG5wvoZ7Y3-ygzJLPUIwv0LXR7cdFojlAnmQ3GqxOUC3MYdgWa0ZGe21zBCnu9WZYqSHcwdGbKi4exh91MR9eK9YvG5X1B26S6_epqbpkrs0Fn3R1uEO6mp4EP/w640-h360/20210805_135830.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Photos copyright SvD.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-31769182440449609962021-04-19T03:58:00.000-07:002021-04-19T03:58:25.632-07:00My tears for Prince Philip<p>I never met Prince Philip but I shed tears for him out of considerable respect and awe for the man he was. In an age of vacuousness which passes for wisdom, Prince Philip was his own man. What does that mean to be one's own person? To never follow fashion, to have original ideas, to be content in one's own company, to be the master of one's emotions, to eschew the superficial, to be modest. After Prince Philip's passing we came to understand that for decades he just carried on, carving a role that would become his legacy, supporting the Queen and his errant offspring and grandchildren. It is no small measure of a man that we only fully comprehend their vast accomplishments when they are gone. During his lifetime, Prince Philip never bleated about what he had done but now we can see that he was a force for good improving the lives of millions of young people in particular.</p><p>I wept too for the end of an era. Prince Philip had been around for my entire life. When the Queen goes I shall be equally as distraught. The Queen and Prince Philip are made of the stuff of legend. We shall never see the likes of them again.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHvUPIhoS8zh3v4ZhvFMlTjVD_c_gNzTGVeNcFnnplvCYA0r4eNNec5XXlKWYgJ-NGGaY5bI69fJYM_rgnZap5be0ZpoYuXNclyy_oaUOe43eH7BJOXAlEGBBXxjZDo9YM4t5omYGG_a9L/s2048/Apple+flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHvUPIhoS8zh3v4ZhvFMlTjVD_c_gNzTGVeNcFnnplvCYA0r4eNNec5XXlKWYgJ-NGGaY5bI69fJYM_rgnZap5be0ZpoYuXNclyy_oaUOe43eH7BJOXAlEGBBXxjZDo9YM4t5omYGG_a9L/w640-h360/Apple+flowers.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Photo copyright SvD</p><p><br /></p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-13776295468702018942021-03-13T09:42:00.005-08:002021-03-13T09:42:56.366-08:00When in Rome....<p>A client is an avid hunter and recently gifted me a quarter of a whole wild boar. I asked my neighbour, also a hunter, to help me carve it up. </p><p>Boar is frankly delicious in steaks, pan fried in butter, or my preferred method of a slow cooked 'civet' with onions, garlic, thyme, bay leaves and red wine best served the next day.</p><p>Boar live off acorns, nuts aplenty. Nothing more organic or tasty, in my opinion.</p><p>Embrace the French way of life!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOhFxZwM9ZmbS61ZYr7CvhAIqYlgNIN1NDgpL0zqX4RmLuAO2uxx8mfeKvzHenv0xtuXXXENVC8suhlJmjek8msvM5hMoahxuU_WnVXq1Iy_-xXauE6kPmayaddyvnLVPwt6nOJMHXGPD/s2048/20210222_181418.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOhFxZwM9ZmbS61ZYr7CvhAIqYlgNIN1NDgpL0zqX4RmLuAO2uxx8mfeKvzHenv0xtuXXXENVC8suhlJmjek8msvM5hMoahxuU_WnVXq1Iy_-xXauE6kPmayaddyvnLVPwt6nOJMHXGPD/w640-h360/20210222_181418.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Photos copyright SvD</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEATbfSh3GJl4EIpLysVhyOy28uYfx12jSKYdQWheUXMaO0hw2r8hLNsjf7_tDUFYTqV4bYwg3sl-Ne552E_5LlT5Yba0XY70ob0joRu1mguuz8h3G4aCN291jfQR5bFxEJFRnODemKKNo/s2048/20210222_165501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEATbfSh3GJl4EIpLysVhyOy28uYfx12jSKYdQWheUXMaO0hw2r8hLNsjf7_tDUFYTqV4bYwg3sl-Ne552E_5LlT5Yba0XY70ob0joRu1mguuz8h3G4aCN291jfQR5bFxEJFRnODemKKNo/w640-h360/20210222_165501.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Vive La France!</p><p><br /></p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-79504205584917716372021-03-07T05:52:00.001-08:002021-03-07T05:55:56.890-08:00Meghan and Harry race towards the invisible horizon<p>When I was little I probably wanted to marry a Prince, Cinderella did after all so why couldn't I? In one's 'salad days' all things seem possible. Perhaps it is a tragedy of the human condition when around our teenage years as we gain independence and begin to construct our view of life that the thought of marrying a Prince becomes less enticing. Anyone with a level head on their shoulders knows that fairy tales are pure fantasy. Crucially, not all damsels make suitable Princesses. Elegance, beauty, sympathy, honour, duty, kindness, bearing perfect children and quasi saintliness are rare attributes and few, if any women possess them all. The late Princess Diana came close to encompassing the above but as we know, her fairy tale evaporated with time. </p><p>Diana and Prince Charles did themselves few favours when they appeared in those ghastly interviews spilling their guts but they did prove that they were fallible just like the rest of us. However by providing a bit too much information, both Diana and Charles came out looking less 'royal' and more 'alley cat'. Confessions of adultery and in Diana's case, promiscuity, are nothing to bleat about in public. One day Charles will be the Head of the Church of England yet confessed to trampling over several of the Ten Commandments. The new 'royal' therefore is a hybrid of shared imperfections but with bucketloads of privilege and entitlement thrown in. More importantly, they must earn our respect otherwise we would not indulge them as we do.</p><p>Princess Diana was very much the catalyst for the new 'royals' we see today. She didn't stamp her feet hoping to revolutionise the Monarchy but because she was painfully unhappy in her marriage. Diana forced Charles' adultery out into the open in an act of revenge but did she destroy the Monarchy? There was certainly a discernable wobble when a surge of public sadness and anger at Diana's death threatened to overwhelm the Crown but to this day, it is our respect for the Queen which continues to sustain the Monarchy. Had she been wiser during her lifetime, Diana would have understood that her revenge was an own goal. Despite her actions, the Queen endured, the instituion endured and not unbelievably, most Brits like having the Monarchy around. The Crown reminds us of tradition and history, a reminder of who we are and some might say, of how great we used to be. Who could not admire the Queen for her tremendous sense of duty? She has never faltered in her promise to dedicate her life to us. In no small measure, Prince Philip has played a huge part in supporting the Queen to whom he has been a 'strength and stay'. </p><p>A quarter of a century after Diana's death, we arrive at the burning question: so, why did Meghan Markle marry Harry? If the answer isn't glaringly obvious, permit me to clarify: Ms Markle in all her confectioned and alarmingly plastic physiognomy, didn't marry in order to honour and respect the institution which is as instrinsic to Britishness as is milky tea. Surely there are hidden tribes even in the Amazon who have heard of Diana and her unhappiness? Ms Markle would have known about the Royal Family, its shenannigans, tantrums and tiaras like the rest of the world. She would have known that Diana, the innocent, doe-eyed virgin bride had had her life torn apart because she couldn't conform with what was expected of her (to tolerate her husband's infidelity). Ms Markle would have known that marrying into an historic institution is a bit more serious than a drunken hitch up in Vegas. Despite what she now claims she never knew, Ms Markle's tawdriness and tackiness will culminate tonight in that interview with Oprah, Patron Saint of those who simply must tell their 'truth' no matter what. Please observe carefully the difference between recounting one's perceived version of events and the truth. I won't be watching. There are too many people I know and love whose lives have been ruined by Covid, those who lost jobs, relatives, who have considered suicide, who have not had a hug, confined and housebound for over a year, those who have lost their livelihoods and cannot contemplate the future. Will I indulge Ms Markle and her meal ticket? No. Will the Monarchy survive Ms Markle? Yes. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6rE-qtwKDqsG4YorZRN81cjAon8H__jIKnQVishnsnaRzOZWRrjHDuQ-pY-7LzwMHp8009aV3K7TIfhN76jIo1o60-4psmMmVMaYT7i8Ny-f0KPBAS9s0k8i3i9YY0akK3T4f8dAXWKoV/s705/20200105_184523.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="469" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6rE-qtwKDqsG4YorZRN81cjAon8H__jIKnQVishnsnaRzOZWRrjHDuQ-pY-7LzwMHp8009aV3K7TIfhN76jIo1o60-4psmMmVMaYT7i8Ny-f0KPBAS9s0k8i3i9YY0akK3T4f8dAXWKoV/w426-h640/20200105_184523.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><p>Photo copyright SvD </p><p><br /></p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-50746570107901752212021-02-12T01:56:00.002-08:002021-02-12T01:57:41.107-08:00Reincarnation where you least expect it ...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0NsN2Zy04PCX5c-PKCJ59oSpCKcYZyyWrdIpGGKZV9ynJ0pMyXY4wQT0YVgjeWLs0JQNnThoeSgE8076SszKQDVwoPpyN4l4m4eeRvZdGhS5lfzuZYhCmd5EhL8OLRxcjQOWToC5yxN5/s2048/20210208_184840.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC0NsN2Zy04PCX5c-PKCJ59oSpCKcYZyyWrdIpGGKZV9ynJ0pMyXY4wQT0YVgjeWLs0JQNnThoeSgE8076SszKQDVwoPpyN4l4m4eeRvZdGhS5lfzuZYhCmd5EhL8OLRxcjQOWToC5yxN5/w360-h640/20210208_184840.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo copyright SvD.</div><br /><p></p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-15231005894921644532021-01-07T06:10:00.002-08:002021-01-07T06:10:44.781-08:00Stodge, the stuff of dreams<p>Homemade apple pie and pocket cabbage pies to keep warm.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SVdilLnoPXQ30inAi8OG1bnXPw-BJPydxKtXgn3h7hWhTL8xfZeEYQ6RKZv_gE0nrNNfWXod7ejUTpdWUkTOkGZWQfHWkPXLB3hy21dg6cfuKnw4Qw70DOcGwoxV9Jg8qylFjv8IXCyG/s2048/20201216_095844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1710" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SVdilLnoPXQ30inAi8OG1bnXPw-BJPydxKtXgn3h7hWhTL8xfZeEYQ6RKZv_gE0nrNNfWXod7ejUTpdWUkTOkGZWQfHWkPXLB3hy21dg6cfuKnw4Qw70DOcGwoxV9Jg8qylFjv8IXCyG/s320/20201216_095844.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>Photos copyright SvD.<br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5sTfBTltMYBm8hEMPMT0I3HfEDJbgh_O-CFJ5AG1aR05s9tkoKcyExvNZ4uoxaUOA3tDv7T_p8p6-q7iFRLUiY5A4FH6eeg1noEN5RBsTPwsB90R6sUA3Cy1loUL4pe4UA8wffV8_4gp3/s2048/20201219_193144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5sTfBTltMYBm8hEMPMT0I3HfEDJbgh_O-CFJ5AG1aR05s9tkoKcyExvNZ4uoxaUOA3tDv7T_p8p6-q7iFRLUiY5A4FH6eeg1noEN5RBsTPwsB90R6sUA3Cy1loUL4pe4UA8wffV8_4gp3/s320/20201219_193144.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-7722416742099268092020-11-28T09:35:00.001-08:002020-11-28T09:35:26.031-08:00Think about the result of your actions<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Konn_gkwBeDzE_RbZTWcFaK7Jmu-VhSpNGfRUcqVEqbvqDFtscG0odrjsk_Iv9FwVIV2WKR3kjaYZbLy6NtXHnEwlaoKc6hghwolP78pp-DeHITBW8VgShD8ukstmw2uatICuFZ18zTy/s2048/20201124_150638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Konn_gkwBeDzE_RbZTWcFaK7Jmu-VhSpNGfRUcqVEqbvqDFtscG0odrjsk_Iv9FwVIV2WKR3kjaYZbLy6NtXHnEwlaoKc6hghwolP78pp-DeHITBW8VgShD8ukstmw2uatICuFZ18zTy/w400-h300/20201124_150638.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>From my office window on the third floor!<p></p><p>Photo copyright SvD.</p>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-63535641861012189192020-10-25T08:37:00.002-07:002020-10-26T06:34:18.387-07:00Our crazy world<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This year has certainly been the most surreal I can remember. On 16 March, the Notaire where I was working as a clerk, packed up boxes of files and we all left the building not knowing when we would be back. The night before, President Macron had told us live on TV that from the next day, we were to 'stay at home'. He wasn't asking politely.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For several weeks I was able to leave the house only to walk the dogs within a small radius around the house, go to the nearest supermarket and that was it. The road where I live was unusually quiet, there was no one anywhere to be seen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The disease remains an enigma and untamed. We now all wear masks although at work I conveniently rip mine off when I'm in my private office. My colleagues all do the same.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The most insidious part of this plague is how we are beginning to treat each other. A whiff of suspicion now pervades the air. The French, normally so tactile and full of compliments, have become stone cold. The problem of course is the mask which conceals almost all of the face. Impossible to tell is someone is smiling or snarling. Harassed and worried about catching a deadly virus, no one wants to spend time with anyone. Forget socialising or going out for a meal. It feels wrong and uncomfortable to be too near or within spitting distance of someone who could send you into a deadly coma. As a keen and competent cook I prefer to stay at home. I can control the hygiene in my kitchen and that suits me better. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My little dogs don't see any difference to their routine and like this cat near my office, spend most of their time fast asleep.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4B3jYQzcAgBZjdCdMBNE-vYZYpOHLSGgqMGp4dZoOnRDb5VmP2_EsCOJXxuSgt4wRwR0F9vrZXofJNvzgH2t2o2nOVV-FheeVkAwkCa68UzFZ3H9S8xHHTgF4LePbZx7v61hYoQrmPjn/s2048/20201011_172418.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1769" data-original-width="2048" height="552" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4B3jYQzcAgBZjdCdMBNE-vYZYpOHLSGgqMGp4dZoOnRDb5VmP2_EsCOJXxuSgt4wRwR0F9vrZXofJNvzgH2t2o2nOVV-FheeVkAwkCa68UzFZ3H9S8xHHTgF4LePbZx7v61hYoQrmPjn/w640-h552/20201011_172418.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /><div>However we homo sapiens tend to be conscious enough during our daylight hours to worry about the state of the world. US politics? Scream!! The state of the economy? Bigger scream!! The absurd political correctness we are being made to follow? Scream again! Virtue signalling celebrities with approximately one brain cell each who want to tell us what to do and think? More screaming!! I totally despair at the world today and am frankly amazed that anyone would want to bring children into this insane and extremely dangerous farcical environment. In a future not that far away, we will have no record of our history visible on the streets - no statues, no monuments and no memorials - lest they offend someone. We will be forcibly injected with a vaccine for the virus. There will be mass unemployment. Mental health, all the rage now, will become the next biggest disease as thousands if not millions find themselves not only unemployed but unemployable. Business will change forever: how they trade, how they provide services, where they are located. Many businesses are literally doomed except those which offer essential services. The local hairdresser has better job prospects than most!</div><div><br /></div><div>During the lockdown here if France, online sales took off like a rocket. The French, normally sniffy about the internet, suddenly realised its one great attraction - no human physical human contact so little chance of catching COVID and pure convenience. Let's just ponder on those two:</div><div><br /></div><div>No human physical contact: when I was a student in Bordeaux, the local postman used to bring letters from my dad up to my flat and stop in for a coffee and a cigarette. The postman used to help me out by slipping letters under my door if I wasn't in instead of putting them in the communal post box or signing for a recorded delivery so I didn't have to traipse all the way to the post office. Small gestures done out of kindness will most likely disappear. Tragically for us all, these gestures make us <b>human</b>.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pure convenience: the ego will have well and truly landed when <b>everything </b>is done for personal convenience. 'I want and therefore I am' is already the new mantra. I'm in the middle of reading a book written by a Frenchman who was sent down into the mines at age 12. He never got to live 'his truth' but the strength of his character hewn from deprivation is awe inspiring. As a child he used to be mesmerised by the stars in the sky but as a miner he hardly got to see them. That state of mind to just get on with life has already been lost forever. Now we are all entitled to everything we want.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is there anything to look forward to? Ironically the best things in life aren't physical objects but are inside our heads. Strength of character, courage, striving to become a better human being, understanding the difference between what we want and what is needed according to the requirements of the time. The question is, are you up for the challenge? And do you understand that the only person who can help you achieve those things is yourself? Good luck!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Photo copyright SvD.<br />Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-41089696130968601152020-09-07T08:46:00.004-07:002020-09-07T08:53:01.905-07:00Be careful what you wish for<div>The world we know has changed beyond recognition this year with the virus and its impact on the world economy. I've been here before when my successful career in London was so severely impacted by the financial crash that I had to reinvent myself in order to survive. In the darkest days, the last thing on my mind would have been rushing to share my plight on social media or posing half naked on Instagram. Who does that and why? Why is the approbation of complete strangers a necessity? How does that make an individual self aware? </div><div><br /></div><div>My faith provided solace when confronted with challenges that I found too difficult to surmount on my own. Faith, <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">along with age and experience,</span> helped me discover a well of inner strength. I understand that a positive outlook and mental self sufficiency mean that bad experiences can't tear me down. A strong, independent mind is the antidote to having my ego massaged. I would literally be too embarassed to consider the 'like' button the gauge of whether I have credibility as a person. I couldn't care less because social media doesn't define me.</div><div><br /></div><div>For years I actively engaged on Twitter until I found it a mouthpiece for the vapid Left who have more rights than duty to anyone. I occasionally open the Twitter app on my 'phone but I don't quite see the point of mouthing off about anything because as the French say, the more it changes, the more it remains the same. In other words, idiots will remain idiots with idiotic notions and the new vogue is self indulgent political correctness otherwise known as righteous indignation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unwittingly, social media 'influencers' have sold their soul to the highest bidder. If you have integrity, oodles of self respect and know yourself, the thought of massive popularity is as hollow as a spent bullet. Life is about relationships, not necessarily romantic but how we interact with each other. Just look at the popular social influencers, do they have successful relationships? No, they've objectified themselves completely and will hardly with the Nobel peace prize for trying to make the world a better place. None of their endeavours is aimed at encouraging others to become better human beings. The glossy veneer of an 'influencer' conceals the darkness of their own gross insecurity and inadequacy. The façade is a means of controlling the narrative (oh, yes, this new expression, smacks of complete desperation). How exhausting must it be to feast off neediness, the oxygen in their veins! Try having an intellectual conversation about the meaning life with a social influencer and they'll offer up some regurgitated gobbledygook about 'living your truth' (translated this means absolve yourself of all responsibility and be ruthless in every aspect of your life).</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's look at it another way. Where's the intellectual argument in #BLACK LIVES MATTER? Or #METOO? #WHITEPRIVILEGE? Surprise, surprise, there isn't one. All three movements are about a stomping of feet, a disingenuous moaning based on the next bandwagon. Sooner or later the bandwagon, a temporary means of self promotion, becomes a slow boat to nowhere. #Feminism, for example, gave women emancipation by casting off the stereotypes but the reverse meant that most men now expect women to be financially independent. Women have been left wondering what they need a man for? And the average bloke is totally emasculated, his balls would be literally ripped off if he asked a female to go back to his place to 'look at his DVD collection'. No wonder that the new rage of #Trans is actually a melding of the male into the female and vice versa because the stereotypes have been shattered. </div><div><br /></div><div>We, in the West have never had it so good, like the spoilt child with too many toys he never knows which one to choose. So he starts wailing and stomping his feet. Sound familiar?</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8twejmyazqpz7Pkmnk_klaJmD9BOgRHZJhoYVpov0MEV6OQ2eG1-QBT7yLljHJSbzUsVgZo4wXbDCocsX2xXiyZaA8wbtlQL0-AXGVsSVHAVrCORcnDS02k4E82XXyHFmDPcxTr08IXI/s2048/Ruffie+and+Louis.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="2048" height="349" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8twejmyazqpz7Pkmnk_klaJmD9BOgRHZJhoYVpov0MEV6OQ2eG1-QBT7yLljHJSbzUsVgZo4wXbDCocsX2xXiyZaA8wbtlQL0-AXGVsSVHAVrCORcnDS02k4E82XXyHFmDPcxTr08IXI/w500-h349/Ruffie+and+Louis.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><div>Photo copyright SvD.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-60123097801598857802020-09-07T07:30:00.003-07:002020-09-07T07:34:42.034-07:00When wildlife is far more interesting than homo sapiens<div>Sometimes going for a walk is more inspiring than reading the news. The animal kingdom is full of wonder and I'm grateful to be filled with awe when for example, I come across this little fella in his armoury crossing the road as if he has all the time in the world:</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialFcfHYNT04gNppfW-HsrLLTH2aWGM8J8IpC1qxYYtCP4ewYR7Ca95o1Rs5jOYLTHG1ULn0-esqFDhHMl-UaauwKqpSQUSPG-wAh_pbVzmVMuBbjBn2Uu1Pf9pGYvMHxNyV8xd-PyxmMB/s1880/Beetle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1880" data-original-width="1495" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialFcfHYNT04gNppfW-HsrLLTH2aWGM8J8IpC1qxYYtCP4ewYR7Ca95o1Rs5jOYLTHG1ULn0-esqFDhHMl-UaauwKqpSQUSPG-wAh_pbVzmVMuBbjBn2Uu1Pf9pGYvMHxNyV8xd-PyxmMB/w623-h781/Beetle.jpg" width="623" /></a></div><br /><div>Or this little guy who has taken up residence with his mates/family on my terrace. Watching him catch flies is sort of miraculous:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCL1_GIyUtLB2droH-BEJyvRWk-vyQF5SXY1yTR99c5e1YOStH0J9l04SWAIh4OzH4Qj5XRkMqYCQtJgriwuLFUYWnv_YgnR7dvvwfhOz0zSUH5OBAY0jAgtdRzEvIljOpbbN14U-N-8G/s2048/Lizard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCL1_GIyUtLB2droH-BEJyvRWk-vyQF5SXY1yTR99c5e1YOStH0J9l04SWAIh4OzH4Qj5XRkMqYCQtJgriwuLFUYWnv_YgnR7dvvwfhOz0zSUH5OBAY0jAgtdRzEvIljOpbbN14U-N-8G/w375-h500/Lizard.jpg" width="375" /></a></div><br /><div>Much more interesting than politics, celebrities, #LeftWingLunatics, don't you think?</div><div><br /></div><div>Both of these creatures carries on about their business without fanfare or calling the paparazzi. They just are. A lesson to us all perhaps?</div><div><br /></div><div>Photos copyright SvD.</div><div><br /></div>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-39925162508316368482020-07-17T08:24:00.001-07:002020-07-17T08:25:58.580-07:00Watching a bee hop around is great therapy<div>My lifestyle is pretty frenetic running here and there, fielding calls from clients, sorting out problems with Notaires and agents, rushing off on viewings, plus I have a home life too. Dogs, a partner, a house to maintain. I do feel at times that my head is literally spinning. Sometimes shutting out the noise in one's head necessitates switching off 'phones, retreating to the garden where I have planted buddleia, a fragrant flower beloved by bees. This morning I found a good 15 minutes to just stare at the bees as they made their way around the plant hungrily feeding off each flower. What joy! Simple stuff makes me happy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Always remember, happiness is in your head. I met a client last week who is depressed, suffers with insomnia and is on anti depressants. I asked him why he was so miserable when he seemingly has it all. I suggested to him that he begin each day by smiling and giving thanks. This week I ran into him and he seems much better. Sometimes we revel in being miserable because it gives us something to do. Of course people will start saying I am deriding mental illness. Not so. But I do believe that if you want to be happy, you can be because…... it's all in your head.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4thAM6eNwhQirYyDPu3NU70tsSfVyDGVsDv3YNP7ktsHeO_TPF7FH_trcmNztQJ-k6p8hnIhWxKnesENbWO03DrJnP6PQd31s0nvvwigrJOO4VMdgd3CnAzPNoJgw8PTpCF3ZsA2JIIja/s2048/20200710_144621+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4thAM6eNwhQirYyDPu3NU70tsSfVyDGVsDv3YNP7ktsHeO_TPF7FH_trcmNztQJ-k6p8hnIhWxKnesENbWO03DrJnP6PQd31s0nvvwigrJOO4VMdgd3CnAzPNoJgw8PTpCF3ZsA2JIIja/w586-h781/20200710_144621+%25281%2529.jpg" width="586" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Photo copyright SvD.</div><div><br /></div>Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-29434935866927789022020-07-08T10:06:00.003-07:002020-07-09T01:03:51.815-07:00The march of the Far Left<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Watching the prince and his handler as they rabbited word salads gleaned from self help books beloved by the likes of Oprah Winfrey (who as it happens grew very rich by regurgitating 'meaningful stuff' and 'changing lives'), I couldn't help feeling a surge of anger and exasperation. The prince and the handler are clearly a massive embarrassment to us Brits in general but the thing that riles me is their genuine lack of self awareness. I recall an American friend telephoning me in tears when the last episode of Oprah aired on TV. She felt bereft and mentor-less. Her days of soaking up wisdom while lying prostrate on a sofa in her pyjamas had come to an end and she felt rudderless. I watched Oprah once when she had dedicated an entire show to women whose hairdressers had ruined their lives with a bad haircut or the wrong colour. That was more than enough for me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">The prince and his handler are so transparent in their psychobabble ramblings it's frankly hilarious. I can just imagine as the handler waves at the prince the thinnest of tomes entitled How To Change the World By Speaking Bullshit while he maniacally eats his cornflakes crouched in a corner. 'You better memorise this from cover to cover by lunchtime and as a reward I'll let you have one oatcake with smashed avocado! DID YOU HEAR ME? Blink if you can hear me!' The prince nods his head frantically but suddenly a mouthful of cornflakes sticks in his throat, forcing him to wretch. 'Oh, FFS, you IDIOT! Didn't I tell you that one ship causes a tide of change or a tide happens when they're loads of ships, or whatever the fuck it is! STOP SNIVELLING, dying, you fool! Go and change that child's nappy! Or shag the nanny, I don't care! Just get the fuck out of my face because I need to finish my speech on google fucking translate!'</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Some time later, the prince can be seen rocking back and forth in a straitjacket. He's giggling. The Handler thrusts a script at him. 'Read this. We're on in ten minutes!' Cut to the prince reading the script with glazed eyes. And the rest we all know about. Videos enticing a revolution of sorts to change the way things are, to disrespect authority, to demand that anyone who doesn't sing from the same far left entitled woke script be cancelled, their livelihood and accomplishments destroyed, obliterated. The far Left seem to have appointed themselves the Stasi of liberalism (oh, the irony), enforcing their dogma and intent on permanently decimating free speech or even constructive dialogue. The horror of the current rise of the far Left is unbridled ignorance, complete absence of metaphysical thought, an inflated pride of having zero self understanding, a Proletariat grabbing of the reins forcing society to follow the new rules. Well, they can fuck right off.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">The handler who literally rose to her position by lying on her back is never going to speak in her own voice because she wouldn't know what it is. Put it this way, the sculptor Henry Moore, when interviewed about his work, remarked that it takes years for an artist to develop his own language. In other words, years of hard work, effort, graft, eventually becoming unique and recognisable. All of this is anathema to the woke generation brought up on a diet of instantaneous gratification. It seems no one bothered to tell them that they're nothing special after all. The truth is Da Vinci was remarkable but most of humanity is at best just average. The crux is not to be bothered by the pedantry of life but to understand that although wearisome, there is beauty in the simplicity of mundanity and in the ordinary. Simple, basic things ultimately provide human fulfilment. Here in France we are never far from reminders of the horrors of the Second World War. Every church or village square has a commemorative plaque to those who died in both World Wars. As young men lay dying in the trenches, witnesses recounted that their last word was often 'Mother!'. At the moment of death, they weren't ruing what they didn't have but the memory of a loving, protective presence. Love and courtesy to one another, seeing goodness in others, accepting that sometimes, in the words of Voltaire, we should be more preoccupied by our vegetable garden than the chaos of the world and its characters. Obsessing about what others think of us is without importance; yes, criticism can hurt but there are no guarantees in life or fool proof recipe for nirvana. Most of us bumble through life, awkward and unsure but over time we find an ease with ourselves that can be disarming. Authentic minds are rare but they they are very powerful. Someone who is comfortable in their own skin doesn't need to say so. They also see the world for what it is - a morass of soon forgotten details which fleetingly seemed to be of significance.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Listening to Test Cricket in the UK today, I was despairing at the commentary which turned to racism. I wondered out loud how black West Indian cricketers managed to become some of the best players in the world, when they are, shock horror, black. I don't know what level of tolerance I am supposed to exhibit? Should I genuflect when meeting a black person? Should I apologise for being European? Should I take to the streets and wave a banner that "BlackLivesMatter"? Everyone is inherently racist and discriminates daily and unconsciously about something or other. The far Left who have some of the most dysfunctional lives and self medicate their dysmorphic brains with drugs, don't lie awake worrying that the peasant growing the stuff is essentially enslaved by the drug cartels, do they?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">The same applies to transgender rights. Well, I have rights too as a heterosexual woman born biologically as a woman and still with all her parts who sees herself as a woman. I don't actually have the energy to try and understand why your right to be understood and accepted is my bloody problem! I don't actually care! And no, if you haven't got a womb and have never menstruated you're not a woman, just hoping you were. The issue of rights in choosing sexuality is all new territory, the flagship of the woke warriors and sadly, there will be repercussions for future generations who will see 'confused' as the norm.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">When I did live radio and would interview guests I was frequently amazed by how easily they would share their problems. The secret to interviewing is that people LOVE to talk about themselves so let them. But why not switch your perspective around? Instead of complaining, why not exalt the good in the world and condemn the bad to the recesses of your reality. Which is precisely why I'm ignoring the prince and his handler and the rights that everyone wants because it's not society that matters or starving kids or some poor bloke who lost his livelihood through Coronavirus, IT'S THEM, or rather, ME, ME, ME, MYSELF and I, I, I....</span></span></div>
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Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-69068978835192240592020-05-30T07:08:00.003-07:002020-05-30T07:22:51.997-07:00Rufus van DalenMy darling doggie, Rufus, went to Heaven today. I could not have asked for a better friend. For ten years of the fifteen years we were together, Rufus and I only had each other and my priority was always him. I organised my life around my dear, faithful, wonderful hound. I could have given him up and gone off to live in London enjoying theatre, opera, art, all of the things I love. But here was someone who totally relied on me and who was my responsibility. People used to say that I should give him away so that I could have a better chance of meeting the man of my dreams. To me that wasn't as important and seeing my doggie smiling and knowing HE was happy and contented.<br />
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Rufus and I used to walk for hours in the countryside in Surrey, Northamptonshire, Brittany and latterly the South West of France. When the dark fog of depression hounded me, Rufus and I would go for even longer walks and the clouds of despair would soon lift. How could I be sad watching Rufus roll in the grass or disappear into a field of buttercups and suddenly see his head appear, a huge grin on his face? Walking became my therapy and wherever I went, Rufus went too. If it hadn't been for Rufus, I simply wouldn't be here. In my darlest days, I just couldn't bear the prospect of leaving my dog behind.<br />
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In the last year, Rufus' cancer gradually reduced his quality of life to the point that he no longer smiled or looked happy. He remained patient with his younger brothers, particularly the puppy who would playfully crawl all over him and then bite his ears hoping for a reaction. Watching Rufus wither away broke my heart. In the last few days, he could barely get up and didn't even give me a second glance when I would leave the house with his brothers on my daily walk. I could sense Rufus was separating himself from me, once so close that he would sleep in my bed, his head snuggled into my back. Now he showed disinterest to everyone and everything.<br />
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Today has been an agonising flood of tears, so many that I can barely stand up. As he drew his last breath, I held Rufus in my arms, kissing his head and telling him how much I loved him and what a perfect dog he had been all of his life. I shall miss you, my darling. What a hole has been left in our lives and in our hearts. Sweet Rufus, my 'Babda', my saviour, I know you're gambolling amongst the buttercups now.<br />
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Photo copyright Ian C.<br />
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<span id="goog_1603711217"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1603711218"></span><br />Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-87325047877200939362020-05-23T01:04:00.001-07:002020-05-23T01:04:55.716-07:00Happiness is......sharing when you love someone..<br />
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Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-15030579167454603382020-05-03T09:01:00.000-07:002020-05-03T09:01:36.297-07:00Beauty in small things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-44302658037752835392020-04-28T01:45:00.000-07:002020-04-28T01:45:09.564-07:00Sweetness in #lockdown Confined to the house since 17 March, hubby has taken to cake making like a duck to water regaling me daily with unctuous, fattening delights which I cannot resist. I am weak. Someone else in this photo is tempted too.<br />
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Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-9801737625157693182020-04-19T06:07:00.003-07:002020-04-19T09:06:43.194-07:00Estrangement: darkness before dawnFor the last five years I have been working in French law and helping French property owners resolve succession or buying/selling isssues. In one particular case, a lady rang up to say that her mother had been sequestered in her house in France by her son who had also stolen all of the mother's money, or put in a more PC way, drained her bank accounts. I remember listening and then calmly putting the 'phone down once the conversation had ended. You see, the same thing happened to me.<br />
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One can read all the latest psychological ramblings and research on the effects of sibling estrangement. Supposedly it is rare (less than 5% in the US) but here's what I've learned through experience. I am an orphan. I am extremely resilient and hard working. I became a genius through poverty. Betrayal makes you hard as nails. You can spot a fraud, a time waster, a user, less than a mile away. The overwhelming sense of hatred doesn't diminish with time even though you want to forgive. I developed Herculean mental strength in order to survive. I view acquaintances/friends with detachment because when the chips were down, I was alone, on my own, completely by myself. I don't ask for advice because too many are curious not caring.<br />
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The benefits of estrangement mean that you work harder to make something of your life because no one, not even your own family would really care if you were lying dead in a ditch. That's a very hard pill to swallow especially when my late father never tired of telling me how much he adored me but the facts speak otherwise. I could have spent the last fourteen years dead but I chose to push myself so hard that I was able to buy my own home for cash and fulfil my dream of living in France. Don't get me wrong, I cracked under the strain and considered suicide. And I have had to sacrifice a lot in order to survive. But guess what? There are many others like me, so what I have had to endure is nothing special or extraordinary, so let's just call it 'unfortunate'. The flipside is it made me a better human being.<br />
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Life remains an incredible gift -somewhere in the stars we happened to be and I very much believe in the inevitability of life. Happiness too can be inevitable. I never take my life for granted. How lucky am I to be able to live in France, to be able to earn a living, to have three beautiful, contented dogs, to have found a supportive partner? How lucky am I to never waste a moment? To fill my days with work, cooking, writing, walking my dogs, gazing at my beautiful garden? How lucky am I to have simple, humble expectations of life? How lucky am I to still be able to love?<br />
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I wrote an earlier post on this blog about not despairing. After all, every time the sun rises or sets, is the promise of a new dawn. Just never forget that despair and anguish take up an awful lot of time which could be better spent elsewhere. And being distraught 24/7 will literally drive you insane. In the words of Monty Python, 'Always look of the bright side of life!'. Believe me, that's the one thing no one will ever do for you. No one can save your life, only you can.<br />
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All my best wishes to anyone who is estranged. Don't give up - take your life back with both hands. You are not alone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFhD8TIc4cBI42gUbJy4RtvjkHF8sh1L6xflWNbXoWDs-LPT7cP-4ymBkpR56eW6hTtFHbLfSyZQxvu4bid7F5luOtExKESks9jns3tbc3wFpBqymgHnlriH1r9gfj57CYb2qe1XVwRUu/s1600/20191202_175007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFhD8TIc4cBI42gUbJy4RtvjkHF8sh1L6xflWNbXoWDs-LPT7cP-4ymBkpR56eW6hTtFHbLfSyZQxvu4bid7F5luOtExKESks9jns3tbc3wFpBqymgHnlriH1r9gfj57CYb2qe1XVwRUu/s640/20191202_175007.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-72902790786658159982020-04-14T01:26:00.001-07:002020-04-14T06:44:26.530-07:00Better days are coming....#Lockdown means I can enjoy walks with the dogs in the Spring sunshine and my, isn't it lovely, the warm rays on my face after a long and damp Winter. Yesterday, as we hoiked ourselves up the hill, the hounds panting loudly, I was reminded of the passage in the Bible about the birds always having enough to eat, so why should we worry? We came upon dozens of oak seedlings carpeted under the parent tree, their nascent, pale green leaves, straining towards the sun. The local red squirrels in France can often be seen jumping from tree to tree and this Winter, had a surfeit of acorns to gorge on and forgive the pun, squirrel away. Any that were left over germinated into saplings, nature renewing its eternal promise of hope and of better days to come. Don't despair, don't worry, go for a walk in the woods and see what the future holds.<br />
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Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-79020857146688853532020-04-09T00:41:00.000-07:002020-04-09T00:41:01.208-07:00When everything looks this perfect........it's hard to imagine the current chaos in the world. 'Things fall apart, the centre MUST hold.'<br />
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Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-50485756453860116412020-04-03T09:05:00.003-07:002020-04-03T09:05:42.830-07:00Happiness in #lockdown.....is sitting on the terrace in the sun with my older brothers.<br />
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Photos copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-54918813795624722332020-03-27T04:10:00.001-07:002020-03-27T04:10:38.378-07:00Whiling away time......perfecting poached eggs (hubby):<br />
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On home made bread.<br />
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Making a nut pie with leftover Christmas walnuts and hazelnuts:<br />
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Simple things provide infinite pleasure and bring out the best in us.<br />
Photos copyright SvD.<br />
<br />Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-22225275282696416572020-03-10T10:03:00.001-07:002020-03-10T10:03:27.801-07:00Places to avoid on a Friday night......due to caronavirus but we had a blast at our local pub. Great music and traditional fish and chips!<br />
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Photo copyright SvD.Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117031677230769680.post-37240599534926276252020-02-12T10:32:00.002-08:002020-02-12T10:32:26.240-08:00Spot the dog...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Photo copyright Ian C.</div>
<br />Samantha van Dalenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02046323776293511130noreply@blogger.com0