Toussaint

Happy Halloween!
A poster with a grinning pumpkin welcomed us to the supermarket for the weekly shop. Unlike in the UK, it's rather incongruous,the US traditions for Halloween haven't yet become commonplace here. Inside the supermarket there is one stand with an assortment of witches hats, skeletons and plastic spiders,but one feels that they aren't big sellers. There are pumpkins on sale but most will get used for soup. The parents of children with diabetes here are lucky.They don't yet have to cope with the problems of what to do about the tacky sweets associated with trick or treating

But this time of year is very important here. November 1st is Toussaint, All Saints day.In English , All Hallows,(the origin of Halloween). The following day is All souls. Half a century ago it was celebrated as a solemn festival in Anglican churches, the service finishing with a rousing chorus of 'For All the Saints'. Today its less evident , times have changed. My grandchildren will attend a church party set up to counter the attractions of more secular Halloween activities with their emphasis on witches, ghosts and evil.

It is the church festivals which dominate here.
Outside the supermarket, in a large area of the market and outside every florist are pots and pots of Chrysanthemums. The beautiful displays look lovely in the autumn sunshine.
(If you visit at this time, please don't buy a pot for a French friend). These flowers have one destination;the cemetery. The chrysanthemum is a symbol of immortality. It flowers in the last quarter of the year and resists frosts. Toussaint also marks the turn of the year towards winter,
'A la Toussaint le froid revient,
et met l'hiver en train'
The chrysanthemum's bright petals will be sign of hope in the autumnal fogs to come.

In the week leading up to Toussaint families visit the family graves, and sepulchres, weeding the surrounds, cleaning the stonework, making everything spick and span . The new pots of flowers are placed around the tomb.Those who are too far away from home do not forget, often organising a florist to do the job for them. The cemeteries gradually become a blaze of colour.

As November 1st is a bank holiday, family gatherings take place with those that can, returning to their home towns and villages for the day.
Traditionally, on the day itself masses take place in the churches followed by prayers for the dead in the cemeteries, though in villages like ours, the priest has to spread his services thinly so some services now take place later in the week.

This is a lovely festival, bringing together the generations. It's not sad, not so much a day of mourning. There is no sense of evil or fear connected with the cemeteries. It's a time of remembrance, a time to honour one's dead ancestors and celebrate the family.
Will it survive the pressure of consumerism with it's plastic spiders,dangling skeletons, swag bags and tacky sweets?
I hope so.

After the Fete:

A fantastic evening, 510 people fed and a packed dance floor from the start.

I love the way everyone joins in from toddlers to great grandparents with every age group in between cluding the hard to please teens. We did a fair amount of dancing though OH’ s legs were a bit stiff after the run in the morning.

As for blood glucose levels, I ate the melon , missed out on the charcuterie, bloused before the green salad , chicken and a bit of bread, ate the cheese but declined the flan. Because it was a relatively low carb , meal my bolus worked out at 3.2u. Even so, I probably over estimated a bit as was down at 3.8mmol (68.4mg/dl) when I got home. The red wine probably played a part. A cup of coffee and a biscuit called a fouree framboise. (a bit like a jaffa cake with raspberry jam and dark choc) This did the trick and my fasting level next morning was 4.4mmol (79.8mg/dl).

Clearing up

Next morning was the clearing up. About 35 volunteers did all the cleaning down, humping and dumping of chairs and tables necessary. By midi everything was ready for a meal of ‘restes’.. leftovers. There was a great debate as to the quality of the pate and the jambon this year.... pate excellent, jambon ‘moyen’. I decided to be on a regime to avoid the extra dish of a ragout made with the chicken livers and gesiers (gizzards) . Other half said they were very good...... but why did he bring home a carefully wrapped package for the cats?

Our Village, En Fete (a bit about life in this part of France ... not much about Diabetes!)

Back home In England, you think of the school fete, the church fete , or the Red Cross fete. You know the sort of thing, cake stalls, tombolas and Mrs Jones’s class dancing round the maypole. Here the word applies to all sorts of feasts, festivals and partied but in this part of the world, this is the season of the village fete, much bigger events to their English counterparts. Originally, they were big parties held in the summer to welcome back the children on their holidays from work in Paris and other big towns. This still happens, relatives try to come back for the fete last year I met an elderly lady who had left the village 65 years ago as a GI bride. Every ten years or so she returns for the fete.
So what goes on? Each village has its own way of doing things, they don’t change much from year to year as it makes it easier to organise. Last night we travelled about 30km to a village for a Celtic night. This village (population 417) hosted an event with 3 music groups from Ireland and France, pipers from Scotland and Galicia, a barbeque and bar for well over 1000 people in a giant tent. (That was the first of several events including a large vide grenier and a huge meal to round it off)
Our village is a bit smaller; there are no more than 60 people, about 35 in the village, the rest in neighbouring farms. This includes several octo and nonagenarians and a handful of children. This morning we organise a 10km and 15km run. This is not for the faint hearted, it includes lots of climb and some quite rough terrain. This year the competitors won’t have to worry about the mud like last year, we’re in the middle of a heat wave and the temperature will be very high. My husband is running, but I’ve chickened out this year, though I have run in previous years.
The afternoon is gentler, though just as fiercely contested; a pentanque competition.
In the evening is the main event, a bal for up to 800 people. On the menu, melon with a slug of Muscat, charcuterie , pain de champagne, green salad, our famous poules a la broche, (chicken on a spit), cheese, fruit tarte, lots of vin rouge, oh and coffee with eau de vie to round it off. The whole lot accompanied by dancing to a top class accordeoniste, Sylvie Pulles with her band.
This is completely organised by the local people. The chickens are local. They arrive from neighbouring farms on Saturday morning.... still squawking. (Stop reading now, if you’re squeamish)
Everybody helps. The chickens are efficiently dispatched by a middle aged couple. An elderly man plunges them into a bath of hot water. Then they’re plucked , feathers flying everywhere, and then draw. All the edible innards are then washed and set aside for making into charcuterie. The chickens are trussed, with strips of lard tied to their breasts, seasoned with salt and garlic and are ready for cooking over a wood fire next day. About 250 chickens are prepared like this! The charcuterie comes from a local firm; this has to be cut up, as do the melons, the bread and the flan. The lettuce has to be washed. Tables collected from the main village in the commune and set up. ... I could go on. There’s a lot of work and for most of my neighbours the day job doesn’t stop for the fete. The cows still have to be milked.
My problem as a diabetic is just how to bolus for this very large meal strung out over 2-3hours. I’ll let you know tomorrow how I got on!