The Music Man

The thing about living in a place where you don't speak or read the language* is that you often don't know what's going on around you. For example, while in the backyard this morning we heard music. Eva declared it must be the Popsicle Man. We told her it must be the carnival that was going on down the street**. But the music got closer and closer. Finally it got close enough for us to see where it was coming from ~ a man walking up and down the streets with a music cart. With a stuffed monkey on top that clapped when the music played.

Why was he walking around with a music cart? We have no idea. Was this a common occurrence? Was it part of the carnival down the street? Or was he simply an odd bird who walked up streets with a music cart and a stuffed monkey? We'll probably never know.

But this sort of thing happens occasionally. We've stepped out of our house to marching bands. To a jazz band. We've seen runners whizzing by and a bike race. We've had garbage men knock on our door to say Happy Holidays which really meant we're here for our tip. We wandered into the main square in town expecting to find the Farmer's Market and instead finding a fair. Why? What's the celebration? No clue. No idea. But we did enjoy some fair food.

We've learned to accept that we're not always going to understand or to know why. Now, Bryce and I simply look at each other and shrug. I donno. Me neither. Huh.

*Luxembourgish
**We have no idea why there has been a carousel, bumper cars, games, and a pommes frites stand in our neighborhood for the past week. Fortunately you don't need to know why to enjoy a carousel ride. Which the girls did.