Haven't I written for almost a week? Where did that week go?
Well, for one thing, we have been out of internet for a few days, when the "storm of the decade" hit a great part of France over three or four days. One night, the wind was so strong that Lindsey and I, in the camper van, felt like we would be blown away. In the morning, it was found that a pole had fallen on the chimney and broken it, and that the geese house and the sheep shed had been destroyed. The tiny greenhouse where the newspaper pots which I had made were kept, had fallen down, and the wind had scattered the paper pots all around the farm, along the road, and in the neighboring field. And an ash tree, as large as I am long, had fallen down on the road.
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Friday night we went to a music event in Crevant, about 20 km away. Well we almost didn't go, because Peter while driving out of the house was so excited that he drove the car into the muddy ditch. I think that getting the car out of the ditch has been the most exciting moment of the evening for him. (In fact, it seems that almost every time we take the car, there is something to solve with it; not enough gas, a flat tire, the car not starting... I wonder if Peter purposefully and secretly keeps his car in 'on the edge' condition so that he can get a blast fixing issues and having little crisis moments.)
The music event in Crevant was an open mic held every two weeks, organized by the crowd of British who live around here (they are in great part retired, and need to create entertainment for themselves). The place was filled with surprisingly-unfriendly-looking-surprisingly-British-looking people. Some great pieces were played, and some very boring and ugly ones too. Two guys played incredibly boring folk songs at the violin, surprisingly followed with amazing electric guitars and Sex Pistols.
For a while I spoke with a French woman who lives nearby. The conversation started when she learned that I am Canadian, because she had always dreamed of visiting Canada, because a friend of her parents, when she was a child, came from there - and from the way she repeatedly spoke about him, I think she must have had a crush on him. She was very pleasant.
She and her husband had held a bar-restaurant their whole working life. Working from 8 am to 10 pm in the winter, later in the summer, only taking off Sundays and one month in the Fall. At night, she would immediately fall asleep when she got to bed. And oh, how she enjoyed her Sunday. Sleeping late. Watching television. Sunday evening was sacred.
As I told her that it must have been pretty hard, she replied, "yes, it was hard, but it was fun, and it was our life. Most of our customers were our friends, and we would party with them too. No, I do not regret it."
A few months after she retired, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. That was hard as well. But now, two years later, she is back on her feet.
She gave me her address. She said I should go visit them at their house. She had the kindest smile and energy. When I left, we exchanged kisses across the table.
