50-years-old seemed as good a time as any for a new adventure. In January 2009, after selling my home, my car and most of my 'stuff', I quit my job and hopped a plane to begin a year in Provence, France. I'm now moving into year six. I just can't seem to leave.

Often people tell me my folly was a "brave" thing to do. I'm not sure that I agree about the "brave" was really more like "a now or never" issue. And since we all know that never is a really dumb word, here I am, living in a beautiful city in the south of France with a roof-prowling cat named Arthur and, Maurice, the dancing fish. They both only speak French which puts me in a bit of a fact, learning this language has put me in a lot of pickles.  As has trying to find jeans in a country where the women don't seem to have hips!

They say you only get one shot at life. I'm not sure if that is true but I am sure that I don't want to waste this one. And I am also sure that life never turns out the way we planned and good planning doesn't necessarily make a good life. Sometimes we just have to jump off the edge. I jumped and the fall is turning out to be one hell of a ride.