chou chope

petit hameau

Picture lifted at Wikipedia

Ah, my sweet cabbage of love,

I hope these words find you well. Country life is so dull sometimes. I am positively bored speechless.

However, the weather is absolutely beautiful and if I'm not lying around in the gardens, I can likely be found lost in a book in the hammock by the river. Ah, spring days in what should still be the depths of winter. Strange wonderful days, indeed.

My work is the same. I busy myself in the market and leave mindless most days. The people I come in contact with there are ever changing yet always the same. They race from one extreme to the next, angered by anything and everything.

Sometimes they just come off bloodthirsty, ya know? I remember years ago, everyone had finally had it with the King. The talk in the market was about how restrictive the regulations were in bringing drugs to the people. A fight broke out in the town square and the serfs basically accused the royals of hoarding all the medication. The royals bent over backwards to assuage the masses of hysterical towns people and get them the medications they clamored for.

Just a few short years later, they found that the medications didn't really work for everyone, and a few were inflicted with much greater illness, some fatal. And so another outburst in the market erupted, this time accusing the royals of using the lay people as guinea pigs. Now they saw the violence (risk) inherent in the system. The royals had seen it for some time, yet had never solved the central question that eroded all their great plans: How do you control crazy people?

I guess the masses of blood thirsty depression mongers can never be satiated. Thank goodness! They do keep me on my toes. And please don't misunderstand me, I'm thankful for the daily diversion. Between pedicures and spa treatments, life would really seem too opulent for words if not for the infectious townspeople.

Just earlier this week there was some more bloodshed in the market. I forget about what. The end of the world, I'm sure. You know, you don't have to look far. The same people that would claim I'm cold and hoarding their riches, are out spitting on our heroes and cussing our leaders on every corner. The music of the day is discernment. And with all these self appointed judges running about, we are long on fatal tempers and short on actual executioners. All the world is a circus and absolutely nothing gets accomplished while we sit on our duffs in judgement of others.

But enough of that. No more current events talk, mon chou d'amour. There will be plenty of that when I return to the market on monday. But this my last weekend in my country cottage and I have plenty of rest to catch up on here. Don't envy my profusion, please, it is but a small sign of a wasted mind, I assure you.

Plus I don't want lose my head here. Now I'm off to feed the boys bon bons in the flower garden. Unless you are looking to lavish flowers, jewels, soft fabrics and hard liquors, please do not disturb me. A woman's cottage is her castle.

And I don't care to hear about your bread shortage, poor boy. As the dear Duke of Perversion once said to me, "Let them eat Snakes!"

Posted by shoe at March 3, 2007 11:00 AM | TrackBack