Back on day Twenty-Seven I told you about a course I was taking through Going With Grace called The Living Practice. Each day you’re given something to think about, write about, and enrich your living experience by thinking about your death.
Yes, I know that sounds counter-intuitive, but it really isn’t. Every day you do things, whether you realize it or not, you’re building your legacy. Your life is your message to others about what kind of a person you are externally, and to some extent even to yourself. But the juicy part, as Alua Arthur, founder of Going With Grace, likes to say, is that who you think you are may not actually be who you are.
We all have to go through the every day life stuff. We have to survive. We have to pay bills. We make time for social interaction or hobbies or adventure. But, who are we really? Without anything external, who are you?
I’m still pondering that one, but the question I’ve come to the answer for is:
Who or what was your most impactful death?
Of all the people I have loved and lost in this lifetime (part of the reason I became a Death Doula), the most impactful death would have to be my best friend L3 aka Bean. I lived with her and she with me for the majority of our adult lives. She was so freaking quirky, weird, and resentful of being pulled out of her comfort zone. A little secret I never told her, she MADE me braver than I felt.
I was friends with her for 37 years. She and I fought, laughed, created, sang, played, roadtripped, went to concerts, went on vacations together. She was my secret keeper. She was the fastest typer I’ve ever seen. I think they clocked her at like 125 wpm without errors. She was happier in a world of fantasy than in real life where disappointments followed her around like a rabid dog.
When she died, I got fucked up in the head. The person who was always there was gone. Who did that make me then? It took me about five years before I could think of her without crying or feeling devastatingly sad. Which, when you love someone like I loved her and know that you’re loved back, that loss is going to do exactly that.
Okay, so why was it the most impactful? I was 49, she was a month past 50 when she died. I suppose it’s a trick of my own disbelief or even a naivete’ but who the freak dies at 50? I was looking down that barrel myself and it freaked me out.
It made me really look at my life. I was unhappy. I was deeply depressed. I was so ridden with anxiety I couldn’t handle even missing a bus. Did I want to live the rest of my life like that? What could I change to make my life a better place to live?
She was the most impactful because I decided I wanted to live after she died. I mean live like we had intended to do together. She made me braver than I ever thought possible. She gave me the gift of life by leaving hers.
And now, here I am in freaking France getting ready to head to Portugal. The things I’ve seen would have made her laugh. The food would have blown her mind. The atmosphere would be right up her alley. She, although not physically, is still with me. She’s still here next to me,
I wear Bean in this.
(Well technically around my neck since I wear some of her ashes always) cheering me on to the best life I can live, for the both of us.
May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!
Since February I’ve had a plan in place for September and October. I was going to fly into Paris and stay a couple of days. (check) Then take public transportation to Caen, Normandie, France. (check) I planned on staying in one place for September them move to another for the month of October. (check) Then I was going to stay in my client’s home while they went to Morocco. (Uh…) Well that was a bust, so I made reservations for another place in Caen. But…
If I’m not going to be working, why should I stay in one place? I started looking around. I checked out Brussels, Belgium. I looked at Geneva, Switzerland. I checked out The Hague in the Netherlands. But, they are rather cost prohibitive last minute. Then I thought about Barcelona, Spain. Again cost prohibitive.
I have a friend that housesits on the west coast of the U.S. and in Portugal. She’s told me so many good stories about her journeys that I started looking towards Lisbon.
Okay, so a bus goes from Caen to Lisbon via a route through Paris. As it turns out, it’s the same bus I would have used to get to Paris for my flight home.
Well, can my flight be changed from Paris to Lisbon? Why yes, yes it can. Okay, but can I find an affordable place to stay in Lisbon?
Yes indeed. Did you know that you can search for OMG places on airbnb.com? As it turns out there is a hobbit house you can rent, but I couldn’t figure out how to get to the affordable place because it was not very close to Lisbon.
What I did find was a boat. Like a real live boat. It is located near Lisbon, close to public transportation, and it’s affordable.
I rearranged everything, canceled, reworked, submitted, and dudes, I’m going to Lisbon, Portugal! I figure I’m never going to have this opportunity again and if I didn’t do it, I’d kick my own ass for being anxiety-ridden enough to maintain.
Courage is feeling the fear and doing it anyway. No guts, no glory. It’s my intellectual way of saying, “Hey ya’ll, watch this.” We’ll find out what happens.
Downside, the bus trip is like 32 hours. Bonus, I’ll be traveling through a lot of France, across Spain, and into Portugal. Did I forget to mention that some friends from ORUUC, my church back in Tennessee, moved to Portugal last December? OH! AND! They happen to live in the same neighborhood as the hobbit house. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get to see it, but I KNOW I’ll be lucky enough to see them,
We’re already in talks for me to train down to them and spend a couple days. Dudes, the world is a beautiful place.
May peace be with you wherever you are. You are loved!
As I was going about my day, I had thoughts that I jotted down because they resonated with my sensibilities. If they don’t yours, that’s okay.
Know what you want and make it happen.
Fall in love with everything always, every day.
Don’t forget to look up to the falling leaves. Their promises have already been met.
Keep moving, even if it’s a sidestep. (Miss Marge used to tell me that was the secret to a long life, keep moving. I added the sidestep because I’m prone to misadventures and being lost).
Desire paths are not always according to the plans of the well intentioned.
This is a quote I read today in an article about “Desire paths.”
“You’ve just taken a “desire path,” described by Robert Macfarlane as “paths & tracks made over time by the wishes & feet of walkers, especially those…that run contrary to design or planning”; he calls them “free-will ways.” Robert Moor offers other terms, such as ‘cow paths,’ ‘pirate paths,’ ‘social trails,’ ‘kemonomichi (beast trails),’ ‘chemins de l’ane (donkey paths)’, and ‘Olifantenpad (elephant trails).’ JM Barrie described them as ‘Paths that have made themselves.’
I know! I’ve been sharing with you all these wonderful places. When I went to the Chateau de Caen, there was just so much to see and share. This will be the third and final installment of what I’ve already done.
The white building
is where they held banquets and meetings.
It smells like age, it felt hallowed, it had bird
poop everywhere as well as their feathers.
The meeting hall is where they gathered. The stained glass window faced towards the East. The broken picture with the walls showing could feel the age it held. Even though much of the buildings that I’ve been showing you were destroyed by the bombings that took place in 1944-ish, they’ve been lovingly restored.
Why all the pictures of the floor? Because they weren’t just stone floors. They were carefully crafted of 3″x3″ squares with the brown broken up by the blue/green/and white mosaic tiles. I was impressed with the technique and the style. In addition, I could sense the thousands of people who walked those very floors whether they be nobility or a janitor. It’s an inanimate building, but I imagined the stories the history could tell if it were explained by the people who lived, worked, met, and played there.
The building on the lower left is the Meeting Hall. This picture was taken as I stepped up onto the castle wall to walk about and see the “world” layed at my feet. I wondered, since this is one of the larger palaces, what it must have felt like to keep watch from here. Pacing back and forth, ever keen for noises or visual changes in the landscape.
Gratuitous flowers for you.Growing because they Caen.13th century courtyard
A bit of a confession. When I exited the Meeting Hall, I went to the right. I saw a path that led up a hill to the castle wall. I really got excited to walk about the place, but instead I ended up at the wall, not a place to walk it. As I wandered back down to find the right way to get where I wanted to go, I snapped these shots to give you a bit more observational points of view.
From this opening in the wall:I saw this…and this…and this…and this. Wow!
I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I couldn’t breathe at first. After having seen pictures at the Musee de Normandie several days ago, the destruction that was brought on this city was painful to witness. But like a true warrior champion, thriving despite the terrors it’s endured, I felt the resilience of the people throbbing with life. I didn’t expect to feel emotional. Curious, yes, but to feel the collective breath of humanity pulsing was phenomenal.
An archer’s window.The view from the archer’s window.
These pictures are of a keep being excavated. It dates back to the 11th century in some places. The round building is one of the corners. Around that is a freaking moat! I wonder if it were filled by the canal that used to run in front of the nearby church of Saint Peter.
Overlooking the recovered walls of the keep, I looked over and saw a gully like space. When I looked over the edge, to my delight there were sheep munching on grass, doing sheep things. SQUEE!As I was getting ready to leave, I saw this cannon lined up with a place from which it could possibly have fired from long ago. There had, at one time, been stairs allowing people to get closer, but I’m going to guess this had to be idiot-proofed.
All that and a bag of chips, eh? That concludes my visit to the Chateau de Caen, former palace of William the Conqueror. I’m glad that it’s taken me a few days to get through all the pictures I took because it’s allowed me to reflect instead of react.
Thursday, the twenty-ninth.
The place where I’ve set up shop until the 20th is for sale. They call it a condo, I would call it an efficiency apartment. For a person who travels a lot or who spends a lot of time at work/play, this is an ideal place for one person to crash. Live…I don’t know. It’s functional.
Because of the circumstances, a realtor has been bringing people by to view the place. Monday and today I’ve had to make myself scarce so they could show it uninterrupted. I’m totally okay with that. In a way, because the place is small and gets untidy if you turn around, it’s holding me responsible for maintaining a cleaner environment than I would back home.
My house in Tennessee is pretty much my studio so there are a variety of projects in various stages of progress in my organized mess. My cat is a furball so I vacuum more frequently that I like, but he’s a cute asshole of a furball.
ANYWAY!
I went in search of art supplies. I’m jonesing really bad for a fix of some paint on my hands. I tried looking up art stores and art supply stores but got housewares and home decorating shops. I thought a bit and tried looking for craft stores. TADA! I found one. Address in hand, I used my Twisto app to navigate. What do you know? Not only did Line 1 go where I wanted to be, BUT the stop was a half a block away! I did the tidy up of apartment and of myself, dressed (because nudity is not acceptable as a rule) and headed out to kill some time.
The ride was very city view. Twisto warned of protests in the city center of Caen that were possible disruptive of the bus service, although I didn’t notice delays. I rode to the end of the line.
Color me so very American because I was perplexed at what I was seeing. I even asked the conducteur if I was at the right place. He assured me I really was at the mall. I didn’t think to get a picture because I’ve never seen anything like it.
Think, strip mall made up of big name box stores (each with a separate entrance but not connected inside), surrounding a more American version of mall familiar? The mall was made up of a variety of shops and boutiques like what I’m used to. I visited a shop called “Normal” because…
Have you ever seen the videos of sheep being put through a chute to get sheered? That’s pretty much how this store was set up. A guided maze with products in white wooden sectionals towards the inside of the store, the walls holding shelves of products. The shop primarily sold toiletry items. Colognes, face masks, makeup, cleansers, bodywash, razors, lotions, etc. There were some things that didn’t seem quite right in the Normal store, but it wasn’t a bad experience.
Food courts weren’t a thing. It had casual dining places around the periphery of the mall proper. There wasn’t a central place where you could pick and choose from a variety of gluttonous gorging.
There are a LOT of hair salons in this town and in the mall. There are also a large number of lingerie stores. Side note relevance: Along Clinton Highway (25W) from inside Clinton (TN) all the way down to I-40 (near Knoxville) there are a ridiculous number of car dealerships both old and new. FINANCE HERE! is a common hawk. In comparison, there are as many hair salons here as car dealerships there.
Having walked the circle, returning to my entry point, I stepped back outside. I went to the left (East I think) where I found another store.
Context: I left my apartment at 1PM (7AM East Tennessee time). I didn’t get back until 7PM (1PM East Tennessee time).
I went into every freaking store they had. Turns out, I wasn’t at the right place for the craft stores. I popped (typoed and wrote that pooped) back on the bus which took me to a place called Mondevillage.
It was like a shopping community. An outdoor mall, per se. The middle of the complex had an island shopping area with a variety of restaurants, chocolate shops, toilets, and a security office. That island had a bus stop on each side of it, but each side was one-way. The next layer was parking lot broken up by color. Example: You parked in Rose 3 or in Aqua 4. It’s a much better system than the parking lot marking in American malls. You parked in…G7? H6?
There it was. The craft store. It had a list of things it contained. I could pick out beaux art, musical instruments, books, and a couple of other things. I felt proud of myself that I could recognize the names of things even though they were spelled out in French.
I entered the store and felt a bit confused because it was similar in style to say…Books-A-Million or a single story Barnes and Noble. Undaunted by the books I couldn’t read, I checked out a few things, browsing about.
Next I found the musical instruments section. It wasn’t as flashy as Guitar World, but there was enough to do basic instrumentation. I plugged on.
Need a planner? Agenda books lined shelf after shelf. I like the idea of making an agenda better than a day planner. It sounds more like you’ll get something done instead of writing it down hoping to cross things off a list you planned to do.
Next came a beginning art section. I didn’t realize it was beginner. Dude, I can’t read French as well as I’d like! But, I found a small set of paints, a small set of brushes, some graphite pencils, a small sharpener, and a gum eraser. The paper they had was in envelopes, not books or pads. I searched through, looking at the pictures that showed what the paper could be used for. I couldn’t find any that would work with gouche. I asked and was shown the correct paper to purchase. Hot diggety!
CHRISTMAS doesn’t come just once a year. It shows its ridiculous face in October here too. Meh. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with the holiday season. But, it should not be bleeding this far into early autumn.
I turned the corner and found a painter’s dream. I looked at what I’d selected, thought about what I already have back in Tennessee and what I would need bare minimum to get my “fix.” After checking out some of the pricing, I can honestly say, I was much happier with what I’d already selected. Less than 20 Euros too!
Okay, let me confess one more thing. The checkout line was rather crowded. Off to the side was a self-checkout. I thought, what the heck. It means I don’t have to use the translator to communicate. I can just ring up my stuff and go. I’ve done it reluctantly before, how hard could it be?
There was a security guard standing watch over this particular section. A good looking fellow with dark skin and a bright smile. I went to the one he directed me to, looked at the screen, and froze. A big red button on the touch screen had words I didn’t recognize on it. I looked around the area but didn’t see anything else. I pushed the red button.
I understood that it was ready for me to begin ringing up my items. I scanned each item and set it on the loading shelf to the right. When I’d done that, I wasn’t sure how to tell the machine I had completed my transaction and was ready to pay. I stared at the screen willing myself to understand. The security guard came over and showed me how to push the red button again. OY! I gave him a tiny yellow duck as a thank you.
My Twisto app kept crashing so I couldn’t figure out how to navigate back home. I deleted it, redownloaded it, signed in again and I wasn’t at the right stop. Are you seeing a pattern here? I sure as heck am!
I got on Line 21 which would take me to someplace around the halfway point where I would transfer busses and get on a different bus to get back. BUT! As I was following the location finder, the correct bus I was on, was NOT going on the route shown on the map. Crap!
Luckily, as the bus was turning, I saw the stop with the bus that I KNEW went in front of my house and back to the stop I’d first got on from. Thank the stars someone had already dinged for the stop. I got off, made it to the correct Line 1, waited briefly, and made an uneventful trip back.
What a glorious day. Tomorrow I’m going to do laundry, wash the sheets and towels, and relax. Saturday morning, I have to find something to do again. I’m thinking of taking the bus out to the airport to see what’s shaking. Or I’ll head to the Twisto bike stand and pick up a bicycle to ride around for a bit.
May peace be with you wherever you are. You are loved!
I spent six hours walking around today looking at various places in Caen. I started out with no particular place to go, but found the Caen Castle. It was the palace of William the Conqueror. I have a lot of pictures to sort through for that one, so I’ll share those tomorrow since I have to work and most likely won’t get out much to explore.
As I ride the bus to work, there is a place called Moon and Sons. I thought it a clever name. I notice it quite frequently making a mental note to visit, but I didn’t until today. OMG!
20 Avenue De La Libération, Caen, FR 14000 It was simply magnificent. It’s an British restaurant in Caen. A mix of magical and muggle alike. You won’t be sorry for stopping in for an espresso, a meal, or a pastry.
But this…The bartender played a few pieces while I drank my espresso and ate a cinnamon roll. When I asked him if he was okay with me posting, “Yes!” he said. When I asked if he wanted his name on the video or did he want to be some random Dude, he laughed, “I’m okay with random Dude.” I think his name was Justin. I gave the staff each a little yellow duck.
The absolute enchantment of the place was gushing over my senses. I messaged my friend Jen and told her, we would hang out here. When I showed her several pictures via text, she enthusiastically agreed.
Sidenote: I’ve been working through Going With Grace’s The Living Practice. There are a few that I didn’t do because they’re not as important to me. But there have been a couple that have really put me in a stuck position.
Who/What was your most impactful death?
Who are you? (You can’t use: job, body, relationships, characteristics, accomplishments, possessions, or anything external to you).
I don’t know how to answer those questions. I could give knee jerk answers but these are deep questions. I want to answer them to my personal satisfaction. Quality vs. Quantity I suppose. As I ponder these two, I encourage you to consider them as well. AND, if you’re of the mind to try the course: The Living Practice (The link will open in a new tab).
The title is misleading, I know. I read it and picture a couple of equine’s reclined while indulging in some “funny” grass. But it’s not about that.
Besides bouncing a ball back and forth, it’s my job to encourage my client to take walks to maintain mobility. Sometimes he gets cranky and will only walk in the yard which is not very interesting. And then there are days like today when we get to walk down the country lane to a side road that borders a field with four horses. I’ve described them to you, but today, I got pictures!
Chinaberries, variegated bi-color leaves.
That last picture is a fire hydrant. The red top comes up and off. There is a cylinder inside. I saw some municipal workers clearing out the interior of one. It’s an interesting design. I don’t know how effective it is, but they evidently work because they get maintained.
While we walk, we talk about different things. His voice is quiet so I lean in to hear his take on things. He was genuinely delighted that the one horse was so close to us. I like when he laughs. He doesn’t do it often, but when he does, it’s magic.
I can’t see out of the small window in my small room, but I got brave tonight because I could see the sky. There is a short slanted roof below the window. The first picture is pretty much straight out the window. I angled up and down the street to see what it looks like. The sky was prettier in person. My fear was in dropping my phone while trying to see outside.
While at my client’s house, their daughter was in town from her bike-ride across Europe. She and I talked about how looking a fool is something you need to get comfortable with really quick because with the language barrier, charades is sometimes the best you can do. She disclosed that she also shops by picture and was slightly embarrassed that she couldn’t speak French as fluently as she thought she could.
She’s really a great human. I like her very well.
Why can’t we have nice things like this? This is across from the bus stop in the Cairon Commerces. To the left of this is a recycle and trash station. It’s clean, cozy, and peaceful. The horse that stared at me is farther to the left of this pictutre.
I’m pretty sure I can be the butt of a good cosmic joke. I know I was today. I was scheduled to pick up the mini-car at noon, last transaction before they close for two hours for lunch. They really do that. A LOT of places basically say “Piss off” for two hours. The car rental place was one of them.
I arrived on time, got all the paperwork started, got out my credit card that I JUST got the bill for that said I owed $0.00 because I paid it off before the trip. Apologies, a phone call to the bank, and it turns out the car place was charging me $5.47 over my limit. Oh for the love of Pete! It got my goat a bit because I’ve rented from this company before without a large deposit or anything. It was toot-sweet to do it which is why I did it this time.
The shop closed up and I kept at it until I found out what the issues were and resolved them. I waited for the lunch time to pass. I stopped in a bakery and got a croissant and a double espresso. I was people watching because I hit right before the lunch rush. It was fantastic. Directly across from the window where I sat watching was a mural with a smaller one next to it.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear?! But a CHICKEN!
It was to my delight that it was on a building that said “Climb Up!” Pathe’! didn’t translate.
I had to do something to kill time, so I took a couple of pictures of things I truly appreciate about Europe. The trains, the street signs, the walkways, bike lanes, hardly any potholes. Honestly, we have nothing on European transportation. They have it dang near mastered as far as I can tell.
One o’clock rolled around and I went down to wait by the closed rental place. I happened to meet a father and daughter from Minneapolis/St. Paul Minnesota! We chit-chatted for a bit, well I did. Silence just isn’t my game. I do it because I have to, but dude, ENGLISH! I take my language for granted so much. Every person I’ve spoken with, in some capacity, speaks more languages that the average American. That’s rather shameful considering we’re supposed to be global.
I let them go first because they had a tighter time frame than I did. I even told them about Miss Marge Swenson! Minnesota was her home state while she grew up. When it was my turn, the woman listened as I explained what the deal with my card was. With a bit of nip-and-tuck, she was able to complete the transaction completely smooth.
I was lead out to a Fiat 500 EV. No shit. Not only is it an electric vehicle, BUT it turned out to be an automatic! WOOT! She gave me the basics, including pushing a button to open the door…no. No latches, just a button. Could you imagine NOT being told that and trying to get out? Talk about a really stupid reason to call roadside assistance.
Because I got delayed by two hours, I had to kind of haul ass to make my check-in time and my appointment time. I was so intimidated by driving. I learned quickly that the moment you let off the accelerator in an EV, the speed drops pretty darned quick. It’s not like a hybrid that is similar to the gasoline engine I’m used to. Plus side, it was relatively easy to maintain speed.
Boy do they love round-abouts here. I can’t tell you how many I went through on my trip, but there were more than I’ve ever done before. They do keep the traffic moving pretty well overall. They’re not difficult to use, but they are a bit cumbersome the first go-round…ask me how I know. Facepalm!
I arrived in Honfleur at 3:40PM (1540). I met with the owner of the place I’m staying. It’s a charming home with paintings she did on the walls. There is a front room, a kitchen behind that, a spacious bathroom, and a soothing bedroom at the back of the apartment.
Her name is Sylvie. She clearly loves where she lives. The painting on the far left is her favorite of her work.
Off to my appointment I went after checking into the lovely home.
Once I found the studio, I went in the wrong door. I’m telling you, I mean well, but getting lost here is a thing. I found the right door and the woman named Mireille greeted me warmly. She brushed aside my apologies for my getting lost. She was listening to Oasis turned on low. She had a canvas on my side, a canvas on her side, so many colors, so many choices, so many brushes. Pardon me, but I practically drooled in anticipation.
She spoke a little English so we communicated mostly with pointing, exagerrated movements and, because we had paint on our hands, Siri. We painted and enjoyed each other. She showed me techniques that I hadn’t thought of but really were duh type of things. She encouraged highlights and lowlights. She was fiddling around on hers, showing me different things. SQUEE!
For whatever reason, the pictures won’t upload. I’ll have to share them tomorrow. I’ll also share the photos of her studio, the restaurant she showed me where I had divine food and a glass of wine from the region. Hopefully the internet will bless me with a better connection tomorrow.
This morning, I was sitting in the bathroom. The window to the apartment was open because it gets quite warm up in here. I was doing my thing when I heard a mild racket at the window. I poked my head out the door and there was a pigeon sitting on the windowsill. She was very interested in checking out the place. I greeted her verbally. I finished my task, flushed, and stepped into the main room without approaching her. We stared at each other for a bit. She got a mind to fly away. It was a surprising and pleasant interaction.
Complaint: The Twisto app that I use to find the nearest bus stop doesn’t update in real time so you have to walk about a half block, tap the screen just to find out you’re not going the right direction. I demand perfection! That’s a lie, but it sure would be nice.
I got to my bus stop barely on time. I mean, I found it, looked up, and there was the bus. Given that I went the wrong way and had to jury rig my directions to make it, I felt pretty proud of myself.
Upon arrival to the last stop on the line, I waited for a few minutes while my client’s wife (An absolute gem of a human) was en route to pick me up. It was 84 degrees outside which is pretty warm. Tomorrow, it’s supposed to be about 66 degrees F. I love cooler weather.
I spent the next couple of hours with my client. One of the activities we do it bounce a ball back and forth 130 times. When I first started working for this family 3 years ago, I absolutely dreaded it because he would insist on counting in French. Bless his beautiful heart that he did. I look forward to it because, unlike in the beginning, I can lead the count all the way past 100! I’m very pleased he insisted even though I wasn’t happy in the beginning.
His wife arrived from the grocery trip she went on and she insisted she drop me at the bus stop. I agreed. As we approached the stop, the bus was pulling away. I said it was okay because I can catch the next one. “Nonsense.” She revved up the engine, passed the bus, and dropped me at the next stop. She went rogue on me! I didn’t expect it from her, but man, that woman can drive!
I got off at the Caen Theatre Quai. I searched for a restaurant nearby. I found a couple of burger joints, but honestly, I haven’t had one since I got here. I just don’t want to eat American food when I’m in freaking France! Instead, I found a Vietnamese place.
Boeuf Loc Lac, a creamy cheesecake, a Vietnamese coffee, and a Coke Zero. That’s a softboiled egg (which I asked to not be included) and a crapload of cilantro which tastes like soap to me. I did some picky eating with this dish. The menu as clear as I could get it.
I made it back up the five flights of stairs. Since my client is going to have company starting on Wednesday, I won’t be needed for the rest of the week. What to do, what to do…
HA! The Rome2Rio app has a rideshare option. All I have to do is show up at the scheduled time, ride along in the car, and end up at my destination. I’m going to Honfleur, France to paint in a studio on Thursday. I’m so freaking jazzed!
Although I’ve been reading for fun since I got here (think trashy novels and good sci-fi), I wanted to try something I truly love. I don’t think anything makes me happier than when I have paint on my hands. I’ll let you know how it goes and if I’ll be able to find a ride home (not yet, but I’m hopeful).
Remember when I did the professional photo shoot in Paris? They were supposed to send me the proofs in 7-10 business days so I could select 5 of them. Well, that didn’t happen. What DID happen was that she felt so bad that she dropped the ball, she gave them all to me! All 37! To say I was pleased would be an understatement. I would totally recommend Best Pictures in Paris to any tourist. So, where’s the proofs? I’m going to share a few of my favorites with you.
French ducks sleeping!This wall was SO TALL! I am not. I was on my very, very, very tippy-toes to get this shot. You can’t see the comma, but it says: LOVE, ME
Those are my favorites. I like them because I look like me, not someone posed. I’m so glad I had this experience. I mean, there’s only so many selfies one can take before…bah.
I’m going back to my client’s house tomorrow to exercise with him.
OH! Before I forget. After the calamity of the early morning banging on my door, I’m scared to make any noise at all. I’m living like a monk that’s taken a vow of silence. It’s not as bad as it sounds…ha! See what I did there? Listening isn’t one of my strengths because I love to speak in what I call “layer cakes.” I like for the conversations to be a mix of ideas thrown together, sometimes with frosting, sometimes without. But, this is a practice I’m uneasy with which means I should probably do it and be grateful for the opportunity. Besides, I can speak with my client’s family.
Peace go with you wherever you are. You are loved!
I have failed to take pictures today. I thought I did, or maybe I thought the pictures in my head, but I didn’t document anything today. You’ll have to deal with my storytelling of which I’m not sorry.
I was up shortly before 9AM (3AM EDT). I sat on my bed deciding what I wanted to do for the day. When I went to the laundromat yesterday, I saw a shop with beautiful things in its window. I visited an organic shop where they actually had oatmilk, on the shelf. Apparently this is common and also why I couldn’t find it at the larger grocery. Shelf-stable milk is a thing here.
I promised my return after work which I’m sure that shopkeeper hears all the time, but dude, seriously, oatmilk. Cow’s milk doesn’t taste the way it did when I was younger. Even my excitement at getting cream on the milk didn’t make it any more palatable. I was excited to get what I’m accustomed to back home.
I rode the bus out to my stop, but almost missed it because I was engaged in a book by the author, Frieda McFadden. I recently read two of her books, The Housemaid and The Housemaid’s Secret which were really good books in that they were entertaining with some plot twists that were satisfying. The book I’m reading now is called, Never Lie. I’m pretty sure I’ve figured this one out already, but I’m going to keep reading to see if I’m right or not.
I walked through the countryside aware of the flowers clinging to brightness, the ones who had passed their prime, the smell of the grass and cow flops, the sound of the cars passing me, the taste of the cool water that I refreshed myself with, the air not moving in my damndably hot pants that look so nifty. The stone that got caught in the bottom of my boot annoyed me enough for me to pry it out of the sole. I didn’t take the way my GPS told me, I took the road that passes the horses instead.
On my way to that road, I happened upon a sign that read: Oefs frais biologiques (Fresh organic eggs). My curiousity got the better of me and I wandered up to the small shed that had an open door. The left wall (nearest the road) was filled with decorative hay bales that had a price marked in chalk on the wall above them. On the back wall there was a locked mailbox that said Peiement (Payment). There was an open slot on the top. In chalk on a board were written the prices for the goods layed out on the shelf farthest from the road. There were dozens of eggs, cartons, and pressed oil made on the farm. Above each item, written on the wooden walls in chalk were the prices that were on the chalkboard.
Knowing that my client was having company for the next several days, I decided to bring them a gift. I selected and packaged a fresh dozen of brown eggs. I dug out my handy folded bag and packaged the purchase. I pondered and decided the oil was a good idea too. I put the Euros in the box as requested and returned to my trek.
As I turned down the road that would become the street they live on, I noted that the sides of the narrow road rose up steeply on one side, but were relatively level on the side I was walking on. The shade from the trees granted me relief from the sun, despite the cooling air.
As I was turning the corner, three houses from theirs, I recieved a message asking if I’d work Tuesday and Wednesday. I replied with “Uh, I’m actually at your gate right now. If you don’t need me, may I please use the restroom before I return to the city.” Instead of replying, she opened the gate and welcomed me with a warm hug.
Last week, I worked Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday because I’d just arrived in Caen and she wanted me to get acclimated to my neighborhood. This week, and each week after, I’m supposed to work the three days, more if required. I conveyed that understanding to her and the lightbulb came on over her head (not literally). Ironed out the wrinkles and we have a schedule and a plan.
They asked me if I’d be willing to go with them to a museum called Le musee de la bataille de Normandie. They want to go while their grandchildren are in school since they show little interest in the history of where they’re currently living. We set a time and I will make sure my client is safe, steady, and comfortable.
What I didn’t expect was the conversation after she asked me if I’d been to the Caen Memorial yet. No, I admitted. I went to the Abbey d’ Homme instead. I told her of the things I learned about William the Conqueror. Her eyes lit up. She asked if I wanted to hear a story. Of course I do!
She told me how William’s wife, Matilda of Flanders, came to be wed to him. It was a great story with rejection, acceptance, and love. Then she asked if I wanted to know why William, in his youth, was called William the Bastard. My eyes got big and I encouraged her to continue. I already knew he was called that, but I wasn’t sure why.
The gossipy version of the story told of a young Duke of Normandie living in the Chateau de Normandie with a bunch of his knights. He was in his late teens at the time. One day he was looking out his window toward the river when a group of village girls showed up to wash clothes in the water. One girl caught his eye in a big way.
So much did this beauty capture his imagination that he sent his knights to discover who she was (A Tanner’s only daughter and only child) and to tell her to come to the castle at his request. The knights set out to do their Lord’s bidding.
When they found her father, they asked him to tell his daughter to come to the castle. He said, “That’s really up to Herleva. You’ll have to see what she wants to do.” So they did.
The peasant girl, Herleva, said the only way she’d visit is if there were certain criteria met. First, no sneaking through back doors, she was to cross the drawbridge like a lady. Second, she was to be provided a horse to ride because she wasn’t going to show up all sweaty to this meeting, and finally, Robert I, the Duke, had to personally invite her to his home. The dubious knights returned to the castle with the requirements for the young woman’s visit.
To their surprise, Robert I readily agreed and offered an official invitation, provided a horse, and lowered the drawbridge. They met and talked for several days. Duke Robert I was smitten, and apparently she was too. Shortly after the visit began, she sent word back to her father that she was going to stay in the castle.
Several months after that, William was born out of wedlock to the Duke and Herleva. He was considered a bastard because it wasn’t possible, because of their different stations in life, for them to marry.
That didn’t stop Duke Robert from taking good care of his son. But the weight of his sin, of having a child out of wedlock, bore heavy on his soul. He went to Herleva and told her that he was seeking redemption from his sin. The only way he could see that happening was if he participated in the Second Crusade. She objected because it was basically a death sentence that many didn’t return from. He reassured her that he would return.
To make sure that his son remained cared for, he enlisted his most trusted friends to insure that William would not only be protected at all costs, but that if anything should happen to the Duke, William, as his only son and rightful heir, would be given the title of Duke. His friends agreed.
Ironically, the Duke Robert I was returning from the crusades when he died. His friends had protected the young William and fulfilled their promise to Robert. It nearly caused a civil war because many didn’t want the bastard to be put in a position of power, while the other camp kept vigilant. History tells us, the friends won the battle and William the bastard became William the Conqueror.
My client’s wife ended her story with a flourish. She was delighted that she could share the knowledge with me. Me too, really. When history is told in stories, making the names in history books come to life, to be human, it really gets it for me. I mean, who doesn’t want to learn the stories that make boring dates and names come to life again? Okay, anyone? Is it just me?
Tomorrow there will be pictures, I promise. Thank you for indulging my fascination with this part of the world by following my adventures. It really means a lot to me to see when people read what I’ve written. It motivates me to continue to share what I’m learning, experiencing, and witnessing.
P.S. My mom is still in the hospital because she can’t eat anything. Liquids seem to be okay, but that’s not good for long term. They’re putting her on high powered antacids in hopes of getting whatever is pissed off and causing her pain when she eats to settle down and behave. She sounds irritated that she’s still incarcerated in the hospital (HA!) but she seems to accept that until they understand why she can’t eat, it’s just how it is.
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Mare Martell 