A pink, play Saturday

samedi, le 29 août 2009

How time is fun when you are having flies? The last Saturday of every month means that my Bountiful Friend and I set off to a market in a nearby village.

My friend is large in every way; she stands tall, she carries more weight than she should, she gives with all her heart, she cares with all her soul, she cooks with all her passion, her presence will never go unnoticed.

My mother usually meets us at the market. We buy freshly baked ciabatta, a large assortment of fabulous home made cheeses, a healthy slice of imported French brie, the most divine olives and pickles and choose a comfortable table to wash down our feast with ridiculously large glasses of wine. Under the trees we discuss life and love and things we hold dear. From the speakers perched in the branches we hear the sounds of French café songs. Every so often I wipe not unnoticed tears from the corners of my eyes.

Today it’s warmer and the branches are turning light green with tiny leaves waiting to burst open. And in an attempt to bring some colour back into my life, I’m wearing a favourite soft pink cashmere jersey.

The Actress arrives with her daughters in tow, the one soon to be wed. Excited conversations about venues ensue and the engagement ring sparkling in the afternoon sun is celebrated with the happy clinking of generous wine glasses.

We walk between the stalls and marvel at the wares on display. At the curry and rice stand I linger a while and buy a few bowls for supper nights to come. This curry and rice is far superior to the church bazaar variety L’homme used to love.

Later we pack up our baskets and head off to a nearby wedding venue for the bride to be to inspect. The venue is aptly named Ducks after the many feathered creatures to be seen pecking on the lawns. Over the entrance hangs a sign: ‘In China, the duck is a symbol of happiness and fidelity’.

I ponder this walking over the lawns to the quaint chapel. Both L’homme and I love the French duck dishes of Magret de Canard and Foie Gras. We had happy times eating both of these, but fidelity?

The lawns beyond the chapel stretch down to the river. Very cleverly disguised by tall reeds are a number of the most beautifully decorated cottages, completely secluded and private. And I think that if times were different, I would happily have whisked L’homme here, for a few days of sensuous fidelity.

I turn on my heals, kiss my mother goodbye and hug her a bit longer than usual and come back to the reality of an empty house and an obligation towards The Princess.

(It’s the season where bulbs are in bloom and I could not resist buying some tulips the other day to brighten my house and to bring a smile to my face.)

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