Sleeping Through Communion . . .

If you take an express blog train over to More Canterbury Tales, you can see that Amanda has thoughtfully posted on August 25th a photo in which she is not sure if it is a portrait of herself, due to the limited number of emptied bottles visible, and thus supposes it is also not a portrait of Louciao either, from Décolleté, but whoever it was, that was no way for a lady to be laying around in public ! And just a few days previously I had literally stumbled on this gentleman who was taking a bit of morning nap on the steps of a chapel in the town of Morlaix, Brittany, after no doubt a long night of indulgences, the last bottle of which had toppled over following a final tipple, perhaps at the same time the owner keeled over, three sheets to the wind. . . and nose to the stone wall . . . (for a bit of tippling pleasure do peruse Amanda's back posts on Tuesday Tipples)
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The culprit . . . (and I noticed a few ants staggering about the vicinity as well, not to mention a ladybug floundering on her back. . . that wasn't you, Amanda, by any chance ???)
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This gentleman was standing nearby saying, "See, I told you so . . ."
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Pairing Off . . .

While out in Brittany in August, over the space of just a few short days, I kept bumping into pairs of various sorts. This first pair of talkative horses made me think of all the good writing that is going on over at Where's My Effing Pony, whose kind hostess English Rider is a horse lover. I'm wondering if she could lip read a horse conversation and let us know what these two were gabbing about . . . talk about hearing it straight from the horse's mouth !
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But after an engaging conversation, they put their heads together for a meeting of the minds . . .
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At a Summer flea sale by the beach this pair of crochet 'paintings" was for sale . . . not sure I'd want them in my living room, but there is no accounting for taste . . .
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This pair of cats were mystified by the foreigner with a camera . . .
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A pair of Cavalier King Charles were at the market waiting to lick a camera lens . . .
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Another pair of dogs . . . if someone can help me with the breed name of these two ???
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There was even a pair of homo sapiens offspring out for a stroll. Note the orange shoes in the background. . . this is what millions of years of evolution has brought us to . . . :-D
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In Memoriam . . .

While out rambling around this afternoon in the city of Brest, way out at the far western end of France, I was somewhat surprised to find this graffiti tribute to Michael Jackson. I cannot say I was a fan, neither the music nor the ever stranger lifestyle spoke to me on anything other than a peripheral level, but one could not help but acknowledge that he was an important figure for large numbers of people the world over. As graffiti goes, I thought this one was really pretty well done . . . what do you think ?
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The Joy of Artichoke Throwing ! ! !

Just a couple of posts down here a sign for the 2nd Annual World Championship of Artichoke Throwing was published for your edification and entertainment. Lest anyone might have thought the sign in question was merely an elaborate artichoke farce, here now at last (I know you have been waiting with great impatience) is proof to the contrary. In the tiny Brittany village of Henvic, located in the rich agricultural plains and ideal artichoke growing land just to the south of Saint Pol de Leon, artichoke throwing has become a major attraction. A colorful hand painted sign was affixed to the barriers separating the crowd of easily 100 earnest observers from the artichoke throwing ring . . .
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To help get the crowd into the proper mood for the event a trio of Brittany musicians playing traditional pipe and drum music whipped the observers into a frenzy of cheers . . .
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The green-robed artichoke elders were present to observe that all was conducted in the proper manner of artichoke atmosphere with due respect to the noble vegetable . . .
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T-shirts had been produced for the members of the staff to wear, this one saying "l'Artichaut Vole", which means "the Artichoke Flies" . . .
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There were trophies lined up which would be handed out to the winning teams, and also helmets were available to any contestants who did not wish to affront the flying artichokes without head protection, which as you will soon see, was a valid concern . . .
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A considerable stock of artichokes had been strategically placed near the throwing end of the ring, ready to become airborne . . .

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The contest was open to both male and female contestants, each team comprised of two people, one who would throw the artichokes in an underhand motion similar to pitching a softball, the second who would catch the flying artichokes in a large basket held by two straps on their back. This woman demonstrates excellent artichoke tossing form here, with the throwing arm artfully raised toward the sky, having just released a green orb, her right leg extended back for counter-balance. Her partner at the far end of the pitch is already reacting to position the basket on her back at just the right position to receive the artichoke on the downward end of its trajectory . . .

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The goal of the contest is to throw the largest number possible of artichokes into the receiving basket in the space of one minute. Each team has two one-minute periods in which to produce their best result, and the team members may trade roles for each of the minute-long artichoke pitching sessions, the pitcher may become the receiver and vice versa, if they so chose, as this team did. It is clearly quite a remarkably difficult enterprise to keep a steady flow of flying artichokes in the air while not overwhelming the catcher, or forcing the catcher to run too far or perform too many artichoke catching contorsions. The thrower must stay within a small area defined by orange marks on the grass, and the catcher must stay beyond an orange line on the far end of the ring. I could tell it was no mean feat to succeed in this grueling vegetable throwing competition. I suspect I may need to practice quite a bit before thinking seriously about signing up for next year's event, the 3rd annual world chamionship . . .

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This pair of gentlemen were the winners from last year's first annual championship. During this first minute of their session they succeeded in tossing no less than thirty artichokes into the basket. Imagine that ! That is one artichoke in the basket over 30 feet away every two seconds ! Last year they won the event with a score of 34 artichokes in the basket in one minute. They worked together in extreme precision, if you look carefully at the photo you can see that there are two artichokes in the air simultaneously, and the thrower is already preparing to toss a third. He was quick as greased lightning in picking up a handful of artichokes from the bin at his side, and tossing them with a liquid motion that clearly was the result of many long hours of artichoke throwing practice; he made his receiver's job easier by tossing nearly every artichoke along the same smooth trajectory at the end of which they descended gently into the basket. He was a true artichoke throwing artist . . .
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If the artichokes were thrown too low, the catcher would be forced to stoop to catch them, no easy task with such a large basket on one's back, producing grimaces of effort exerted. The artichoke here is a green blur just about to sail into the receptacle . . .

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This young lady was clearly enjoying every successful catch, but as you can see from the artichokes on the ground behind her, they were not all ending up in the basket like this one was going to . . .

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The contestant shown here made several exciting leaping catches with outspread arms to save an artichoke thrown a bit too far. I also saw him receive one of the heavy vegetables directly on the top of his head, which must have smarted, as he had decided against donning a helmet . . .

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Considering Lobsters, Watermelons, and Jam . . .

This past Thursday found me out fulfilling the ancient ritual of attending the weekly outdoor market in Carantec, Brittany, France, Europe, Earth, and the market was in fine marketing form. Given Brittany's extensive ocean frontage, it is not surprising that seafood plays an important role in all aspects of cuisine here, in which theatre the lobster is not the least nor lowliest of characters. I was surprised to learn that a lobster can survive out of seawater for approximately 24 hours. If you have not done so already, I would strongly recommend that you seek out and read David Foster Wallace's fine essay titled "Consider the Lobster", which provides some fascinating commentary about lobsters in general, and about dining on lobsters in specific. David Wallace was a fine writer, it is a shame he is no longer with us, his voice was amazingly eloquent.
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I'd also like to recommend that you take a quick trip over to Lynne C.'s blog Décolleté where a fine painting of the Lobster King has just been posted . . . and do stop and linger there a while, for the ongoing observations of life in Canada's maritime provinces are fascinating and full of fun. Don't miss her other art oriented web sites either which are well worth a browse . . .
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Not only was the market full of seafood delights, but this pile of watermelon's sorely tempted me too. Speaking of watermelons, hurry on over right now to Lola's blog Aglio, Olio, & Peperoncino, a delightful place to visit anytime, but her piece just posted about watermelons is literally mouth watering ! ! ! Don't miss it. Her blog, which I only discovered quite recently is an orgy of fabulous Italian food experiences. I'm still salivating and slobbering over her recent posts about tomatoes and peaches. . . :-D
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And to close this culinary interlude, these colorful jam jars caught my eye, what better to spread on the morning toast ? Now that is jamming !
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"Bring Out the Coffin . . ."

On a 1997 trip to Haiti, in February, to be there during the Carnaval period; one day while out for a ramble around, I took these three shots in quick succession, simply because I was intrigued with the way large numbers of people and baggage were piled on trucks and transported from one place to another like that in Haiti. Often the trucks were colorful affairs with brightly colored paint, and usually a slogan of some sort across the front. This one said across the top of the windshield, " DIEU RESPONSABLE"... or "God is Responsible". It wasn't until much later, looking at the images shot that day, that I realized there was a coffin tied down on top of the load, I'd been so busy trying to get a clear photograph, that I hadn't seen what the cargo was . . . I can only imagine someone was being carried off to their final resting place.
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The poem by W.H. Auden that was famously used in the movie "Four Weddings and a Funeral" comes to mind now looking at these images . . .
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Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
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Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
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He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
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The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
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Caution : Flying Artichokes ! ! !

I did a double-take when I saw this sign by the roadside near Morlaix, Brittany. . . announcing the second annual World Championship of Artichoke Throwing, which is happening today. May just have to head over there and see what it's all about. We've been chuckling about this sign ever since first seeing it. Historic accounts reported that at the battle of Agincourt the sky was literally darkened by the flights of arrows released by the English archers, which wreaked such havoc on the French side, slaughtering them in droves. I've had visions of the Brittany skies darkened by flying artichokes ! Run ! Run ! Take shelter, the artichoke throwers are approaching ! ! ! (It is possible that this is not one of the more important cultural events taking place in France this summer.)
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If you'd like to see a good shot of what artichokes look like when they've been allowed to flower, take a quick peek at Nathalie's Avignon in Photos, just a couple of posts down on Saturday 8 August. . .
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Life's A Beach . . . (Brittany version. . .)

Life at the beach in the summer in Brittany can seem slow and idyllic, but if one looks carefully, there are hundreds of stage plays unfolding all around, slices of life, people being people, colors drenched in the sun, babies discovering sand and water, discovering the frontier between dry land and ocean, sensing somewhere deep in their genes the recorded history where we crawled ashore and took our first gasping breaths all those millions of years ago . . . sprawling in the sand contemplating the horizon, gazing at the distant sails traversing the bay between islands . . .
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While I was waiting for the white skirt in the background to do a Marilyn Monroe skit in the summer breeze, this lovely young lass in a sun dress came strolling by in bare feet . . .
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A young boy in blue contemplating his future from under a sunhat, not yet aware of global warming, wars, famine, terror, sexually transmitted diseases, and so forth. On the cuteness scale, what rating would you give him ?
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An industrious young lad clad in blue was taking the first steps in building an empire . . .
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There were bouncing babies in striped suits . . .
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I couldn't help but notice that there were a few bathing beauties in the chilly Brittany water . . . (approximately 18° C or 64° F) Good for goosebumps ! But actually very refreshing to swim in once you get over the initial bracing shock of entry . . .
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In case you hadn't seen it in the news, there will be a new Olympic sporting event at the 2012 Olympic Games, it's called : Synchronized Sunbathing . . . These two were working hard on their routine . . .
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After the Party . . .

After the housewarming party at 524 Blogland lane last night, a truck came around early this morning to collect the empty bottles . . . you can guess from the quantity of bottles involved how thirsty a crowd it was ! ! ! Although, if truth be told, certain visitors from New Zealand and Canada, not to mention any names, polished off enough for ten normal people !
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(In fact, this photo is from a 1997 trip to Haiti. . . where it can get fairly hot, requiring serious efforts at emptying bottles to remain properly hydrated. . . )
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A Little History . . .

A friendly question was raised about the post just below this one : Was I going to spend my vacation visiting French human waste treatment plants ? Well, I'd just like you to know, for the record, that I did not actually set out yesterday with the intention of tracking down a sewage plant. It was an accident. . . but the sort of accident that I'm absolutely not averse to. When I saw the dirt road heading off down along the Oise River, I could do little else but follow it to see where it went. Not my fault if it led to a place stinking to high heaven.
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In fact, the goal, or the objective of our trip yesterday, was to get to the Abbaye Royale de Moncel, a somewhat more culturally lofty destination than the other. Although it is not too far from our humble abode, we'd never been there . . . and decided to rectify that gap. The Abbey at Moncel was founded in 1309, by Philippe le Bel, so they are celebrating 700 years of history there this year. This is the cloister courtyard . . .
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Underneath that row of arches in the courtyard, there was a message painted on a wall a long time ago, the French in it is archaic, but translates approximately as : "YOU entered this monastery in order to obey and not to command, so do be persuaded that all that is required of you here is always very useful, very just, and very saintly". I can't help but wonder what all that included through the Middle Ages . . .
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In a massive wood door at the entrance to the site there was still an old crudely created iron grill set in the door to allow a conversation to transpire, without necessarily seeing much of person on the other side . . . God only knows what sorts of things were said through these holes over the centuries . . .
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Someone Saved My Life Tonight (didn't you dear ?)

I will warn you right away, this is not going to be the most aesthetically pleasing of posts on any level, so if you so desire, you can bail out now.
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Still here ? As you know by now, I love to get out and just poke around. Today was no exception. An afternoon excursion found me on perhaps the all time ugliest bridge to nowhere I've ever seen. Even the graffiti artists had done a poor job. This footbridge spans the Oise River not far from the city of Creil, France. It is immediately adjacent to a sewage treatment plant, so the odor was, shall we say, resplendent ? Or perhaps "redolent" is more appropriate ?
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Now I know this next photo is nothing to write home about, and is probably not going to win me any awards, but as in the title of Woody Allen's latest film, it's a case of whatever works . . . Believe it or not, the concrete wall here is a retaining wall around a large and seething lake of human sewage, obviously being stirred by currents from powerful pumping stations. I will spare you the view of the frothy brown surface, your imagination can fill that part in. But what captured my (no doubt twisted) sense of humor here was the bright orange life saver attached to the wall. And I thought, well golly, isn't that thoughtful, I mean, should anyone have the awful luck to actually fall into that horrid cesspool of swirling human waste, and be in danger of drowning in it, to find themself in the really deep shit, as it were, well, not to worry, there's a life saver there, waiting to be thrown to you ! Don't you feel better now ? Oh my, just don't come around my place hoping to to get cleaned up after you've been pulled out, hugging that orange live saver !

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I'm wondering if those little fruit flavored rings of hard candy that were known as life savers still exist? They're not sold here in France, anyway, that I know of. They were a favorite in my childhood.
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It's funny, I haven't seen a life saver, of any color, in ages, so after having just seen one at the waste treatment pool, I couldn't help noticing another one at second industrial plant just a little farther up the road today, where I pushed open a heavy metal door in a concrete wall to get this view. See the life saver ? It is hanging on the rail of a liquid holding pool marked Acid Juice. I could only presume that I had inadvertantly stumbled on one of the largest Lysergic acid diethylamide production facilities in the world. Were one to fall into a vat of that, you might want someone to toss you a life saver also . . .

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And oddly enough, a barge came down the river just then, and what did I spy on the deck of the barge ? Two more orange life savers ! Just in case anyone might fall in the river. Well I'll be darned . . . no doubt am going to be dreaming about life savers tonight. . . and in fact, that is exactly what I'm going to go do right now. And if you are still reading here, well, I thank you for your patience and comprehension. Some days are like that, you find yourself thanking your lucky stars that you're not in any deeper shit than you are already. And happy that there are life savers out there in the universe should things ever get worse . . .

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A Room With a View . . .

Just in case anyone was wondering, this is one of the views from 524 Blogland Lane, on the ocean side. . . so if you wish to arrive by boat for the housewarming party, you are more than welcome to ! But however you choose to travel, by sail, by private jet, on the back of the mule, it doesn't matter to me, the important part is to get here. And don't forget to bring some artwork or photographs to hang on the walls, right now they are a little bare, after the re-construction work . . .
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# 524 Blogland Lane . . . Welcome !

If you haven't been already, there is something fun happening over at Blogland Lane which you can get to by clicking here . . . A new community is springing up, and plots are going fast, so if you're interested, do stake out your lot and claim your address. I'm hoping 524 is still available, let's just say 524 has sentimental value to me. Here's a photo of 524 Blogland Lane.
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Please don't think I have delusions of grandeur or anything, I'm just thinking in a forward looking manner about all the great company there's going to be dropping in all the time on Blogland Lane, so I wanted to make sure there will be enough bedrooms for everyone who'll be coming by, some big rooms for entertaining, and plenty of wall space to put up framed photographs and other art that everyone is going to be bringing over to get up on the walls in this combination home and international art gallery. If you click here, you can see a few other of my candidates which were close in the running for space on Blogland Lane, but actually, 524 has enough land around it to slip some of my other dream house properties into discreet hollows in the woods.
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So, welcome to my humble abode at Blogland Lane, hope to see you over there very soon . . .
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Invitation To Homestead on Blogland Lane!

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Description:
a wide choice of available land
including double lots,
lakeside, ocean front,
small plots, rambling acreage,
dells with forest canopies,
tree lined, flat, or hilly terrain,
whatever you want.

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Suggestions:
Just put up a picture of your home/yard
on your own blog
and the place is yours!
Provide any details and descriptions you want,
and put out the Welcome Mat
or the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign.
Whatever.
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(Just leave a comment on her blog letting people know they can see
your house on your blog.)

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The Old School . . .

This afternoon la Grenouille, myself, and our two tadpoles went for a long walk through the town near where we live. Our path took us in front of the school where our two girls had spent their earliest years of schooling before moving on to the next levels in another town up the road a ways. To our surprise, the old school was open, and one of their former teachers was there tidying things up in preparation in one month's time for the next school year to start. In the classrooms, a scene reminiscent no doubt of schools the world over closed for the Summer, chairs were up on the tables, piles of books were waiting to be distributed to a new class in the Fall . . .
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An old map of France on the wall, on which the "Causses" are visible in the south . . .
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Scissors were stored neatly waiting for eager hands to pick them up again . . .
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An alphabet ready to be taught to young readers . . .
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A bear hug was happening in a quiet corner . . .
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Dark clouds reflected in a window . . .
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A line-up of kings of France at ten after five, with a note explaining the grading system . . .
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Well, it is a school with a certain religious history . . .
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And just outside the school the sun was shining down on black eyed Susans. . .
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