Happy 1st of December. I hope everyone had a lovely Thanksgiving in the US and, those that live in France, that you celebrated with friends and family sometime over the weekend. I am late in wishing you a Merci Donnant as I managed to catch a cold. On Thursday, just a regular day here in Paris, I went to the 13th arrondissment to take advantage of a yarn sale by the company La Bien Aimée. They hold the once a year sale in a rented spot, calling in all their yarns, hoping, I assume, to get rid of the old and get ready for the new.
When my friend, Anjali, and I arrived at the posted address, there was a line that was half a block long, a very long half block. It was cold and had started to rain very quietly. Anjali and I had a lot to catch up on so the first 40 minutes went by quickly. Anjali had to get back to work and left after we’d been standing in the same spot—at least it seemed to me that we had not moved—for a long time. The rain had picked up, it seemed colder than the 44o posted on my iPhone and, by the time, I actually got in the store, I’d been freezing and wet for almost two hours. Not fun.
I thought I had a plan but all plans went out of my head. I felt overwhelmed by all the beautiful yarn. I grabbed some that I was pretty sure I’d use though I had no patterns in mind and left having shopped just half the store. I took the metro back home and climbed in bed trying to get warm hoping I wouldn’t get sick. Oh well, I did get a cold and had to cancel on my Merci Donnant dinner Saturday evening.
Last year, at the same dinner, my host allowed me to read the famous Art Buchwald piece that he wrote for the Herald Tribune when he lived in Paris. I did not get through it without laughing so hard I had to keep repeating sentences. She was going to allow me to read it again. So, since that didn’t happen, I’m giving it to you, unedited.
“Le Grand Thanksgiving by Art Buchwald
This confidential column was leaked to me by a high government official in the Plymouth colony on the condition that I not reveal his name.
One of our most important holidays is Thanksgiving Day, known in France as le Jour de Merci Donnant .
Le Jour de Merci Donnant was first started by a group of Pilgrims ( Pelerins ) who fled from l’Angleterre before the McCarran Act to found a colony in the New World ( le Nouveau Monde ) where they could shoot Indians ( les Peaux-Rouges ) and eat turkey ( dinde ) to their hearts’ content.
They landed at a place called Plymouth (now a famous voiture Americaine ) in a wooden sailing ship called the Mayflower (or Fleur de Mai ) in 1620. But while the Pelerins were killing the dindes, the Peaux-Rouges were killing the Pelerins, and there were several hard winters ahead for both of them. The only way the Peaux-Rouges helped the Pelerins was when they taught them to grow corn ( mais ). The reason they did this was because they liked corn with their Pelerins.
In 1623, after another harsh year, the Pelerins’ crops were so good that they decided to have a celebration and give thanks because more mais was raised by the Pelerins than Pelerins were killed by Peaux-Rouges.
Every year on the Jour de Merci Donnant, parents tell their children an amusing story about the first celebration.
It concerns a brave capitaine named Miles Standish (known in France as Kilometres Deboutish) and a young, shy lieutenant named Jean Alden. Both of them were in love with a flower of Plymouth called Priscilla Mullens (no translation). The vieux capitainesaid to the jeune lieutenant :
“Go to the damsel Priscilla ( allez tres vite chez Priscilla), the loveliest maiden of Plymouth ( la plus jolie demoiselle de Plymouth). Say that a blunt old captain, a man not of words but of action ( un vieux Fanfan la Tulipe ), offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. Not in these words, you know, but this, in short, is my meaning.
“I am a maker of war ( je suis un fabricant de la guerre ) and not a maker of phrases. You, bred as a scholar ( vous, qui tes pain comme un tudiant ), can say it in elegant language, such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, such as you think best adapted to win the heart of the maiden.”
Although Jean was fit to be tied ( convenable tre emballe ), friendship prevailed over love and he went to his duty. But instead of using elegant language, he blurted out his mission. Priscilla was muted with amazement and sorrow ( rendue muette par l’tonnement et las tristesse ).
At length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence: “If the great captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, why does he not come himself and take the trouble to woo me?” ( Ou est-il, le vieux Kilometres? Pourquoi ne vient-il pas aupres de moi pour tenter sa chance ?)
Jean said that Kilometres Deboutish was very busy and didn’t have time for those things. He staggered on, telling what a wonderful husband Kilometres would make. Finally Priscilla arched her eyebrows and said in a tremulous voice, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, Jean?” ( Chacun a son gout. )
And so, on the fourth Thursday in November, American families sit down at a large table brimming with tasty dishes and, for the only time during the year, eat better than the French do.
No one can deny that le Jour de Merci Donnant is a grande fete and no matter how well fed American families are, they never forget to give thanks to Kilometres Deboutish, who made this great day possible.” — Art Buchwald
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A Reason to Smile
Every Sunday, Dan Rather posts on his substack along with the YouTube address, a song that has made him feel good. He has wonderful taste and I look forward to the Sunday substack each week. This week, the duet of Tony Bennet and Lady Gaga sang Cole Porter’s I’ve Got You Under my Skin. (Click on the song to hear them). After the first couple of weeks of his songs, I was shaking my head. ‘Who knew that Dan Rather had such great taste!”
Listen and then look forward to smiling on Sundays.
Finally Chop Wood, Carry Water by Jess Craven
My friend, Jane S. in Albany, California, told me about this wonderful Sunday substack written by Jess Craven. Sundays are for all the successes, feel goods, wonderful wins in the US and the world. She and her team root out everything (though she apologises that due to wifi problems, yesterday’s wasn’t as full as usual). Who cares. Nowhere that I know of will you find in one place all the successes to combat that numbing bad news of the rest of the week. On Sundays, she adds ‘extra extra’ to her headline. To read yesterday’s Nov. 30, click here.
So that’s it. I’m giving thanks for the people who take the time to unearth all the ways to get me to smile and feel good each week.
I also give thanks to all of you who read this substack weekly and especially to those of you who comment and try to get discourse going: a rare commodity in this world of 50 characters. By the way, can someone explain to me the difference between those of you who become a Follower and those that subscribe. I thought followers were for social media sites and one could wear the number on your sleeve ‘see how many followers I have!’ Here on substack, I get a notice that I have a follower and that’s the end of that—what do the followers get?
If you are a follower, please consider becoming a subscriber over on Substack. That way you support and encourage me.
A bientôt,
Sara
Out My Window 