Sunrise over the abbey on October 31, 2021
On our most recent visit to Lonlay l'Abbaye, we arrived on the day before Halloween.
When I was a little kid, in the late great 1960s, in the late great U.S. of A., Halloween was my favorite holiday other than Christmas. Not only did we get to dress up in ridiculous outfits, wearing eye makeup to be Cleopatra or Pocohontas, or smudging our faces with burnt cork and wearing our fathers' flannel shirts to look like sad "hobos," but we got to run up and down the entire street late at night with our friends.
We carried old pillowcases or plastic pumpkins to collect the dozens of candy bars, Pez, wax lips, candy corn and other sugar bombs that we would extort from our friendly neighbors, calling out "Trick or Treat!" at their doorsteps while they smiled and laughed at our costumes.
The whole neighborhood was wise to the game, with almost every house featuring multiple jack-o-lanterns - huge fresh pumpkins cleaned and gutted of their seeds and pulp that held flickering candles that burned black carbon soot inside the orange globes.
The "bad kids" and malcontent teens might toilet paper the trees outside an enemy's house, or smash raw eggs on cars and in the streets. Sometimes shaving cream or whipped cream would be sprayed directly on a rival. If these signs of nascent criminality were somewhat disturbing to witness, they were equally exciting to talk about afterwards with our friends.
Once every likely home had been tapped for its sugary bribes, we would collapse back in our own living rooms and spill the treasures out on the floor, separating the best chocolates from the cheaper penny candies, glorying like pirates over our loot.
Wikipedia has a fascinating article about the history of "Trick or Treating" as it has developed in different cultures. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trick-or-treating
When I was a little kid, in the late great 1960s, in the late great U.S. of A., Halloween was my favorite holiday other than Christmas. Not only did we get to dress up in ridiculous outfits, wearing eye makeup to be Cleopatra or Pocohontas, or smudging our faces with burnt cork and wearing our fathers' flannel shirts to look like sad "hobos," but we got to run up and down the entire street late at night with our friends.
We carried old pillowcases or plastic pumpkins to collect the dozens of candy bars, Pez, wax lips, candy corn and other sugar bombs that we would extort from our friendly neighbors, calling out "Trick or Treat!" at their doorsteps while they smiled and laughed at our costumes.
The whole neighborhood was wise to the game, with almost every house featuring multiple jack-o-lanterns - huge fresh pumpkins cleaned and gutted of their seeds and pulp that held flickering candles that burned black carbon soot inside the orange globes.
The "bad kids" and malcontent teens might toilet paper the trees outside an enemy's house, or smash raw eggs on cars and in the streets. Sometimes shaving cream or whipped cream would be sprayed directly on a rival. If these signs of nascent criminality were somewhat disturbing to witness, they were equally exciting to talk about afterwards with our friends.
Once every likely home had been tapped for its sugary bribes, we would collapse back in our own living rooms and spill the treasures out on the floor, separating the best chocolates from the cheaper penny candies, glorying like pirates over our loot.
Wikipedia has a fascinating article about the history of "Trick or Treating" as it has developed in different cultures. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trick-or-treating
French children getting into the spirit
(Photo taken in Brittany by French Today)
www.frenchtoday.com/blog/french-culture/halloween-in-france-toussaint/
(Photo taken in Brittany by French Today)
www.frenchtoday.com/blog/french-culture/halloween-in-france-toussaint/
The French have not wholeheartedly embraced the idea of trick-or-treat, having their own All Saints Day (Toussaint) traditions on November 1. But there are areas in Paris where the merchants now give candy to costumed kiddies at the end of October, and young adults have Halloween parties and zombie gatherings for fun in many of the large cities.
In Lonlay l'Abbaye this year, we saw a few family groups with small goblins and witches who seemed to be going to friends' houses, so perhaps the tradition will continue to spread.
For the most part though, the Toussaint holiday is more akin to Thanksgiving in its focus on family. Schools are closed for two weeks, and most people strive to go back to their home cities or villages for a few days during that time to gather with their extended families. They visit the cemeteries on November 1, laying pots of chrysanthemums on the graves of their loved ones.
In Lonlay l'Abbaye this year, we saw a few family groups with small goblins and witches who seemed to be going to friends' houses, so perhaps the tradition will continue to spread.
For the most part though, the Toussaint holiday is more akin to Thanksgiving in its focus on family. Schools are closed for two weeks, and most people strive to go back to their home cities or villages for a few days during that time to gather with their extended families. They visit the cemeteries on November 1, laying pots of chrysanthemums on the graves of their loved ones.
The small hillside cemetery of Lonlay l'Abbaye
A special family monument
WHAT A DIFFERENCE AN HOUR CAN MAKE!
When a time change overnight on October 30 caused the next day (Halloween) to end in early darkness, my Irish blood felt skittish about the thin veil this time of year between the living and the dead.
A group of scruffy backpackers and other strangers appeared to be camping out that weekend under the darkened arches of the abbey. It startled me to see figures walking in the gloom across the village green and down the narrow streets when I walked our dog.
When a time change overnight on October 30 caused the next day (Halloween) to end in early darkness, my Irish blood felt skittish about the thin veil this time of year between the living and the dead.
A group of scruffy backpackers and other strangers appeared to be camping out that weekend under the darkened arches of the abbey. It startled me to see figures walking in the gloom across the village green and down the narrow streets when I walked our dog.
Medieval arches of the abbey
Rue St Nicolas in the early evening
Pipkin wasn't helping matters any, appearing as a demon dog in certain light!
The abbey at night
Hardworking bankers still at the branch on rue St Michel after dark
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The travelling fish market van outside the bakery on Thursday night
Our house at night
View from upstairs in our house at dusk, looking down rue du Centre
With the close of another year at hand, and with so many months having evaporated into the pandemic, Joseph and I were plowing on to make some progress in our Lonlay village house. Several late afternoons saw us sorting out thousands of photos by year that we had stored in two heavy filing cabinets. At least we had electricity, heat, and recessed lights in the ceiling to work by. We did not have time to look at all the photos - but the filing cabinets were taking up valuable space in our front room, and they needed to go.
The filing cabinets, with doors open to the electric box and "door of doom" water valve box
Photo boxes in the attic
One thing I realized was that the photos all seem very precious to me, and I really don't want to throw any of them out, but at least we repacked them in plastic containers I had ordered from Amazon, and now they are up in the attic. We still have oodles more boxes of photos and memorabilia to go through that are in cardboard boxes upstairs. My wedding dress, daughter's school projects, old toys and books... Ok, next time....
I had ordered ten big plastic storage boxes for Lonlay, but somehow the order was cut in two and one set of boxes went to our default address in Paris! I got a call on the Saturday from the delivery guy who was standing outside our building there. Had to tell him to take those boxes back. No time to order more while we were in Lonlay, because Monday the 1st was a holiday, and there was no option for expedited shipping. Ok, next time...
One storage box was broken in the set we received. I braved calling Amazon.fr. Got someone to speak to me in English. Did not expect much, but they gave me a refund of nearly half the price of the full set!
I had ordered ten big plastic storage boxes for Lonlay, but somehow the order was cut in two and one set of boxes went to our default address in Paris! I got a call on the Saturday from the delivery guy who was standing outside our building there. Had to tell him to take those boxes back. No time to order more while we were in Lonlay, because Monday the 1st was a holiday, and there was no option for expedited shipping. Ok, next time...
One storage box was broken in the set we received. I braved calling Amazon.fr. Got someone to speak to me in English. Did not expect much, but they gave me a refund of nearly half the price of the full set!
Bedroom "bulb of shame"
Speaking of builders, we were happy to be able to walk with them through our house, room by room, noting projects that may require their expertise in the coming months - after they first address the ruined stairwell and paint all the interior - which is quite a lot of work already.
In our bedroom hangs the "bulb of shame." We already have recessed lights in most of the rooms, but I imagined that all we would need in the bedroom was a "chandelier," as I envisioned several smaller lamps on chests and nightstands that would supply ample additional lighting. Well, naturally, I discovered that the central position I had chosen for said chandelier was going to hit everyone in the head. Nor is the ceiling high enough to accommodate a classic chandelier. So the bulb of shame hangs there to remind me.
Most likely we will install a light fixture here that will fit closer to the ceiling to remedy that problem. Our leading contender at the moment is a classic 20th century art deco style. www.luminaire.fr/plafonnier-antique-caecilia-42-cm.html
Moving on to the attic...
In our bedroom hangs the "bulb of shame." We already have recessed lights in most of the rooms, but I imagined that all we would need in the bedroom was a "chandelier," as I envisioned several smaller lamps on chests and nightstands that would supply ample additional lighting. Well, naturally, I discovered that the central position I had chosen for said chandelier was going to hit everyone in the head. Nor is the ceiling high enough to accommodate a classic chandelier. So the bulb of shame hangs there to remind me.
Most likely we will install a light fixture here that will fit closer to the ceiling to remedy that problem. Our leading contender at the moment is a classic 20th century art deco style. www.luminaire.fr/plafonnier-antique-caecilia-42-cm.html
Moving on to the attic...
The attic stairwell, steps and side wall all need work
Eventually, we plan to cover over the attic walls with drywall and make the attic into another bedroom or office.
But first we will have to be sure that all of the small leaks, like the one we had near the old chimney, are fully sealed. We will need at least two skylights, and we will put in a permanent floor. Right now, the floor is made of strong plywood that allows us to walk on it and store items, but we would like it to be hardwood.
The drywall is already up in the attic, along with the old attic door (on top) that will be painted and rehung.
In one corner of the attic, a beam crosses in front of the water heater. Thanks to plumbing and electrical connections placed here by our previous builders at our request, it should be possible to make a small powder room in this corner in the future. People may have to duck under the beam, however, in order to use the loo!
At present, only two small windows let natural light into the attic. This one is clear, but the other is covered with lichen and does not allow much light to enter. We look forward to having a better view one day through a larger skylight toward the center of the village.
We like visiting the house and making future plans for all the rooms, but who can stay indoors for long when the crisp outdoors beckons, and Normandy puts on all of its reds and gold and rust colors for us to admire?
We like visiting the house and making future plans for all the rooms, but who can stay indoors for long when the crisp outdoors beckons, and Normandy puts on all of its reds and gold and rust colors for us to admire?
The abbey and its surrounds are the serene center of the village, reflecting each season.
One bridge leads to another, crossing the several tributaries that course the village. The flowers change with the seasons as well. Pansies are planted for late fall and winter, being resistant to frost.
Long buses and tractor-trailers that provide transport and goods to the region pass through Lonlay periodically throughout the day, but for many hours at a time it is still very much a pedestrian village, as it was a hundred years ago, and a hundred years before that.
Signage reminds us that many areas are for "pietons" - pedestrians only.
This is a village with a sense of humor. No excuse for not picking up by saying you don't read French!
A visit would not be complete without steak and fries, hake in white wine sauce and a casserole of buttered vegetables at the Relais de l'Abbaye.
Always there are so many other things I wish I could show you about our time in the village, but I cannot capture them well enough or furtively enough with an iphone:
icy air that seizes my throat as I marvel at early morning lawns covered in frost, sparkling like white sugar in the sun,
an older man in his reflective vest who kindly warns us of a big intersection at the top of a hill,
little urchins at the preschool being reminded over and over that they are not to eat "that,"
the mayor getting his coffee and making his appointed rounds,
the scent of fresh breads at the boulangerie,
the friendly dog that lives at the supermarket,
the sound of rushing water under the bridges,
and the splendid midnight show of stars, majestic against black sky over the village green.
You'll have to take my word for some of it.
November in Lonlay l'Abbaye, in the time of All Saints.
icy air that seizes my throat as I marvel at early morning lawns covered in frost, sparkling like white sugar in the sun,
an older man in his reflective vest who kindly warns us of a big intersection at the top of a hill,
little urchins at the preschool being reminded over and over that they are not to eat "that,"
the mayor getting his coffee and making his appointed rounds,
the scent of fresh breads at the boulangerie,
the friendly dog that lives at the supermarket,
the sound of rushing water under the bridges,
and the splendid midnight show of stars, majestic against black sky over the village green.
You'll have to take my word for some of it.
November in Lonlay l'Abbaye, in the time of All Saints.
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