Mixed Blessings

Like life everywhere, mine has had its share of pluses and minuses over the last few days. Our weather, the most atypical I've seen here in Provence, remains overcast, cool, and rainy. We've had thunderstorms and wind that threatened to blow us off to Oz. Tempests bring fits of temper and, for awhile, we almost succumbed to the tone set by the black cloud covering the hills out our window.

The same dark cloud seems to be everywhere these days and, while the climate is chilly, the workers here in France are heating up to another series of strikes and manifestations. Perhaps inspired by the 40th anniversary of the Evenements du Mai--the huge semi-revolution that swept France and particularly Paris in 1968 while I was a student at the Sorbonne--the fisherman, farmers, truckers, and train folks are all having conniptions and then some over the price of gas, the lengthening of their work week and work years before retirement, plus about anything else that comes to mind. Our local fish monger at the Buis market said he'd probably not be there next week because he can't get his fish and June 10 promises to be a big bust out around the country on lots of fronts. And so it goes.

The greve--or strike--gremlins, came to our house yesterday when the internet sort of worked but I couldn't get my e-mails to come up. We've had problems all week with power outages and subsequent phone and computer glitches but yesterday was a pip. The worst though was the wild cat strike our water heater decided to throw after we hosted a dinner party for seven last night. Plates from three courses, water and wine glasses, giant earthenware stew pots, and silverware littered every counter in the kitchen. (We have no dishwasher, by the way.) As we said "bonne nuit" to all and handed them their umbrellas, we went to deal with the detritus. Earlier in the evening the water was cold but we figured we'd just used all the warm stuff up. Several hours later, unfortunately, we still couldn't conjure any hot water from the tap.

I took out my trusty fuse map we'd inherited from the former owner and checked everything I could figure out. Now, at 11 p.m. after aperatifs and a glass or two of red with the meal, I wasn't feeling particularly "handy." Nothing seemed amiss that I could tell so we shrugged our shoulders and went to bed, visions of electricians or plumbers dancing in our heads.

This morning, all was better. The hot water strike was over and the net was up and running. We tackled the dishes, checked e-mail, and returned to the fact that we'd had a great time the night before.

Our new acquaintances, the French/American couple came to dinner with a visiting brother in tow along with our British friends, Steve and Jo. Starting with an aperatif viognier from the women-run vinters at Gros Pata, we nibbled on a tapenade with tomatoes and mozzarella--the recipe from Hallie's book by the same name. Once "a table," we feasted on one of Hallie's fabulous salads featuring--what else--more of the fat, white asparagus spears that will dissappear next week for another year. Next up I--the chicken queen-- pulled off a frugal, silk purse out of a sow's ear kind of dish, chicken stew with artichokes, local olives, and red wine that melded into a luscious, simmered concoction. Hallie did her magic with the local epautre, a kind of farro or spelt, turning it to into something far above a hearty grain, using home-made stock, a hint of herbs and a crown of last minute cheese. I'd made our current house special, the cherry and olive oil cake, earlier in the day giving the house a bit of warm, caramel perfume, and brought it out graced with a dollop of vanilla bean ice cream as a closer. Everyone laughed like crazy through the evening as we talked about such things as living in foreign lands, ex-spouses, and even politics-a volatile but permitted topic here in France. Fun, fun, fun.

The wicked witch melted in all the rain and, so far, the plus column tallies up better than the minus--all a person really can ask from life, even when all it does is pour.