So yesterday (Thursday) was Market Day. Now depending on how you receive this blog, yesterday may now be Friday, but for our purposes here, it was Thursday. This is called suspension of disbelief. My apologies if you are in California or Australia. Fine, I wrote it yesterday and am posting it today. Just go with it...
Anyway, I may have mentioned I am currently stationed, yeah, lets say stationed, that sounds formal, in the Southwest of France, an area known as the Dordogne.
The house, that would be the 9 bedroom farmhouse and grange owned by my lovely mother, is situated in the bucolic french countryside.
Not sure if I mentioned, but I don't drive. I have a liscence as a formality but I don't drive. This means, to get to Market day in our closest town, which is called Eymet, I have to walk. Not a biggie, its a 25 minute walk, a little awkward on the way back from market with a lot of heavy vegetables. But you know, that is cardio and lifting mixed with shopping so I am not complaining.
Moving along, my whole point in starting this discussion, aside from mentioning that Eymet's Market Day is on Thursday, and has been since 1270, just so you know, Thursday is also garbage day.
Now, when I got home on Thursday and literally dropped my bags, and well then I put on some shorts and got a drink of water, and maybe had lunch and then I kind of hung out in the grass for a bit.... After all that I went to get my garbage can and to my dismay my garbage was still there.
I was pretty miffed. I mean, was I being descriminated against by the garbage men? Like did I not put my garbage can close enough to the road? Was it clear in my placement of said can that I am American? Was it not done in a French enough way? What the heck?!
So I marched over to my neighbor's house to find out. He was in his garage fixing his lawnmower as you do. When I mentioned the affront, he told me his had not been taken either. Relief. But why? "C'est les vacances." Its vacation. When I asked what kind of vacation happens on a Thursday, he got up, looked at the calendar and said it's Ascension.
Of course! How could I not know? Ascension. You know when Jesus was taken up to heaven. 39 days after Easter. Duh. Hello.
This is what I dig about the French. It's a Catholic country in holiday only. Most young people live together, aren't married, do a myriad of things you are not supposed to do as a Catholic, and yet, hell yeah they'll take off time from work to celebrate the Ascension.
So next time your garbage doesn't get collected, or stores are closed or the trains aren't running, just remember to go out and get yourself a Catholic Calender. It's probably a holiday. That, or the French are on strike. Holiday or Strike people, that's what's up.
This has been Random Thoughts with Ginevra Held