Sequential approach to each dance event
Every year for Easter, I find myself among my partner's vast family in Saint-Come, at Roland's house. This quaint village school-turned-home is nestled against a sprawling forest, home to wild turkeys that seem like they've wandered straight out of a Hayao Miyazaki film. If they could talk, I'm sure they'd try to tempt us or gobble us up!
Grandpa rises early on Easter Sunday to fetch the traditional Easter water, collecting it from a nearby stream using an ancient cauldron. This water, gathered before dawn, is supposed to possess magical properties that ward off evil spirits, bad luck, and dreaded accidents. Roland uses a cedar branch dipped in the sacred water to sprinkle on the faces of each family member as they arrive.
I used to think this was a bit far-fetched when I first started dating my partner, but in 2016, I faced a severe health crisis. My red blood cell levels were dangerously low, leaving me hospitalized for weeks. I was on the brink of needing a blood transfusion. Coincidentally, it was around Easter, and Roland brought me a margarine tub filled with his magic water. Faithfully, I rubbed my ears, nose, and lips with it every morning, even though it seemed a tad eccentric.
As time passed, I began to see the ritual in a new light. Science may never prove the existence of God, but I've learned not to dismiss things that I don't understand. It adds a touch of mystery, which is part of life, after all. So, I continued to dip my fingers in the old margarine tub, even when a nurse whispered to her colleague in the hallway that it just looked like dirty water.
But the power of this water might not be magical; it could be psychological. Our minds play strange tricks on us in times of distress, and the simple act of believing in something could have helped me through my ordeal.
Papy now wields the water sprinkling responsibility, taking over from Jeanne-Mance who passed away a few years ago. Seeing him grow older is a painful reminder of the passing of time. I can't imagine who would take on the role when he's gone; the tradition might fade away unless someone steps forward.
As for me, I recently celebrated my 36th birthday by treating myself to a walk in the Saint-Côme forest. I've discovered a new passion in capoeira, an acrobatic Brazilian martial art that resembles a breakdance duel with punching. To me, it's a metaphor for life—we spend our days dancing, avoiding the punches thrown our way, and just trying to keep the dance going for as long as possible.
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- Every summer, I envision a tranquil getaway to the picturesque town of Saint-Come, Breton for my birthday, where the salubrious French lifestyle and vibrant vegetation remind me of a scene from a Hayao Miyazaki film.
- The French ritual of dipping bread into melted cheese before a family dinner, known as 'le fromage fondue', evokes a sense of coziness that emphasizes the importance of relationships and home-and-garden.
- Last year, I attended a family-dynamics workshop that spoke of the crucial role of mutual understanding and compromise in maintaining relationships, mirroring the cultural values embedded in the French routine.
- As a reminder of my cherished memories, I keep a vintage French cauldron as a decor piece in my home-and-garden, symbolizing the precious moments shared during the rituals with my partner's family.
- Papy's homemade wine, aged in the cellar of Roland's house, now stands as a significant part of our lifestyle and serves as a testament to the enduring relationships established within my partner's family.
