The Beginning of the End or The First #onelasttime

I think about only four people read my blog.  It's possible, that of those four people, maybe one of you doesn't know that I am leaving France this summer and moving to the Middle East.  Due to an accord between the US and certain European countries, every five years I have to leave France for one year.  And my time is up.  So, while still working for my same company, I have a new project that I be working on based out of the ME, but that will allow me to travel back to Europe a good deal.  

I have around 100 days left in France.  The place that has been my home for the past 8 years.  I'm sad and excited all at the same time.  Looking forward to the new job, dreading starting all over in another new place.  Glad to get to have a roommate, sad to leave all my friends behind here.  For the one who has been the Stayer for the past several years, I am now the Leaver.  

I will write more and more over the next three months about leaving.  But I wrote all the above as an intro to today's post because yesterday was the first of the lasts.  When leaving a place, it is good for the heart to do your favorite things one last time.  

As I rode the metro to the vide-grenier, my mind traveled back to the others.  I stumbled upon my first one in May 2007 (click HERE to see the photos) and didn't know that it would become my favorite thing to do in France.  I've gone to them in Paris, in Chambery, in Aix (and other Provence towns), and certainly here in Marseille.  I've bought small little decorative items, and bigger things like a bed frame.  Lord knows I've bought some doors.  (Click HERE to see the blog posts of past vide-greniers, or brocantes, or in English--city wide yard sales.)

For the most part, I've always gone with friends.  In Paris, it was always with Mrs. Superhero.  In Chambery, with Classy Spice.  Here in Marseille, I can remember asking the Crazy Cajun to help me carry the bed frame home, or Woody to carry the heavy mirror, or Jelly Bean laughing that I bought a table.  Yesterday I reminisced about the Artist buying a gorgeous book filled with reprints of Monet paintings.  Pantene buying a full plate set one by one, vendor by vendor.  The brocantes seem to have something for everyone, and I love seeing what my friends find to be treasures.

One of the things I love about brocantes is seeing French culture.  Even in a city this big, it seems like everyone knows everyone.  The French stroll along and see their old friend selling the grandchildren's old toys alongside their grandmother's cutlery.  Bisous (cheek kisses) are exchanged, histories are caught up, gossip shared, and so on.  If you walk slow enough, and aren't too shy to slightly stalk, you were hear and learn what the French find to be fascinating.  They will pick up items and tell stories to their friend about that item.  It's ethnographic research at its finest, with the fun of shopping and sunshine added in as a bonus.

Go early enough in the day, and you will hear more arabic than french.  The Arabs come in the morning and look through all the toys and clothes.  The French come later and look through the furniture, kitchenware, decorations and furniture.  The tourists walk through all day long and find their own precious souvenirs that have a much better story than any magnet they could have bought in a store.

You truly have to walk slowly and dig through old shoes and creepy dolls to find the antique clocks and 100 year old vases.  Spindles will be mixed in with purses.

The French will stop and pet stranger's dogs.  The sun shines down and people like me get their first sunburn of the year as the rain has finally stopped and the winds calmed down and maybe, just hopefully, the spring has sprung.

I walked through, hoping to possibly find some cheap worn old bedsheets to use for quilting, and perhaps a Le Creuset skillet with a lid.  No such luck on those items.  I saw beautiful old pieces of furniture that I thought, "If I weren't moving in 3 months, I'd buy that thing right there."

I walked up and down the entire length of the market twice (once alone, once with Giggles).  I searched for a going away gift for the BonFils (who, even though he left Marseille two months ago, hasn't headed back to Alabama just yet and I'll see him in a few weeks in North Africa and so it's still not too late to give a gift...).  I didn't find what I'd hoped to find, but did find something else that could work.  That's the marvel of the brocante.  Seek and you will find...something.

I saw plenty of super old Singer sewing machines, but since I already have one of those, I walked right by them.  Then, to my slight surprise, I saw a modern machine sitting on a table.  I thought, "It'd be ridiculous to buy a machine at a street market without knowing if it even works at all."  However, the price was only 60 euros...even if it didn't work, I could take it to the repair man and have it fixed for cheaper than it would cost to buy a whole new machine.  The Oasis Center could really use a second machine, and well, I could use a functioning machine for a few months.

I spoke with the woman and asked if it works, why was she selling it?  She explained that her daughter gave her a new machine for Christmas, and she doesn't need two, so she was selling this one.  She still had the box, instructions, cover, and everything.  I thought it might be a rookie mistake, but I bought it.

I got it home, plugged it in and was thrilled to find it worked!  Even more thrilled to find that the pedal won't allow the seamstress to sew too fast, which is something a few of my ladies struggle with.  And then, the glory moment: my quilting attachment from my old machine fits perfectly onto this one!  That was one good score for this quilter.

Like every other time I've gone to a brocante in Marseille, I bought a ridiculously large item that I had difficulty getting home by myself.  I saw this apothecary medicine cabinet that is in perfect shape and thought it was too cute to resist.  At only 10 euros, I truly couldn't resist.  I looked like an idiot lugging that big thing home on the metro, but I absolutely love it.  It'll get packed into storage three months from now and I won't see it again for two years, but hey...it's mine, all mine.

So my first #onelasttime event was a glorious day.  I strolled on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and observed this culture that I've lived among for the past eight years.  I remembered all the friends I'd strolled along with during the past brocantes.  I had some great conversations with Giggles as we reflected on our time in France and our feelings about leaving and next steps.

It was a good way to kick off the end.  May each #onelasttime be as glorious as this first one was.