The Little Words Mean the Most

France is just like the U.S., except here Sim One weeds

 

This is her at our kitchen window, asking "Weed or herb?" "Rub a leaf. See if it smells."

Jean-Claude's SECRET recipe for cassoulet: First, swap out the oven

 

More on that tomorrow.

TODAY, a documentary photo in our entryway of a typical Saturday morning's shopping expedition to the outdoor market in Pézenas.

Starting at 10 AM: head of fresh lettuce; wine from a favorite local vintner, Mas des Auribelles, who opens her garage door around 11 AM just for the Saturday market crowd; bread sticks presented as a gift to us (we bought a lot) by the Italian pasta maker who prefers living in France because the politics aren't as crazy; a bag of his mixed raviolis; fresh tomatoes; a couple of jars of tomato sauce for pasta; the sausage-maker was having a buy 3, get one free special: we bit, including the filet mignon saucisson; in the bag: one night's meal of pork roast; Sim One's cheese (Pomerol); more sausage including liver sausage (the darker one); my cheese (a mix of cow and sheep; nutty, almost sweet); and take-away chicken pad thai.

Long French Friday, starting with the dump, handmade (pun?) Millau gloves in the midst, ending with a cricket fundraiser

 

That roller thing at the top has triangular blades like 1/4-inch-thick pie servers. It's about the size of a 55-gallon drum. The operator (with great finesse) rolls it back and forth in each of four huge truck-length dumpsters, crushing down what's inside. Impressive performance: it would crush a human body to the thickness of an ironing board in one pass. The woman who manages the dump gave us both (customary for the region amongst friends) cheek-kiss hellos (her left, her right, her left). We are thrilled to be accepted at the local dump, because recycling waste is central to life in France! ¶ Then we cruised over to the realtor to sign a bunch of papers, dropping the price on our OTHER house in France by 21,000 Euros; it's been on the market going on 6 years with only one crazy low-ball offer. We're trying to find the irresistible price point; it's a big house. ¶ Then off to Millau, France's (maybe the world's) premiere glove-making town; gloves sold in Paris are made here. It's a little more than an hour drive's away; we entered snow country. It had been maybe 15 years since our last visit to the same small shop, where everything's made by hand. I'd lost half a pair and needed something new. The owner greeted us and helped us with sizing. (It should be so tight you can barely get it on; gloves stretch.) ¶ Then rushed home in time for a 7:30 fundraising event in a nearby town, the occasion benefiting the local English cricket club in our part of France (the guy who runs our favorite wine shop here captains the team). Elvis never looked better. The night featured a band playing hits from the 60s, 70s, 80s ~ two French, three Brits. And they were better than just decent. Pretty much everyone there was a Brit transplant. You just didn't talk about Brexit. We danced instead. Loads of people danced. And drank. And ate interesting catered food (including mini-burger sliders) made by an American couple who've moved to the region.

Montpellier squares: Shopping for Sim One's new biz wardrobe

 

Lots of broken windows in the main shopping district of Montpellier, the Paris of the South ... and a center for art and technology and socialist ideals. Conflict recently between civil protests and police. Our preferred parking lot has an aqueduct. And they wrap their trees in solidarity red. Revisiting the lucite artist, Henri Mouraire at his tiny shop at 16 Rue Sainte-Anne. Finishing up at Soleiado, a 19th-century textile manufacturer of the region offering updated fashions using ancient designs.

"You are here": a map of France's industries hangs over our couch; and yesterday's heart-shaped meringue

 

Our bottle-dump tour of nearby towns

Premise: we had a lot of wine bottles to dispose of. Well, technically, I (not Sim One) had a lot of wine bottles to dispose of. France has been a heavy recycler of everything for the two decades we've spent here. Which means every town has a "bottle dump" -- an official collection place. We decided to spend the afternoon revisiting some nearby towns to discard our glass and catch up on developments. The tour begins in neighboring Alignan du Vent, which had the nicest dump. Next to that was Morgan, which had more typical dumps...but also a breathtaking, Sleeping-Beauty-type castle. Cross country to wine village Caux, proud for some reason of the date 1935; and where, with the help of the car's back-up camera, you can see all of main street.

The revolution in France may be going slower than hoped-for due ...

 

... to painting the slogans in English? Dunno. This, across from our favorite baker. There hasn't been a "free" Occitania since about 1210 and even then it paid nominal homage to both French and Spanish overlords. Never too late?

Armistice Day in our small French town

 

November 11. The official parade passes our house (directly behind the flag; we live in the same block as the town hall). The man with the sash is our energetic young-ish mayor whose leadership has done so much. He and Simone had a long convo about how much we've loved living here for 20 years. She congratulated him on his work. The procession visited the town cemetery first and finally the town's memorial square, where La Marseillaise, the French national anthem, was sung twice, youth read poems in French and English, and there was a band and chorus. Deeply moving.

A good marché en Pézenas: lots of convo; fresh pasta, roasted poulet, ancienne tomatoes, tasting at a local vintner, & Sim One bought herself a cold-weather puffy vest (because this farmers' market sells cheap clothes, too); it's snowing in the Pyrenees

 

Our afternoon walk in the village Valros & back home