The Reckoning

By the end of August I might be too tired to say this – I like the rhythm my life is developing. I wake up, clean up, water the plants at home, and head over to the shop. There, I take all the plants outside and water them, and move a few items and a rack outside, then get to tidying and putting things in order in the shop. Like before, it’s unclear exactly where the time goes, but it sure does go forward…

Charmant, the shop and the idea of building a lovely life, is an all-day, every day occupation. If you divide my revenue by the hours I invest there, and in the hunting for stuff, sewing, and prepping, I’m probably not earning any money at all. But, every time I open the shop door, people come in and buy things. For someone who could not open any doors at all for many years, I’m constantly astounded that such a simple thing makes me money. I learn a lot about customer behavior, profit margins, and am figuring out bit by bit, the practices I need to put in place, so that this enterprise goes more smoothly. And I do not want for a single thing.

In Indonesia, where I spent my teenage years, the word for the bill at the end of a meal is the “reckoning”, which comes from the Dutch. In English, a tallying up, a balancing out, making things right. It’s been on my mind a lot lately, after nine whole days in business, and the end of my housesitting arrangement. The latter needs to percolate before I decide whether to write about it. The internal debate – Engage in someone else’s drama vs. tell the interesting story.

The word reckoning in the USA has an evangelical harshness about it. “You better get your business fixed right, brother, before the day of reckoning is upon us.” Well, brother…here’s my take on it – reckoning does not happen overnight. Here I am, starting a new life, in a tiny community full of long family histories, rivalries, and eons of conflict and loves that I have no clue about. What I can understand is this – there are decent people everywhere, all of whom have flaws.

The Monpazierois – try rolling that R around the back of your throat… treat me with everything from the utmost civility to the greatest kindness. It’s a decent place, which makes the daily work of being a decent human being, easier. Precisely because it’s so small, one is keenly aware of where in the heart a behavior comes from. Forget anonymity here, say, like in a big city where you might be a jerk on your morning commute and no one at your office would know your vehicular jerkiness. A secret would never survive inside the rampart walls. The downside, of course, is that everyone in the village has some kind of a grudge against half of the people in town. So, one reckons up every single day.

This week’s reckoning:

Real money came in, a currency even I can believe in. To remember - “I’m not just here for decoration…” I probably charged too little most of the time. Interesting people came through – I’d worried that the constant contact would bother me since I’ve been a hermit for so long, but for now it’s refreshing. My location off the central square is a challenge. Finding time to replenish my inventory is an issue. Every day has been a learning experience. Finally, I could not be more proud of the character of the inhabitants here.

I reckon it’s a good place to call home.