Ladies of leisure

While at the British Library in London, I picked up a small book on the art of leisure by Robert Louis Stevenson. The famed author makes the point about how most Americans (and some Englishmen) are missing out on the core of life by focusing all their energies to achieving wealth or status for a future end goal. Little time is left to do absolutely nothing and enjoy the moment you are in.

Valerie, Monica, and I all decided that we would never be of that American class that Mr. Stevenson describes. In fact, we were heading to a country cottage in southern France to do exactly what he would want—absolutely nothing. For it is only when we have nothing to achieve that we really enjoy life.


What does nothing look like? A sampling of life the land of leisure.


DRIVING: A car is to get from point A to point B. Nothing more, nothing less. Gone are the German make fancy cars. We ladies are touring in an Opel Wagon and couldn’t love it more. The Opel may or may not have been stuck going around the same roundabout a few times while we try to navigate the country roads—but no matter. We are not in a hurry.

EATING:Eating is really the main mission of every day. When you have time on your hands the only stress you may encounter is not tasting every type of cheese and sausage from the region collected at the local markets.

This, ahem, means we are eating about 2-3 ‘market boards’ daily IN ADDITION to our main meals. We may pack on the lbs while staying here, but in our leisure state of mind, we don’t really care. As my granny says, ‘get fat and sassy!’ Granny, you know best--Bring on the sausicsson!


DRINKING: Cheese and meat trays cannot be eaten dry (or sober for that matter). It is imperative that one has the proper beverage to go with it and perhaps make you tipsy enough so that you forget you are eating encased lard. Although an American may watch us and be motivated to take us to AA, the southern French mind finds it perfectly acceptable to get drunk 2-3 times a day. There is the mid day rosé during lunch. Once sober again from our afternoon ‘leisure activities’ we move on to the ‘before dinner’ aperitif. We cook tipsy and finally enjoy the ‘during dinner‘ red wine while we eat the fruits of our labor. And lastly, we enjoy the very important ‘after dinner’ digestif. The digestif actually doesn’t help you digest anything—it just makes you pass out.

OTHER ACTIVITIES: While we are not passed out drunk or trying out another stinky cheese we amuse ourselves with other leisurely activities. I write, naturally, although most of my writing in La Broulie has to do with sausage wrappings and the mournful cows out in the neighboring field. Monica takes delight in taking the Opel out to go in roundabouts. Valerie has taken on the new sport of fly hunting (she keeps a swatter attached to her waist at all times). We nap. We read. We listen to eclectic French music and take photos of ourselves looking profound.
And we cook slow roasting-time consuming dishes that only the leisurely can do.

We are drunk, we are fat, and we are absolutement très content. We leave for Paris tomorrow afternoon, but since we are in the land of leisure, that seems like a lifetime away.