A Saturday with Les Choristes

I just finished watching The Chorus -- a beautiful movie that I will remember for some time. It is the story of a boy's detention school in France just after WWII, where all the kids are trouble-makers and not to be trusted. Monsieur Mathieu, or Chrome Dome, comes to the school as the new prefect. As he slowly but surely gains the trust of his rebellious and terribly mistreated students, he opens them to the beautiful world of music.

Described as a "gentle drama," The Chorus left me in tears by the credits. I immediately began dancing -- pike passe, glicee, the works. I wanted to join up choir and sing as part of a group, not just solo. Had it not been so late, I would've called upon Mrs. Brown and asked for an emergency voice lesson. Within this abusive story of Les Choristes lies the uplifting force of comradery.


I hope you get the chance to watch it; it's worth making time for.

It was nice spending the night in by myself. I've been so busy with SoS lately -- if not working then pouring over it in my head -- that I haven't had much down time. And even when I do get a break, I usually spend it out and about.

Today, for example, I woke up a little after eight and rode my bike down to the market. There I sung a Capella for a couple of hours, making a total of $37. Exciting! To be fair, much of that was earned only because I am familiar with the crowd. Perhaps friendship and manners are money makers after all. Regardless, I enjoyed myself, and I am very grateful how supportive our community is of my many endeavors.

After my second shift around the square, mum joined me, and together we bought produce and meat. Baby yellow squash, Italian sausage, sweet corn, Asian pears, tomatoes, and (rather bolted) spinach were among our purchases. How much I adore arranging the vegetables when I get home! A blue casserole dish made by friend and vendor Cheryl Buehl has been repurposed to house bell peppers and tomatoes. The pears rest in another modest bowl she made. We have a whole bowl of fingerling potatoes -- red yellow, Yukon gold, and even blue. The latter two varieties are from Farmer Jesse, a kind and courageous man who recently battled cancer.


In retrospect, knowing who grew our food, knowing whose hands plucked it off the bush or from the ground, and trusting the integrity of the system is as much if not more rewarding as actually eating. Jim, who speaks of lamb in a passionate and loving way, offers numerous recipes every time we buy from him. Louise, her desire for brevity always apparent, gives me a generous deal on pears. The woman at Arsaga's, whose name I still down know, whispered to her co-worker to give me a free glass of water instead of paying for the bottle. It's these acts of kindness that make me thrive on my Saturday mornings much more than I ever could on my Friday nights. Why stay out late when I could wake up (relatively) early to catch the prime time of the market?

On that note, I'm always looking for someone to jam with in the mornings. Piano doesn't do much good on the square, and my rudimentary guitar skills will probably lose more tips than gain. If you're interested, drop by sometime; I'd love to have someone to sing with.

Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the rest of the weekend.