Ok, so it is now two days since I decided to begin this 'adventure' --writing to myself and to you out there at the same time - I'm still not sure what the difference is between this and sending off messages to individual friends, except of course, that there is a shared community able to read my ramblings and comment on them.

Today is the 14th of July, for us Americans, it is called Bastille Day, for the French, it is Independence Day. My dear nephew, who was here a few years ago, made the mistake in his youthful exuberance, of wishing someone a Happy Bastille Day with a great big smile and hug, and the poor person (dont remember who it was) was quite astonished and a little embarrassed at the joyfulness of the greeting and the incomprehensible name. For the French, those that I know at least, it is a day off ( if you dont already have the summer off) time for a picnic, fireworks at night - some quite spectacular like in Carcassonne, and maybe a long aperitif hour. The tv is filled with the military parades down the Champs Elysees, and the people citings of the "honored" guests who sit alongside the president, his wife and all the ministers of the government. There is always something 'royal' and truly archaic about the procession and the grandstands, with the students of the many military schools - which now include a good quota of women- passing on review in their (oh, so very hot in this heat) uniforms bearing arms and stiff backbones, followed by men on horses, foreign legion soldiers, foreign army guests, and the inevitable display of military power and prowess with artillery, overhead flights of superexpensive and sophisticated flying machines, and the final poof of red, white and blue smoke that arcs its way down the avenue.
The 4th of July isnt very different of course, but, in spite of the military, aren't we proud of ourselves tone to both of these holidays, there is an aristocratic, regal quality to the 14th that doesn't quite exist in the States. The French Revolution, and its aftermath, it seems to me, has never completely eradicated the monarchal element of society here, which some of my French friends would adamantly deny no doubt.

Bon, as they say in French, holidays here, do not mean an extra shopping day at the mall - all stores are closed, except of course the local baker and butcher and little ethnic grocery markets which stay open the morning catering to all who have not done their shopping beforehand and or who have slept late and forgotten that the stores are closed because it is a national holiday. All are off, of course, except the people who work at home, for themselves, or the construction workers who have to catch up on the building of the many new apartment units and houses under construction because of the excessive heat when they have to take off half a day. Days off are sacred, as are the days that stores are closed : don't mess with this. Sarkozy's government has tried to change the work-labor laws to allow stores to stay open 7 days but there is too much opposition to it, some of it for good reasons, and so, except for highly touristic areas like the Riviera, most shopping is out for Sundays. Of course, this gives everyone, including me, a chance to go to the local outdoor market, a truly wonderful institution all over the country. Pity the poor people who live in a town where the market is on Saturday, or another day of the week, whatever do they do on Sundays?
Go buy your fresh fruits and veggies, some goat cheese (if you are so inclined), eggs, bread - oh,the bread here, we have to talk about bread more seriously soon!- and look at the plants, hats, and other bric à brac of all sorts sold.
My local market even has a caravan coffee vendor - he sells teas too. The line to get a little one- sip coffee ( weaker than in Italy, not quite ever so delicious, but not bad)is four deep and the chatter is long and non-stop. I sometimes go with a friend of mine ( girl stuff mostly - time to talk and walk and not hurry) and we once waited 20 minutes to be served, but in the end it was worth it.

One of the things that living here in France has done, is make me realize just how much most of the world isn't in a hurry. Twenty minutes to stand and wait to see if you can order a tiny little coffee and pay 1.30 euros for it!!! The truth is that some Sundays I am too impatient to wait - and wonder how any business survives with a rhythm of service that defies all logic - and then I think how American I am, how Eastern American that is. So I try to maintain a certain sense of humor about service and cultural differences; four hour meals and two hour aperitifs and cashiers in supermarkets who turn to talk to their colleagues to tell them about what they did the night before, just as I am ready to pay for my twenty five or more items and want desperately to get OUT OF THERE! On good days, I take a deep breath and nod my head and walk away smiling, and on bad days I wonder what I am doing here in this inefficient (really?) and mostly far more user friendly (mostly) society.

Enough ramblings for one day - today there is a lovely breeze in spite of the heavy humidity in the air. Oscar the cat has shown the way by moving about a bit - he is now somewhere under the plum tree in back of the house, waiting with cat-optimism for a small unsuspecting creature to pass by close enough so that he can catch it without making too much of an effort. It is cool-ER, but let's not exaggerate!!!!!!