Home Sweet Home

With permission from my friend SJ, I want to share her thoughts below about home, learning another language, and being a foreigner...in many senses of the word. She captured my thoughts that have been floating around in my brain these past few days. Especially as I plan to return "home" to Canada and to leave my "home" here in Marseille. I'm asking myself, where is home? Thanks SJ!

Where is Home?

Where is home? Why do we leave? What brings us back?
Everyone comes from somewhere. Everyone has a birthplace. Everyone has a story.
But when asked, “Where are you going?” it becomes a very different response. There are pauses in people’s thoughts as they think on their future.

In my travels I have often wondered about home. How is my family? What are my friends doing? What would I be doing if I were ‘home’? Even now I find myself missing home. But where is home?

In French the word for ‘Foreigner’ is … ‘etranger’. Often we tell our children, “Don’t speak to strangers.” Yet here I am in France, a perfect stranger, desperately needing someone to speak to me, someone to connect with; someone to be my friend. In the world there are all kinds of people; some we like, some we don’t like and some we will never know. All are strangers of one kind or another.

The Bible says we are strangers and aliens. (1Peter 2:11) We are strangers and aliens because this is not our home. We are citizens of heaven. (Phil 3:20) We will not be home until we arrive in heaven. It seems like such a far distance, almost unreachable. But as Christians, we hold onto the Hope that what has been promised will be fulfilled. We long to be home with God, our Father, and nothing else will satisfy our Spirit.

I like French. I like trying to put sentences together. I like the words. Some words make me laugh. One word that really makes me think is the word ‘Foreigner’. There are many days when the word ‘stranger’ describes me. This is not my home. Everything is ‘foreign’ to me. The familiar lost.

It is good to remember that this is not my home, but there are times when this does not bring comfort. I long for the place where I will not be a stranger; where I will be known, where I will be loved, then … I will be home. But for now, this earth is my home and I am a stranger.

There is something unique to strangers. They do not fit the ‘cultural norm’ we are accustomed to living in, so we take a longer look, a stronger gaze at them and their activities. They make us curious. It is in these times of being a ‘stranger’ when we are exposed and vulnerable for the world to see. It is never easy.

You do not have to live in another country to be a stranger, we are all strange. But the type of stranger we are is up to us. Will we be the kind of person that runs others off, will we repay acts of kindness with malice? Or will we invite people into our lives and begin to demonstrate where we are from? Where is your citizenship?

For the moment, I live in France. I am a ‘foreigner’ in a strange land with a language I barely know. But as I meet each day I am compelled to let my heavenly citizenship be known through my actions and deeds. I do not need perfect grammar to communicate where my home is, or where my heart treasures most. It may appear very strange at first, but we are a curious species and so we watch one another. We compare our lives against one another. We are changed by what we see. What do others see when they look into your life. Do they know where your home is?

Painting Santons

Here I am painting my little friends, 3 wise men, shepherd, shepherdess, a cherub, praying flower lady and hostess. One wiseman is still unpainted, to show you all the work and detail that goes into one of these little guys. Hours of entertainment! But now I'm addicted...someone in France is going to have to mail me santons next November so I can continue to add to my collection!
 

Let's go for a walk

Today I had time before the church service started to go for a walk and act like a tourist, and take pictures. This is a view of the town Plan-de-Cuques, a "suburb" community of Marseille. I really appreciated getting out of the big city sounds and listening to the birds sing (as well as a few farm yard ducks).  

Artichokes

Don't know about you but I never knew how artichokes grew or what they looked like in the field. Now we both know.  

Farm house

Here is an old farmhouse, now a family home, with olive trees and a poppy field. Note the lavender shutters, a popular colour here in Provence, known for its lavender fields. 

Olive tree

 

Fig tree

 

Highlights of the week

*catching a gecko (small lizard, they love to sun themselves on walls or sidewalks) by the tail (and then letting him go)
*eating a HUGE banana split for my birthday
*going to English church, always a treat to worship in English
*coffee ice-cream, with real coffee beans
*celebrating my birthday with new friends
*finishing off 2 very busy weeks of meetings at the office, whew
*going out for lunch with girlfriends
*smell of fresh lillies
*painting santons (clay figurines)
*shopping in the Sunday evening market in Aix-en-Provence
*cheering on the Edmonton Oilers hockey team, from afar, even if it means getting up earlier to check the score

Sweet Tooth

Check out this cute story about a black bear near Edmonton that had a sweet tooth attack. I guess he prefers convenience store pies to chocolate bars. That works for me. I just don't think it's fair that he has to be destroyed because of a stupid person with a cell phone camera. People! These are wild animals, not teddy bears. He's lucky he just got a scratch. I know I've done worse to people when they've interupted my chocolate feeding frenzies. GRR.

Attitude Check

There have been many times these past months, that I've wondered what the heck I'm doing here. Linked to that have been times when I just plain didn't want to BE here. An example follows...after a busy week at work, not being organized enough to buy groceries all week, I finally got myself together and decided to go shopping to fill my sadly empty fridge. After dragging a very full basket around the store, I stood in line, only to be told that I was in the wrong line to pay with a visa. I left my groceries with the clerk, walked over to another section of the store, paid with my visa, after showing a picture ID, walked back to my groceries, lugged my heavy backpack on and walked to the bus stop. 15 mins later the bus finally arrives but its jam packed. I mean there is no room for one more person, let alone me with a buldging backpack and two hand bags of groceries. With sympathetic shrugs of the people barely fitting into the bus, I decided (now in a fowl mood) to walk the 1/2 hour home. Carrying 3 bags of very heavy groceries. Yea, I'm not a happy camper now. Then in crossing the street, a car honks at me, yelling out the window. If I had had a free hand...

About 3/4 of the way home I realized I was letting my situation rule my emotions, why was I letting this incident occupy my thoughts so much, colouring my reaction and my perception not only of my walk home, but of the entire nation of France, it's public transportation system, it's special "visa line" at the grocery store, etc. Why was buying groceries making me have murderous thoughts? I realized I had to check my attitude. And suck up my hard luck and move on. Carrying heavy groceries wasn't going to kill me, although my shoulders are still sore.

Now that I have tickets back to Canada for July, I'm trying to stay in the present, to enjoy each new day here, to remain positive, and most of all...not to check out early. I want to continue to live in France until my last minute before flying out. I don't want to start to disengage myself. I have to admit there is a sense of lightness, a sense of comfort in knowing that I have a ticket home, "a way out". But on the other hand, I'm starting to see things that I will really miss about being here, the culture, the people, the country, the...food. : )

I took the morning out today, just to read, relax, and journal a bit. I needed to reconnect and spend some time in prayer. It was a needed break. Now I'm ready for this week, and whatever else France has to throw at me. Here's hoping chocolate is somehow involved.

The Stalls at the Fair

Here is a not so great picture of the stalls at the fair at Roquevaire, just outside of Marseille, where friends and I took a day trip. It was "le fete des Anes" or the Donkey Festival. Yep. You read right. Donkey Festival. Any excuse for a party in France! I guess they didn't want the donkeys to feel left out or unappreciated. So for just 2 Euros your child can get a 5 minute ride on a very bored looking donkey. Then you can tour the stalls, see the artwork, jewelry, food, that the locals have to offer. There was also a vide grenier (empty attic) or what I'd call a flea market. Lots of junk, some interesting antiques (pink depression glass, mom!), jewelry and lots of junk. Among the sights: a male manequin torso and one leg, 2 military police WW2 helmuts, and a goat skin purse.
We enjoyed a picnic lunch on a hill over looking the town. And we stayed for the donkey course, where all the brightest and finest donkeys of Roquevair got to strut their stuff. It was an awesome display of donkey ability. By the way, is the plural of donkey, donkeys or donkies? I never thought I'd have to ask that question.  

Food at the fair

Here's a sample of one of the stalls selling bread, cheese, and awful smelling cured meats, including sides of pork and small sausages. Don't ask me what the process includes to render a side of pork (including the foot) into a leather-like (supposedly) edible substance. I don't want to know. And by the smell of it, I don't want to eat it. No wonder I prefer fruits and veggetables to meat.  

Water way through town

A small stream winds its way through the town, and I'm assuming that the walls are in case of flooding.  

Overlooking the village of Roquevaire

View from our picnic on the hill.  

French apartment and balconey.

Note the narrow winding side street in the small village of Roquevaire.  

Artisans

This guy was making clay pottery, and then handing out the finished product to children in the crowd that stopped to watch him. He would take a big cement block sized square of clay, put it on the pottery thingy (what is it called?) and effortlessly spin off candle holders, vases, bowls. He didn't even watch what he was doing most of the time. You can see some of his fired, painted artwork over his shoulder. Expensive but beautiful! 

Traditional dress

Here are some of the parade participants, dressed in traditional Provencal style. They looked so cute, I had to snag a few photos. We toured a display of clothing they wore during that time, including corsets and layers of layers of clothing and bonnets. I'm glad I'm part of the t-shirt and jeans generation. I need my comfy clothing! 

The Dancers

The "course" or parade or whatever you want to call it, started with drums, music and dancers with tamborines. We almost got run over by the dancers, without crowd control, the crowd (us included) didn't quite know where to stand. So we had to adjust, rather quickly. : ) But I managed a few shots before ducking out of the way of a flying tamborine. And I thought it would be the donkeys that we'd have to worry about. 

The Donkey Carts

There were about 10 donkey carts, decorated with flowers. Plus unharnesed donkeys that were just carrying packs or baskets. It was pretty cool to be so close to them, but one of the carts got a little too close and we had to scoot out of the way a bit. It was fun and worth the 1/2 hour wait!