There is a little local cemetery a short walk from our house. This is one of the tombstones there.
Hosed in Provence
Donâ€™t you just hate it when you are forced to buy something, something you canâ€™t do without? It seems like businesses all over the world are able to set this up, in the States and in France- it is the same. Iâ€™ve read there is built in obselence in many things built now, from cars to appliances. I know I once had a very ancient washing machine that needed some minor repair in the States. I mentioned to the repairman that maybe I should buy a new one but he told me to hang on to it, that it was built to last and could probably go on another twenty years or so. He said that the new washing machines would only last a few years at best. So I kept the old one until I moved to France. It didnâ€™t look pretty but it had trusty innards.
So I guess I shouldnâ€™t be surprised that there was something rather similar here in France. It has to do with hoses, the ones you have to water the yard with. When we first built our house and were just starting to get our yard into shape, I bought Maurice a bright yellow hose for his birthday. Not very romantic or imaginative and it gives some idea of our finances and where our money was going. Not one of the hoses in the store has ends-the things that screw onto the water spigot. Maurice told me that you had to know the size of the spigot first, that there were several sizes. I was used to buying any hose in any store in the States and being able to screw it on to the spigot and water immediately. This is not the case in France, maybe Europe, for all I know.
We had to pick a specific company and decide what sort of connectors we wanted on our hose and then buy something for the spigot, for the hose and, if we wanted to add another hose to the end, yet another connector. I am constantly having to go look for one connector or another. They are all made out of, hopefully, durable plastic and easily snap into place. I donâ€™t know, it just seems strange to me. Its amazing how things come to be in various countries, from electrical wires and plugs, to plumbing to which side of the street cars drive on. I should be more amazed and maybe a little charmed, but I often find myself irritated. Sometimes I miss the comfortableness of America. And, on a final note, our dishwasher, used for a little over one year, has stopped working and we await a repairman.