Back on Track with Random Thoughts
Today’s entry will be a mélange of random occurances from life over the last week or two. No big watershed events, just little unexpected pearls that life occasionally throws your way. The first topic worth discussing are some of the exciting excentricies of our new home. The most notable for me, being a man of tallish stature is the rather low doorway that leads from the living area to a back hallway. This is of no concern to anyone else in our household as they all measure well under the threshold. In a sort of reverse “you must be this tall to ride this ride”, I find myself waiting at the entrance of the coaster while the rest enjoy a nice ride. I often find myself rather preoccupied with life and not being entirely intune with my new environment, my skull and the top of the door frame have become well accustomed to each other. I wish I could report these meetings as comedic bonks that have me taking an unexpected step back to the laughter and applause of the crowd. Unfortunately, due to my height and the measure of the door, these collisions usually cause profound injury resulting in a stream of blood running down my face from the very peak of my bald head. Just tall enough to graze the crown of my head, I have ritualistically been scalped to the point that if I had any hair up their at all, I would have a permanent bald spot that has been replaced by a scab that will likely turn itself into a notable scar. Aside from the wood fleas, this is really my only complaint. A weeks worth of routine bug fogging has eliminated our pest problem and the blemishes on our extremedies are vanishing as quickly as they arrived. I only wish the same could be said of the permanent gash on the top of my head. The kitchen in our new home is quickly proving to be my favorite room in the house. That is the way of things in all homes I think. For those that live a family centered lifestyle, I think the kitchen is in fact the most important room in the house. It is where we eat, where we commune and where we share our stories of the day. Our new kitchen is perhaps one of the greatest kitchens I have ever been in. It is where I write, where I paint, and where you will find me for almost all activity in my life other than sleeping. My wife doesn’t approve of the idea of moving our bed down here, so I am forced to make my way upstairs at the end of the evening. It isn’t that the rest of the home isn’t enchanting. The ancient exposed stone walls and wooden beams throughout the home give away the home’s age in the most flattering way. The kitchen however, is damned near magical. A giant stone fireplace at its core and a pure white cabinet that I would ship back to the US with me if I didn’t think the owners would notice are two of my favorite features. Wooden beamed ceilings and a semi-spiral staircase add to the charm. The hodgepodge of actual kitchen cabinets that seem to have been scavenged from random discards are a bit of an eyesore, but anything newer or nicer wouldn’t fit the look. The house is clad with white shutters, some inside and some out. Each seems different from the next and have their own mechanical advantage. Most every window is a disaster to open and shut due to the constant shifting of the ancient stone, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Two recent lessons about the home from the owner himself have painted such a rich history in my mind and given the home such heritage in my heart that I will truly be sad to one day leave its warm hearth.
The owner is as magical as his wife and son that I have had the pleasure in meeting. I mentioned him in brief in the last post, but I think like his son, he deserves description. I have met him on two occasions and his mode of dress has been similar at each. He is genuine and well spoken. His English is impecible and education apparent. His straight forward approach and unassuming aire are refreshing and in kinship with my own. He is of medium height with an olive complexion. His hair was once like his young son’s, but is now aglow with the silver that only age and life’s trials can provide. His eyebrows remain dark and are a testament to his knowing gaze and give his face an unexpectedly stern look that is immediately dismissed by his kind demeanor and approachable nature. Surrounding the aging gleam in his eye are a pair of spectacles. The wooden temples appear to have been cut from the same ancient wood as the beams supporting our homes, while the frames are of a gunmetal grey that evoke an image of cannon fire as they are perched atop his nose. At the temple, embossed in the wood is an emblem familiar to my eye. It is a bee. Familiar, because it can be found on many pieces of fine cutlery here, and I believe it is Napoleonic in its origin. I must look this up when I once again have internet access. His dress has been casual on both of our meetings. Shorts in fact. Khaki in color. The shirt has been of a dress variety and has usually been garnished with a rich looking sweater wrapped atop his shoulders. None of the family has ever visited with us without a shadow, their loyal canine companion and the clear guardian of this grand encampment. Named after a nearby village, this shepherd of sorts carries with it a long gentle gate and a broken coat. As with the rest of the family, it maintains a gentle but knowing gaze and a quiet grace. Unfortunately, a stark contrast to our portly, wheezing, sausage of a smash faced dog with wicked bad gastrointestinal emissions. STUPID DOG. The two animals have been introduced, because, as the owner so eloquently put it . . . like men, it is not good for animals to live alone. There is some humor there, and a great deal of truth. He said “men” implying the profound meaning of mankind, but applying gender rules to it, makes a fair deal of sense as well and made my wife inappropriately giggle when he said it without much inflection. I suppose you could have gone any direction with it, but I understood what he meant. It isn’t good for any of us to go it alone. Companionship is important, whether you are man or beast. That is the way they have treated us since we have been here. Part of the family and part of a community. I don’t think we are yet comfortable with each other, but I know that will come in time and there are certainly not any barriers to overcome. Both sides are open and it will only take a few more chance meetings to grow a bond with them that will last for the remainder of our days. I like that about them and even if they don’t know it yet, they will like that about me as well.
We have adventured around a bit and have the lay of the land so that a GPS system is no longer required to find our way to civilization. That being said, I don’t find myself drawn back to the city for much other than to repeatedly treat the green monster that is Madame Chabou’s pool that we are still required to care for until the weeks end. We have now pumped so many chemicals into this vat of ill content that it may require government intervention and men in clean white suits to come in and clean up. The green does not seem to be giving up without a fight and will in all likelihood cause a withholding of a bit of our security deposit. Such is life I suppose. We are nearly unpacked and my hope is that in the coming week, I can return to some of the more rewarding aspects of life. My eldest turns 9 in the coming week and with it I feel that much older still. I can’t believe he is already 9 years old. It seems like only yesterday that the lad was pulling himself up on the slats forming the front of his crib. I know that the next 9 will be more challenging and rewarding than the last, but knowing we are already half way to his emancipation makes me realize how important each day is with him and that soon rather than later, he will be bidding our home a fairwell in search of his own hopes and dreams. We have opened the world to him without a doubt, now where he goes with it is up to him. I have a bit more time with the youngest, and he is going to need it. That guy is as wild as the day is long may well have to be ridden for longer than just 8 seconds to break him. I blame his mom, but I am likely to blame. I am a bit unruly myself and as my wife will attest to, I am hardly broken myself and she has put in a good 11 years on me already. That brings me to my final story for the day. It dates back to moving day, but I failed to mention the incident in my last entry. You will see that I am a far worse hazard to life than either of my sons could ever be.
As we all know, anytime you rent a vehicle, you have an option. Stop and fill up the tank before returning it, or having your wallet drained when they charge you their “corporate rate” for fuel. Mere mortal men can’t afford that upgrade, so I usually prefer to fill er up myself before I return the vehicle. I stopped into a local convenience store to fill up the tank and the calamity that is my life reared its ugly head. You see, as with many of life’s administrative processes, they have not done away with the old in favor of the new. In the US, we have adapted the new to avoid thievery for the most part, and this doesn’t seem to be as much of a problem here. This is not to say that the modern pay at the pump doesn’t exist. In fact, they have taken quite nicely to the completely unmanned convenience store. You can pay for your gas 24/7 and even go to the building and mechanically purchase snacks from a plate glass window. Its like looking into a giant vending machine. Instead of the usual ring rollers you find inside a vending machine, you are looking into the window of a store with fully stocked shelves. A robotic contraption then goes to the shelf to retrieve your item once you have made your selections. I have not seen this in the US yet, but it surely exists. The opposite is true, however, in that you can still pull up to the pump and fill up the tank BEFORE you pay. A novelty that has come and gone in the US. The full service station is even alive and well here. A dying breed back in the good ole USA. This particular station, however, happened to be the pay AFTER you pump type. I began to let the Diesel flow before I realized that I had left my wallet at home and had no way to pay. My immediate response was to grab my cell phone and call the wife for a rescue mission. MISTAKE. The gas station attendant had eyes like a hawk and spotted my infraction. The pump clearly states a prohibition on cell phone usage, and unlike in the US, they are serious about it. She screamed at me through the intercom and shut my pump down immediately. No worries in my mind, since I didn’t have any way to pay for it anyhow. With my wife unavailable to bring my debit card to pay for what fuel I had already pumped, I was glad to see the appearance of my chase vehicle. My friend that was following me to the rental place to provide me a ride back to the house had pulled into the station and parked at the back of the lot. Unfortunately, he too would feel the wrath of the gas station attendant as he was apparently not supposed to park in that location despite a complete lack of posted instruction indicating such. Our combined infractions led to more extreme intervention. The attendant soon arrived pump side to scold us both for our insolence. This kind of tom foolery was not going to be allowed here . . . not on her watch. She jumped from behind her counter, clad herself in a high-vis yellow vest, locked the convenience store down and headed out onto the lot. I played dumb and my friend who is quite fluent in French patched things up. She soon re-activated my pump and I begged for payment from my friend. She waited outside while we finished our business, I presume just to make sure we didn’t cause any further incident and we followed her back to the store front where a rather annoyed group of patrons were now lined up at the door awaiting entry to pay for their fuel and purchase the sundries available inside.
Once inside I felt better about our scolding, for a boy that couldn’t have been much older than 10 had purchased a freeze pop and had returned to ask for an empty cup. He made the mistake of dispensing with the pleasantries and went right for the throat. That is a big mistake here. The pleasantries must be observed. The response was swift and stern. She yelled at the boy for not greeting her property. She advised the boy that he was to say “Hello Madame” (translation of course) before asking for anything. The boy obliged and she summarily denied his request. I felt the sting of his whipping, but it made me feel like maybe she hated life and the boy and I were just unwitting victims. By the time I reached the counter, she had removed the high-vis vest which revealed her boobie tattoo. Nothing like a touch of class. My friend and I opted for the pleasantries, but left it at that, not wanting to push our luck. She warmed to us a bit and let us go on our way with a bit more flirtatious roll of the eyes as to our prior infractions. I felt like I should buy the kid an empty cup for taking the heat that was surely meant for me. I didn’t, but if I ever see this lad again in my life, I think I owe him a kindness. The truly ironic part of the whole exchange? You know that ban on mobile phone usage at the pump? You know who caused that? I can tell you. It was some scum bag lawyer like myself who probably sued a mobile phone giant and gas station when their douche bag client burst into flames at the pump. The argument was made that the fire was caused by the usage of a cell phone and the shithead lawyer made it stick. The real reason for the fire? The douche bag client was likely smoking a Marlboro Red and talking to his lady on his cellie while filling his bass boat hauling monster truck up with super unleaded all the while fumbling around with his free hand to unearth a slim jim from its stubborn packaging. That about covers it for the evening. Take care and I will post again as soon as time and internet connectivity permit. The romance of this project is somewhat lost when I am forced to submit my posts using the WiFi at the nearest McDonalds. As an aside, in France, “WiFi” is pronounced “WeeFee”. Bet you didn’t know that, did you. Goodbye for now. Jack Butler, over and out.
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