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 was given notice yesterday that the place I’m staying is currently up for sale. The realtor would be popping by to show the place today, would I mind? Uh, well…since I have no real choice in the matter and I feel like refusing would jeopardize my current arrangement, Yeah, sure! A while later I was messaged with a Whoops, sorry. Rescheduled to next week.
Five flights of stairs is not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but I’m fat and tend to be sedintary if not motivated to accomplish a task. Hey, I come by it honestly, my mother is the same way! The idea of dragging anything up and down those stairs sincerely makes me consider exactly what I’ll need to do once I get down the stairs (THAT’s no problem).
Take out recycling (Google image translate informs me that it’s on the ground floor)
Take out the trash (Also on the ground floor)
Do a load of laundry including towels (Ground floor and over two doors)
Pick up some groceries (.2 miles away is the Monoprix Hypermarket)
Get nail clippers and hand lotion (Pharmacie across the street)
I double/triple checked that I had all my dirty clothes and towels loaded into my handy buggy. I got the trash out of the can, tied off the bag and put that on top of the dirty clothes, securing the slide. I put the recycling bag handles over the buggy handles. Double/triple check, yup. That’s everything.
Grabbed my bag and keys, unlocked the door from the inside with the key… Pulled my buggy into the dark hallway, locked the door with the same key I used to open it from the inside…Open the stairwell doors and descend.
Down to the lobby where there are three doors. One goes to the outside. One doesn’t open. One reveals a storage area with a closed door off to the right. I open it because it will and I found the trash bins! Hooray!
I didn’t see a place for the recycling to go until after I’d dropped it into the cans I’d found. It was behind another closed door. Dudes, I thought about correcting my error, but truthfully, I was grateful I even found the trash bins.
I am not a graceful person. I’m large but unaware of my size most of the time. I don’t feel like I’m a size 20. In my head, I’m much smaller. I could be reading more into it than is necessary, but it’s rather magnified over here.
As I’m in the grocery store, shopping by picture, guessing at words, refusing to translate because I’d have to translate the entire store, I felt an ineptitude that I’m not a fan of feeling. It really snaps my awareness into a clarity about what it could feel like to be illiterate. I’m practically mute because although I can say simple things like please, thank you, good day, I’m sorry and my numbers, I’m ridiculously unable to do things I take for granted back home.
I’ve observed that the people I’ve interacted with have primarily spoken more than one language. They have at least a rudimentary conversational base which I am lacking in their native tongue. I feel small here. As if I could be quickly and easily forgotten. I want so badly to communicate, to let them (whomever that may be) know I exist. Maybe I’m like Ariel, wishing to be a part of a world that doesn’t belong to me. Perhaps.
Why did you get the emotional roller-coaster? It turns out that the laundromat is slightly different than the one I used before. I tried to will my brain to translate the words into ones I could understand, for some of them it did, but not enough to know what the hell I was doing. I didn’t ask for help. I just stared at the sign, trying to make sense of the symbols.
A young man, maybe 22-24, asked me in accented English if I were going to be staying long in France. Yes, until the end of the month. He suggested getting a laundry card and loading it. Instead of paying 4 Euros per wash, I’d only pay 3 Euro 60. Well, heck. That’s a pretty darn good deal. I followed his instructions. Voila! I have a loaded laundry card.
An hour for a wash. Yikes. I toddled across the street to the pharmacie, found nail clippers but no lotion. The woman behind the corner kept trying to engage me by asking me questions in French. I smiled and nodded, thank you I said. I tried to explain that I needed a small bottle of hand lotion. She stared back at me with an equally blank look on her face. I felt a little better. I relented and pulled out the translator (Why aren’t babbelfish a real thing?) A bit of back and forth and I tucked my purchases into my pocket-bag.
I’m reading a book by Jenny Swartz. Freddie Nechtow gave me the book “The House That Walked Between Worlds” and I finished that three book series. Now I’m on a new adventure by the author. Maybe it’s because of what I described earlier about illiteracy, but I don’t typically read for fun any more. I like to get lost in the world the author created. I like to ride the emotional pony around the imaginary carousel. It takes up a significant chunk of time which is why it’s not something I readily do. However, I sure am popping them back like illicit drugs trying to get a reader’s high. I returned to the laundromat and read.
After my clothes were dry, I folded them and stacked them compactly into the bottom of the buggy. I headed off to the grocery. The weather was gorgeous out, if not even a wee bit warm. But the sun, the people, the neighborhood feel of Mondeville created a sense of being. It was good.
I arrived at the store, picked through the aisles, collected my necessities, checked out, loaded up my buggy, and walked back a different route.
What steps I have traveled on roads
past tense and presently,
altared;
a communion of daily lives
exalted as the fevered prayers
of the faithful
knelt in the pews with bowed heads
whispered words of conversations,
of confessions,
of wrong paths and right roads taken
A map to their righteousness
emblazoned on a rosary bead.
I sit in the silence, aware.
I wonder if their God would understand
if I spoke prayers in English.
I wonder if the forgiveness would
somehow taste different or
if the mercy would cold shower me
with a condemnation...
con-damnation?
Instead, I don't press my luck.
I return to the community I don't belong to
hearing the voice of the God
that doesn't speak my language.
MM 2023
I tugged the buggy up to the top floor. I unloaded the groceries then my clothes. I texted with my friend Jen who is currently in an inconvenient situation. I dozed for a bit, then woke up to tell you my eventful/uneventful day. Tomorrow I plan to go to church (at 4PM here) so, there will be plenty to do while I’m waiting.
I don’t know if it was the internet where I was or what the deal may have been, but it absolutely would not allow me to upload ANY pictures. In fact, it gave me an error today about pictures I’ve already posted. Murg.
But! I was beside myself with glee yesterday. The drive today was lovely. The air was just right coming in the window. The sun was shining and when I came up over a crest of a hill, it was like Brigadoon showing up in front of me. I “Oh, wow!”-ed outloud.
What a spirit-fulfilling day. I feel a deep sense of peace. I have a sense of a withdrawn/inclusion of self. I am not sure how to express what I’m feeling. I visited the leaning church (The outside pictures of the church are not from Saint-Jean, they’re from a church in Honfleur).
While inside I witnessed some faithful praying on bent knee or at the very least bent heads. I found pamphlets that described the veneration of the church’s saints. I previously shared about the artist that created the stained glass windows in the mid 60’s-late 70’s, they were richly crafted. Pictures can’t quite capture the look and effect of the sunshine dancing rainbows through the textured glass.
I sat outside the church in a paver topped park. I sat on the bench facing west. I could see the major bus routes converging nearby. I watched people walking in a variety of paces to various places. The dopplar of French voices waved over me as a bouquet of floral scented young women echoed passed by. The fashion went from snappy tan leather dress shoes beneath a cream-colored linen suit carefully styled with a khaki light colored trench coat to over the knee black leather boots and a slap of fabric covering the important parts in a striking red and a miniscule white tank shirt knotted at the front.
I watched a verbal fight break out between a man on an electric scooter and the driver of a car that I’m guessing drove too close to the scooter-rider. It was heated, loud, and two other men were holding back the torrent of imminent violence. With a bit of physicality from the protectors of the combatants, the rage dissipated in a poof of raised fingers.
I tugged my suitcase up the flights of stairs, which I now count in halfs to make it easier for my mind to accept the exercise, I unpacked my things, restored my sense of order and rested. This is a great day.
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.
In a way I feel as if I’ve let you down since you’ve been so kind to keep up with my adventures and exploits. However, I do need a day of rest. I took that today. I’ve been up to reading, napping, texting, and generally preparing for my adventure tomorrow.
I’m heading to the main bus station late morning tomorrow to pick up a rental car. A manual mini. Then I’m going to drive from Mondeville (a suburb of Caen) to Honfleur. It’s about an hour away according to Google maps. I chose a route that is a bit longer but there aren’t any tolls on the road.
I’m going to stay overnight and drive back on Friday morning.
To tell you the truth, I’m a filled with a bit of anxiety about this trip. I haven’t driven in nearly a month. I haven’t driven a stick shift vehicle in longer than that…I think three years or so. I’ve never driven a mini-car before, nor have I driven on French roads. Although I have an idea where I’m going, the actual journey is going to be a wild one simply because I don’t know.
My uncertainty isn’t going to prevent me from going. I mean, if I’d let my trepidation take hold, I’d never have come to a foreign country in the first place. But exploring a town on foot and by bus is a slightly different creature than driving it. I really wish I had a sign to put in the back of my window to let other drivers know I’m new here, cut me some slack!
I’ll have a better story and pictures tomorrow to share. I look forward on taking you with me.
Aloha! Welcome! Today was a pretty great day overall. My left foot has two big blisters on it from walking so much, but it was totally worth it. I saw so much that it’s difficult to process. What I’m sitting here debating with myself is whether I want to share the beauty or the horribly necessary violence. Beauty it is!
This is a bit of beauty that I experienced today. To hear the birds sing in “French”, make sure you have your volume adjusted.
I visited here today with my clients. I’m still processing the immense loss of life, the violence committed, the size of the weapons used to destroy everyday life for a cause of justice, liberty, and freedom.
Where I’m staying was occupied by the German forces. There were big campaigns rallied to drive out the oppression but success took a few attempts and an incredible loss of life, destruction of homes, businesses, families.
Today started off as a humdinger when I walked out of the bathroom and the lens of my glasses clacked to the floor. I wear bifocals, so trying to find that itty-bitty screw on the wooden floor was not something I could accomplish easily. I wasn’t upset, frustrated, but not upset.
Lucky for me, a short walk from the apartment I’d noticed an optician’s shop. I discovered the gentleman who worked there spoke English and was able to get my glasses repaired, gratuit (Free of charge)!
How lucky am I to be paying attention to the world I’m experiencing right now?
This is the place where I find myself commonly indulging in a double espresso each morning. The people are friendly and I haven’t tasted anything that wasn’t total top hat.
I decided I’d had enough of the stringy ends of my hair. I visited a salon called L’instant Chic Coiffure Feminin-Masculin. The Artist that agreed to my transformation was named Aurelie. She was a bit younger than me and had been doing hair for 30 years!
BEFORE
DURINGAlso DURINGNectar of the Gods!
The artist and her medium.
Aurelie is the talented artist that brought my crowning glory back to life. While in the shampoo chair, I got a massage which was incredibly relaxing. 100% recommend!
AFTER!
One of my besties told me that to go back to the apartment would be a waste of a million bucks (Since that’s what I told her I felt like), and my reply was, as it always is when she’s right, “Stop talking sense!”
Although it looked like it was going to rain, I braved the cool air to go to the Abbey de Homme. I’ve posted pictures of the exterior a few times, but I’m about to give you a video tour of William the Conqueror’s final resting place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a church this large and ornate in person. I hope you enjoy the bits I can share with you.
Every day at noon, this is what I’ve been hearing. It rings every hour until 10PM.
I tried to give you the feeling of the vastness of this space. I don’t think I could possibly do it justice. It was extremely reverent to the point where I didn’t feel like I should speak at all. In fact, nobody that I observed seemed to be speaking either. There were stations where you could purchase prayer candles to make requests of the saints honored within the walls. I got one of St. Joan of Arc.
Saint NicholasSaint ThereseSaint Joan of Arc
Jesus of the Sacred HeartHis mom, MaryAnd Pops, Joseph
The tomb of William the Conqueror
September 9, 1087, age 59
(Natural Causes)
He was born in 1028.
As originally posted in French.The translation to English
I woke up late because yesterday I drank too much caffeine and so I was still wide awake this morning at 5AM! That’s only 11PM in East Tennessee, but still. I wishy-washed about what to do and finally decided I’d start with a double espresso (Will I ever learn?!) and some breakfast. I went to the spot where the man speaks enough English to take my order.
It feels sort of sub-human not to be able to do much but grunt and point. I have mastered the order for espresso, so that’s a plus. Bon Jour is common, Merci’, Desole (Diz-ole’) which means Sorry, Au revoir. So far I’ve been able to skate by with those small phrases, but if anyone asks me something in French, I just stare blankly at them, point to my chest, and say American. Most of them laugh at me, which, truly, I deserve.
While enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant, I decided to look for a park.
I asked Google maps for the nearest parks. I sorted them by distance, selected a Botanical garden and set off. Now, before I go any farther in this story, let me explain something Google didn’t get. When I asked for a garden or park, I didn’t mean the street name. I arrived at the destination only to find that it was a street. MAOU!
Looking at the map, however, I noted that the Caen Botanical Garden wasn’t far away, so I adjusted my sails and set off again.
The little car was painted like the Love Bug Herbie. It was cute and the woman who owned it was an older woman with dyed dark hair. When I put up my camera, she smiled radiantly and laughed.
The screeching I could hear echoing off the building walls turned out to be this handsome seagull. Skyrats I’ve heard them called, but he was none to happy to be hanging out in the neighborhood.
The next picture is a shot down the street where Google sent me to the wrong place. It felt a bit overwhelming with all the details involved in the shot, but the street, itself, was quiet.
The last picture in this set reflects the height, the gothic style, and the detailing of the old homes. Each house on the street had a different, although similar, style. Some had carparks, others had on street parking. I recognize some of the car brands, but there are many I don’t.
At the end of the street, I turned left and walked a good length of block. At the nearby roundabout, there were people bustling about their day. Many of them seemed to be about 65+, carrying groceries, and dressed conservatively.
This is a sign. No, really. I understand the basic words, but I had to use Google translate to really understand. I didn’t bother with the names of the plants because they are carefully curated, marked, and I wanted to enjoy the time I had.
Yes, that’s me. A face with the name. Mare Martell.
Noel Bernard (1874-1911) demonstrated in this greenhouse the symbiosis or fungi in tuberous roots of orchids.
The scent of the earth in the garden was so rich with alien fragrances that it made it hard to breathe…breathtaking. Even in early Autumn, the flowers and plants were holding true to their lives. The temperature was 64 degrees, partly sunny, a breeze blowing but the redolence cleansed my spirit.
Several groups of French schoolchildren were being ushered through the phytology. The teacher attempting to hold their attention was chattering to them as much as they were chittering to each other.
I sat on a bench for a bit to engage my senses with my surroundings. Other than the children in the distance, it was peaceful. Hidden birds in the trees sang praises to the sky. Life is good.
The music of water called to me. I heeded the melody to an eight foot tall cascade tumbling languidly into a shallow pond. I wanted to sit and watch the waterfall, but the carved log bench across from it had been knocked off its base and was resting in an awkward angle removing that possibility.
To the left of the waterfall were some rough stone steps. I climbed up them to the top. The first picture in the above series was my reward. The third picture shows an odd growth pattern. It stretched across the ground for about nine feet before reaching its trunk to the sky. The last picture is a water garden feature. On the bottom right, you can see where it meanders into a stream. The lily pads were growing as if an artist had chosen that precise spot to place them. I sat on a bench and drank in the beauty for a while.
And then there were the sculptures scattered among the natural features. These were a bit more contemporary, but the following statues follow a more traditional sense of aesthetic.
The neatly trimmed hedges that give background to these was being trimmed by a man on a very tall ladder. They are precisely cut to 90 degree angles at the top, forming a box-like structure to them.
An interesting trellis.The ceiling in the bistro.A fiery flower near the trellis.
As I made my way back to the apartment where I’m staying, I reflected on the sensory contentment I experienced. It’s like history pumping through my veins in such a magical way that I’ve been absorbed into the world. The architecture is so beautiful that even though things are close together, even touching or seamless, there is a sense of spaciousness. A liberation of the senses that I’d equate to a dream-like state that I don’t want to wake up from any time soon.
My spirit is happy. My heart is full. My body, although cranky, is grateful for the vigor in which I’m engaging with the city. My guidance is to travel as often and as far as possible. Although I’ve traveled quite a bit of the United States, experiencing the uncertainty of the unfamiliar has been extraordinary. And to think, if it weren’t for my clients, I wouldn’t be here! Peace be with you.
You have led us to this place together as a community and bound us to one another through faith.
In the beginning of this Advent season, may we remember your unexpected appearance among us in the birth of a child.
You make yourself known to us again and again but we sometimes are deaf and blind to you. Help us to clear our ears and open our eyes to your word
God of Peace, whose ways are not our own and whose coming among us cannot be predicted, we dare to welcome your surprises, seeking to be awake and alert, and to fully embrace the unexpected. That we might be changed by your appearance and transformed into loving vessels with radical acceptance.
Now let us feel your presence as we live as you taught us and pray as you taught us: Lord’s Prayer
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 