 |
|
©Ian
Coristine/1000IslandsPhotoArt.com
|
Saint Yves
Last month, I wrote about this huge event, not realizing
how huge it really was. After seeing my ability to crawl through the
cathedral catwalks, I got volunteered to help with the 'security' detail
for the event itself. Assuming they would provide me with the basic tools like a gun, mace, a taser, a club and handcuffs, they elected to give me an armband. It was more like being a glorified usher.
I appreciate their confidence in my hand to hand combat skills but it sounded like
they were not really expecting much trouble from the sisters or the
infirm in wheel chairs. Still, there is a lot of irony in having a Protestant helping secure the relics of a Catholic Saint. Go figure.
St. Yves being the patron saint of lawyers, daughter Mandy decided to drive from Germany with her guy Markus and participate in the
event. She was dressed in her robe and was seated in the chancel (the
area around the altar) with all other lawyers similarly attired. After the service, the 5000 or so people in attendance walked in a procession about a mile away to the village of the saint's birth. Mandy, as seen below, was requisitioned to participate in the immediate inner circle of pennetants to escort the relics. All in all, quite an event.
.JPG)
During their visit, we traveled to Carnac to see the standing stones. I have written about these before ( See Epistle, April 2006) but it was a first time for Markus. Located about 2 1/2 hours from home they are an alignment of 3,000 neolithic standing stones dating to 4500 BC that comprise an area about a mile and a half long (2km+). While far less known than Stonehenge in the UK because of the remote location, going to Carnac would be comparable to taking a kid to Disneyland instead of the toy department at Wall Mart.
 |
| Meanwhile Janice finished a painting that will make its way to Cassie's house |
Life in the village
Once
in a while, something happens around here that reminds you that you are
living in a very different culture and lifestyle. I was visiting our
village blacksmith the other day, when I saw a fellow I had seen around
on occasion wave me over from across an adjacent field.
Curious, I went over and I was invited to join a couple of old codgers from the village who were getting together for a late afternoon round of adult beverages. These guys regularly meet in the French version of a man cave, albeit at ground level, for a lot of... well, scratching and spitting.
Clearly, as an outsider, ( I refer to myself as a tourist with a house) being invited was quite an honor. It was sort of like being invited backstage at a Beyonce* concert. The only higher level in the village inclusion pecking order would be being invited to play "boules", a game similar to lawn bowling...without the lawn. Here, it is done surreptitiously in a small building behind the bar in almost as much of a secret fashion as a "Skull and Bones" secret society meeting at Yale University. I could be here a thousand years and its unlikely that I would be invited into the inner sanctum.
The
kicker is how the 'boys' notify each other that it is time to meet at
the tree fort without the tree. The ringleader raises a white flag for
those within line of sight (a rather ironic choice considering its
history with that particular behavior) and then
sets off a firecracker to warn those within earshot to create an excuse
with the Mrs. to step away from the household to go check on something
or other for a while.
After
a lot of political talk (no matter how many times I offer them Obama
as a gift they continue to politely turn me down) I returned home to the
wrath of my Mrs. for being an hour late for dinner.
*For my younger readers, Beyonce is like the Back Street Boys. For my very young readers, "The Back Street Boys" is like the "Avenged Sevenfold". As for you mom, think Perry Como.
Next, we got invited to spend a morning at a french bakery learning the in's and outs of bread and pastry making. Friends in the village have a son who owns a bakery nearby and paved the way for us to spy on the secret methods. Entirely too much fun!
On an other front, France has started rolling out super sized vending machines on steroids that dispense everything from a toothbrush to feminine hygiene products. Located at unmanned automated gas stations, they are the French version of your typical 7-11 stop-n-rob. Of course you can also pick up cigarettes, condoms and beer, to have all the key ingredients for a full evening of poor decision making - or entertainment- depending on your point of view.
Meanwhile, we came across a real novelty. I have often heard the expression "my dance card is full", meaning that my schedule is such that I am unable to fit anything else in. Recently, we were visiting an older French lady when I spotted the item below. Carved of Ivory, the longer thin bit held pencil lead. The ring allowed the piece to be attached to a lady's wrist or ball gown.
But, when opened it displayed several 'leaves' which would record the names of the gentlemen she intended to dance with. When all the pages were filled, her dance card was full and she could no longer dance with anyone else. Living part time in Europe just opens our eyes to these kind of historical tid bits that just fascinate us to no end.
I can’t believe this is happening. I have barely got started having fun in retirement when I get this crushing news. I was researching online the other day when I came across my ‘Death Clock’. The web site questionnaire asked 5 simple questions then calculated that my date of death would be February 3rd, 2022 at age 71, 5 months and 26 days. Say what? My beneficiaries are probably licking their chops and marking their calendars!
That’s only 9 years from now and I have barely made a dent on my bucket list. Why, I don’t even have my pilot’s license or built my submarine yet! That kind of news could drive a man to drink. Instead, I got it into high gear and frantically searched for a more reliable source. I found it on the CIA web site where they track the life expectancy of people in different countries. Their chart showed that I could expect to live to age 78. HA! And they didn’t even ask a single question!!!
Taking a very scientific risk assessment approach, they had a 50 question form to fill out. This covered everything from present age, occupation, weight, smoking, eating and drinking habits, the number of miles driven per year, seat belt usage, frequency of dental visits, and on and on and on...and they came up with the RIGHT answers. Turns out that with my clean living and occasional pure thoughts, I have a 50% chance of living beyond 87.83 years and a 25% chance of living longer than 95.14 years.
With all the possible convoluted relationship permutations available these days, they don’t actually ask if you are ‘married’. But, full disclosure requires that I reveal that according to them, having a sexual partner will reduce my life span by a little over 14 days over the next 3 decades. For years, I have been telling Janice that she is killing me every time we have a date. Now I can prove it.
*For my younger readers, Beyonce is like the Back Street Boys. For my very young readers, "The Back Street Boys" is like the "Avenged Sevenfold". As for you mom, think Perry Como.
Next, we got invited to spend a morning at a french bakery learning the in's and outs of bread and pastry making. Friends in the village have a son who owns a bakery nearby and paved the way for us to spy on the secret methods. Entirely too much fun!
On an other front, France has started rolling out super sized vending machines on steroids that dispense everything from a toothbrush to feminine hygiene products. Located at unmanned automated gas stations, they are the French version of your typical 7-11 stop-n-rob. Of course you can also pick up cigarettes, condoms and beer, to have all the key ingredients for a full evening of poor decision making - or entertainment- depending on your point of view.
Meanwhile, we came across a real novelty. I have often heard the expression "my dance card is full", meaning that my schedule is such that I am unable to fit anything else in. Recently, we were visiting an older French lady when I spotted the item below. Carved of Ivory, the longer thin bit held pencil lead. The ring allowed the piece to be attached to a lady's wrist or ball gown.
But, when opened it displayed several 'leaves' which would record the names of the gentlemen she intended to dance with. When all the pages were filled, her dance card was full and she could no longer dance with anyone else. Living part time in Europe just opens our eyes to these kind of historical tid bits that just fascinate us to no end.
 |
| A lady's dance card |
Finally, I have mentioned before that I have had a lot of fun at other peoples expense by telling new people we meet here (when asked about my occupation) that unfortunately, I spent 30 years in prison. This, of course, is accompanied by the appropriate hang dog sulk and a 'what's a guy to do' look. Janice invariably spoils the fun and reveals the rest of the story. The thing is that several of the guys I know tell me that the initial reaction of their horror stricken wives was so funny that they now routinely use the line themselves. Boys will be boys.
I am
dying
I can’t believe this is happening. I have barely got started having fun in retirement when I get this crushing news. I was researching online the other day when I came across my ‘Death Clock’. The web site questionnaire asked 5 simple questions then calculated that my date of death would be February 3rd, 2022 at age 71, 5 months and 26 days. Say what? My beneficiaries are probably licking their chops and marking their calendars!
That’s only 9 years from now and I have barely made a dent on my bucket list. Why, I don’t even have my pilot’s license or built my submarine yet! That kind of news could drive a man to drink. Instead, I got it into high gear and frantically searched for a more reliable source. I found it on the CIA web site where they track the life expectancy of people in different countries. Their chart showed that I could expect to live to age 78. HA! And they didn’t even ask a single question!!!
Now on a
roll, I checked with the Social Security administration, figuring that they
have this down to a fine science since they have a vested interest in people
kicking off sooner rather than later. My score? 81½ years old. Well at least
the figures were heading the right way. Finally,
I found a source that wasn’t goofing around.
Taking a very scientific risk assessment approach, they had a 50 question form to fill out. This covered everything from present age, occupation, weight, smoking, eating and drinking habits, the number of miles driven per year, seat belt usage, frequency of dental visits, and on and on and on...and they came up with the RIGHT answers. Turns out that with my clean living and occasional pure thoughts, I have a 50% chance of living beyond 87.83 years and a 25% chance of living longer than 95.14 years.
With all the possible convoluted relationship permutations available these days, they don’t actually ask if you are ‘married’. But, full disclosure requires that I reveal that according to them, having a sexual partner will reduce my life span by a little over 14 days over the next 3 decades. For years, I have been telling Janice that she is killing me every time we have a date. Now I can prove it.
My French
I was raised in Quebec, so we were completely bilingual at home. I also attended a french school until my first year of university, so you would expect my command of the language to be decent and it is. The thing is that when I moved to California, I spent the next 20 years...ok, ok, the next 35+ years... hardly ever speaking a word of french. When I left I was still a teenager and so like, you know, like, most kids like, have a more limited like, I dunno, like, vocabulary.
Obviously, my entire professional career was in English. When we started hanging out part of the year in France, I immediately found that I was inept at properly articulating my thoughts in french. Like any 'lost' skill, in time it returns and slowly I am amassing a considerably more extensive repertoire of expressions, some of which cannot be repeated in mixed company much less in a family publication.
Janice, having shown up late in the game, improves significantly every year but still struggles when things get complicated.
The Eagle has landed
Feeling the urge to move on, we drove to Paris, boarded a flight to New York and drove home. There is no getting around it, opening and closing the island is the most labor intensive location of them all. In California and in France, there is one or two days of work at each end to pack and deal with things when you know you will not be back for 8 months.
At the Island, there is not only a complete water treatment system that needs to be re-activated but boats to be launched, and a plethora of stuff to be started up that have spent the past 8 months mothballed under tarps. It is easily a 4 day chore to open and 5 days to close up at the end of the season. Is it worth it? Well, the 120 days of pure nirvana in between sure are!
I have been asked if we use a checklist or something to make sure we don't forget to do something important. Yes, we kind of do. Like a 3 or 4 page checklist seen below for each departure. A similar one awaits our arrival at each location. This is by far not all encompassing but just the critical things that MUST be done. To pull this off and not have it be a monkey fest, a good deal of logistical organization is required.
Forget something as simple as the charging chord for your camera, your bank checkbook registers or your shaver and it will be 8 months before you get a chance to get it back. I know, I have done all three.
Late news
A few days ago, Janice flew to the west coast to visit the kids and grand kids. The plan is for her to return with 4 year old granddaughter Kayla for the summer and have her mom Cassie fly out to take her back in September. This was to help Cassie have extra time to study. As this goes to publication, there is a twist in the plan and I am flying out today to join them for a week. I will have more to tell next month for sure.
Finally, your financial tip of the month:
A la longue, la voiture sera moins cher
