My Panier du Marche

I can blame it on cultural, ancestral tides and forces. It was not an impulsive purchase, but I really could have avoided it, with a little humility and a little search for simplicity. But I didn't. I really shouldn't have, but I had to have my own. For the past two and a half weeks, I have been grocery shopping and to the market with a big, ugly green plastic bag. It has a zipper, it was very kind of my mother-in-law to loan it to me, but everyone else has a basket, a market-day basket. I wanted a basket. They take them shopping everywhere, because grocery stores no longer give out bags here. And I used to have one too, but the bottom finally fell out of the darn thing. It was hand-made, it was beautiful, it served me well for fifteen years: it's time has passed.

I've been looking at baskets here and there, all the while telling myself I was just window-shopping, not for-real shopping. I settled on a shop, without really realizing it, that sells mostly baskets. They have a lot of baskets, lined, unlined, colored, basic, so many more choices than when I bought mine from a man making them on a corner of the marketplace years ago. The shop ended up being a good choice. It is located just before the market and the owner recognized us by the resemblance my Arthur shared with his grandfather. (OK, the accent probably helped too, I'll admit.)

It is beautiful. It is a blue and natural weave, it is big, it has a lining that comes up to cover everything so you don't loose things on the way home. It is the best basket I've ever had (all three of them). There is a tiny pocket inside for a change purse or list and a key chain holder. The handle is leather and the whole thing looks like it should last forever. I'll post a picture of it as soon as I can. I am sure my fish, stinky cheese, apples, olives and bread will be much happier this way, I'll have to remember to ask them.