The Grumpy Church Lady Mystery: SOLVED!

Of course this is a research trip, why do you ask?

So, whilst gathering information for the Maminou series (which involves spending a while in the south of France - totally taking one for the team here -) I have come across the answer to the Church Lady Mystery. So I had to share straight away.

Had to.

If you are unfamiliar with the Church Lady Mystery, here it is in a nutshell: 

Why is it that some old ladies at church are so incensed by babies and toddlers making noise? Surely they have had their own, how come they don't remember it being hard? Did children use to miraculously behave because "back in the day, we weren't afraid of discipline, my dear"? Did children and babies not squirm, scream and cry? 

How did they do it? 

Well, I asked Maminou, so now I know. 

They didn't. 

Maminou doesn't remember seeing children younger than six or seven at mass when she was younger. She didn't take hers until they were preparing for their First Holy Communion. People would leave the younger children with a neighbour, a friend, the father if he didn't go to Mass, the nanny if they had a bit of money. 

So, they have no patience for you and your toddlers, because, chances are, they have never been in your shoes ( of course I can't vouch for all the Grumpy Church Ladies everywhere, but it is something to consider).

MYSTERY SOLVED! 

Now you are allowed to nod and smile whilst your personal GCL admonishes you and makes you feel like a failed mother after Mass: she, officially, doesn't know what she is talking about. 

Big sigh of relief. We are doing alright, folks! 

This is related to two things I want to write more about, when I have access to a computer rather than my phone for post-writing: the importance of help, and general skin-deep catholicism. 

PS: If you already knew the answer to this mystery, you could have told me! 

PPS: let it also be said that, although we boast a good few GCLs at our parish, the overwhelming majority of people are lovely and helpful, and mostly think J is hilarious for trying to sing at all the wrong times (yes, he does that). 

PPPS: this may also have solved the Grumpy Priest Mystery, some have also encountered. 

AMT: 04/07/2015 Fighting Paramedics and Sleep-Rowing

1. How did you celebrate the 4th of July? (Or, for you international types . . . Do anything fun this weekend?)

Being an international type, I've been sparing a thought for Americans, and working on the material for my "sharing my grandmother with you guys" series. The material is accumulating nicely, but no computer makes post-writing somewhat challenging (and we're in the middle of a heat-wave here in the south of France,  so I am basically busy melting, cooling in the pool and watching my feet swell up). All the fun is therefore currently being had by me.

2. Do you sunburn easily?

Before the bridge. Skin intact.

Yes. I do. All the time. I also get sunstrokes really easily (why am I complaining about the English weather again? Can't remember). I hate just doing the pancake on the beach, I need to be doing something, and sand is not a comfortable place to read, so I am mostly in the sea, which helps a bit. But even then, and despite regular applications of factor 50, every holiday comes with one day when I forget, and then...

Memorable sun-burns: 

In Rome, on the day of the canonization of Padre Pio. Two million people in the streets, I fell and hurt my knee, wrist and shoulder (I may be a bit clumsy), some paramedics plucked me away from my friends, I had to wrestle away from them as they were taking me to the ambulance (it wasn't THAT serious). I then struggled through the crowds to find my friends, eventually did, but in the upset, I just forgot the factor 50. ROOKIE ERROR ISABELLE!

Also, the worst I ever got was cycling the Golden Gate on a cloudy day. We just didn't realise the sun was that fierce (thanks a bunch San Francisco). I spent the rest of the holidays with impressive portions of my shoulder skin peeling off. It's a great look, you should try it. Will be all the rage next year.

3. Hot dogs. Yay or nay?

Well, depends what you mean. In French, a hot dog is exclusively the sandwich you make with a hot-dog sausage, which is mostly nay for me. They LOOK like they are going to taste great, but they always taste dry and disappointing. Bad hot-dog.

Via.

Now if you are talking about the sausage itself, I'd like to say nay, but we are living on a budget over here, so sometimes need must. They're nice chopped up and added to a carrot and lentils warm salad (also known as the pauper's version of the Petit salé aux Lentilles).

4. Have you ever personally set off fireworks?

Nope. They are forbidden in France, unless it's the 14th of July. Unless you count these tiny snappy ones you throw on the floor? (Thought you wouldn't...).

Via. Wasn't me.

5. Have you ever jumped off the high dive?

Yes. Despite myself. 

Although I am not scared of heights, I'm not a fan of jumping from high places. So when I have to do it anyway, I just push everybody out of the way and jump straight in, so I don't have time to think about it. Great, safe technique there.

Also, I remember being too scared to jump off a high jetty into the Mediterranean when I was four. My brother and 15 year-old auntie jeered. So then I jumped, and they had to run to catch my then-eighteen-month old sister who wanted to follow suite.

Don't worry, my parents were safely away on the beach, taking pictures of the happenings. 

What's the opposite of helicopter parenting?

6. Do you do anything weird in your sleep?

Sadly, I don't. Unless you count snoring as weird. My sister, however, is amazing. You can have whole surreal conversations with her whilst she sleeps. 

Marc and Isabelle come in on tiptoes to go to bed without waking her up. Banane sits up on her bed, eyes still closed.

- (aggressively) So, did I win?!

- Erm, you weren't actually WITH us, so...

- Oh, shut up you're just jealous!

Once she also sat up and started pretend-rowing in her bed. 

She also sang a couple of times (unfortunately, our laughs always wake her up).

Introducing: Maminou

via This is an advert. But this person looks remarkably like my Maminou!

I have seen many posts reflecting on the fact that homemaking as an art has been forgotten, how the transmission between generations somehow stopped at one point. Calah's post springs to mind.

Another post by Haley on Mad Men, was also looking at the shift from homemaker to "head of household purchases" which seems to have happened in the 1950s in America (not in England or France though, there it was more likely the 60s).

I feel these posts are indeed reflecting something I find at work in our contemporary life, and for the most part, all we can do about it is painfully reconstitute the knowledge which has not be transmitted.

Start again from scratch.

Except for me.

You see, I've got a Maminou.

Maminou meeting Patapon

Maminou is my wonderful grandmother.

She is wonderful in many many ways it would embarrass her for me to mention.

She was also born in the 1930s, in Algeria.

Which means, she was brought up with all the homemaking knowledge still being transmitted to her, still knowing how to deal with no appliances whatever (she often says how she got her first fridge when she got married, and how awesome that was).

Maminou knows how to deal with no running water in a desert country, she saw oil being pressed in her father's farm, and artichokes being harvested (I don't know why they were specialised in artichokes, it does feel a bit anti-climactic, but bear with me). Maminou fled her country and started a new life with two toddlers whilst pregnant with twins. I feel there is nothing Maminou can't do.

This summer, Maminou is sharing it all with me.

And I'm going to be sharing with you.

What say you? Are you game?