Well well, over 7 months of motherhood have FLOWN by.
Sorry I missed Christmas. I hope yours was at least as good as ours.
I thoroughly enjoyed my pregnancy apart from my lower back giving way round about the point we were moving flat… I did manage to paint half the bedroom ceiling before they banned me :p
Her daddy has taken to fatherhood like a duck to water. His were the first hands to hold her. We’d prepared as much as we could, so living the amazing adventure of welcoming her at home ourselves with just a little extra help truly made my day.
Thanks to the marvellous carrying scarf and my super baby who eats and sleeps and babbles happily in there, I’ve been able to get back to translating very easily. I’ve had some great jobs last term. At long last, my students are back for their English lessons which is a welcome change in rhythm. I haven’t finished learning to drive yet though: I don’t get round to organising the necessary trips out and a piercing fog-horn sets off as soon as we get into the car…
So 2012: new flat (new phone number + new address), new Baby, new Mama, new Papa, new car… and still my very own time-zone, MNSNT!
I’m thinking of how satisfied and calm and proud I felt the other day, sending in a translation I’d been able to spend my time doing properly, compared to the stressed and frustrated mood I was in (even though elated) when giving in the literature translation test last July. It’s lovely having more time to work on fewer words, and it’s amazingly interesting taking the time to learn a minimum about all the things mentioned in the source text.
I’m the most nosey person I can think of (right now) and I love putting this curiosity to use in my job.
For someone like me, who has some self-discipline but not as far as time-keeping and prioritising goes, time is therefore gold-dust, essential, and something I really need to use wisely. Being a nosey so-and-so and being easily distracted is something to use with care when time is short. It becomes great fun when I have enough time to freely look around, check, double-check, read-up on, find out about, skip between, follow links on and loop-the-loop from one internet, book or dictionary page to another. Running loose until my curiosity is satisfied and I have such a brilliantly clear picture of what I’m about to translate that I don’t have to think any more for the words to materialise. I think it takes an amazingly well written text, written by someone whose work we’ve often read, on a subject one already knows inside out to do that without any preparation.
Less words and more time are a better combination than the translating equivalent of a 400m sprint or whatever it was. 😛
To think I’ve hankered after this for years. In spite of encouragement by so many people, I’ve repeatedly nearly but never quite got started on the path of freelance translation. It’s taken leaving the UK and some serious work on my lovely man’s part to give me the courage to overcome my apprehensions and my propensity to put off until another day anything that looks to me enough like a mountain-range of molehills.
Just when I have tried hard, felt discouraged, tried some more anyway because it just has to be done, been very tired and frustrated with my foibles and got very ratty and annoyed at others when it wasn’t to do with them, just then, just now, I’ve been offered a most advantageous opportunity.
How would you like to help someone by being given the help you need most?
I like it a lot.
Right now, I’m struggling with things like setting day-to-day goals, keeping to the plans I make for my week and taking time to do the things which are essential to this business I’m trying to kick-start. I’m also finding it hard to celebrate my big and small achievements and paying disproportionate attention to all things forgotten or postponed and anything left to amass on the messy pile of life’s tedium. My Lovely hasn’t got the key, no one around has, only I have. But I need a hand…
I got a call on Friday from a friend of mine who is a coach over here and has recently done some further training abroad. She needs to coach an English speaking “guinea-pig ” so her tutor can assess her coaching someone in English. I have accepted to be said guinea-pig. She knows her job. She has tools to steer me along the way. I get free coaching for 3 months, someone to report to, to think things over with, to whom I will be required to boast the most minute of achievements and be honest. I get to be accountable for putting in the necessary effort and time to achieve my goals and reach my targets.
I’m looking forward to it and I am very glad she thought of me because, being me, I’d have put off asking for or not even thought of doing so.
Voilà, a post written in October 2011 and published in May 2012… Pffff! The coaching went well and got me moving on some things, not all. I remain very good at procrastination. Still, the essential gets done so I suppose that’s good.
We’re counting down to 26th June, estimated date when we become a family. So of course, like all sensible people, we’re moving house (flats) over the next 2-4 weeks, with the cleaning, last minutes decorating, packing and unpacking that entails, and of course, as part of the process, selling our flat so we can pay for the new place.
Luckily we don’t have to sell to move.
But hey, when was I ever sensible.
I’m not really one to pass on once in a lifetime opportunities. Being self-employed has proved immensely handy in so many ways even though I’ve done less work than usual lately… Still, with hectic flat selling antics added to getting closer to a beached whale sort of shape, I’m looking forward to 1 June, first day of my maternity leave.
Oh, and I’ll publish something I seem to have started writing around the point when I began my stint of sleeping 12 hours per night with added afternoon siesta. Unsurprisingly 15 hours sleep per 24h was knock n*1 on productivity at work or for anything else…
I forgot how to save photos smaller to upload them, so this became a forgotten draft. Sorry. Just before Christmas I remembered and have been meaning to finish this post since. Here you have it, piccies included.
For my birthday I got 20 red roses and tickets to go and see Sting. (I’ll tell you more about the symphonic experience in a later post.)
Right. I know that wasn’t yesterday, but look anyway:
I thought I’d write and post some photos, specially with summer having rushed off and autumn galloping in…
I’ll start with the Mont Blanc simply because I spent a couple of weeks working in Savoie this summer, took some nice clear mountain pictures and want to show them off.
This little hut was next to our neighbours’ house. Most traditional chalets have a cold store like this where they would have kept things like grain and hay over the winter.
Work isn’t always hard and can have perks you don’t expect.
I spent some very relaxing cooking or washing up times having a book read out loud to me, all about Savoie customs and life in previous centuries. As well as making much lighter work, I learnt loads of old savoyard tricks and admired beautiful old sepia photos.
I worked as home-help for a disabled lady and her sister took us round the mountain in the family’s work van to see sights and go for a walk.
My Beloved having lent me his camera, I was snap-happy, testing features like zoom, panoramic and more.
This combination yielded a squillion photos from which I’ve had a hard job choosing.
Here are my favourites.
See, out of 500 taken, these are only a drop in the ocean and you still have lots of examples of my photographic skill (!) to admire.
(So many in fact that, having finally published this post last night, I decided it was stupidly heavy to load. This morning, I scaled all the photos down for an easier read.)
Luckily for me, fuzzy photos made it a bit less difficult to choose.
The Alps are so beautiful! I keep repeating this and thinking it, over and again, every time I look back at the photos.
May I have inspired you to take a climb and a breath of fresh air!
Next is one of my favourite mountains and I forgot it’s name. It’s a stereotypical mountain shape and I find it so satisfying to look at.
I first thought of the Pic du Midi, but then remembered that’s in the Pyrenees, and anyway the name simply didn’t sound right… Google has come up trumps finding me this link which shows the Aiguille Verte from a different viewpoint.
So the peak with ‘midi’ in its name could have been that one, but judging from the earlier link it’s probably this next spikey friend of Mr Mont Blanc’s.
I’m not sure whether this was the one, but while I was in the Val d’Arly, there was a lot of talk about some awesome engineers and crew managing to figure out how to drain a glacier that was fit to burst above a large alpine town.
It was tense.
Those guys have my respect and then some: great inspiration, resourcefulness and inventiveness and most of all courage to work on the dodgy landscape in the first place.
A climbing frame…
and its natural habitat. 😉
(Argh! The frame extending above a picture, underneath the previous one, is annoying! I’ve successfully fought the previous occurrence with waffle. How does one make a frame obey?)
And a final shot before turning my back on the majestic view.
From left to right: the Aiguille Verte, the Aiguille du Midi, the glacier and Mr Mont Blanc.
After torrential rain and the impression the monsoon had found France a nice place to emigrate to, we’ve had heat for a week, growing heat, cooking heat, both gorgeous and horrible at the same time.
My body’s just about used to it by now and in the afternoon if I don’t move too much I don’t get soggy 😛 but I’m certainly not going out this lunch time and the shutters are lowered to keep the flat cool. The season has begun when being right above the basement is a blessing. What causes my toes to shrink back in horror if I forget to put them into my slippers throughout the winter is a beautiful lovely cooling surface underfoot now the heat pervades almost everything.
25C already and rising. Hip hip hooray for the nice cool floor.
Thank you all for the lovely messages. I did intend to write again sooner but last week was beyond hectic and I chose to fry bigger fish. I have so many ideas and things I want to write which I don’t get round to putting down. One thing makes me forget the next and it all gets vague or forgotten. Anyhow, I enjoy finding my ring where it is and feeling the empty place where it was. I’ll probably write the story of how it came about another day. It’s worth the telling. Never mind the other things about which I would have liked to write.
Fabrice made marvellous cherry and mint jam for the second time last week. The pity being we didn’t have time to prepare all the cherries so some wasted. Our mates have a tree and though some places got spoilt by rain this year, their tree has been more prolific than ever and with 5 adults at work there seems no end to the fruit on there.
This talk about jam reminds me that I never did say how the banofee pie turned out… It was a hit and by far the tastiest and most satisfying recipe I’ve ever tasted. I kid you not. The praline in the base has a fair part to play in it being so yummy.
Fabrice’s cousin (whom I’ve never known cook or prepare anything) asked for the recipe, he liked it so much.
Right, time to get on with my nephew’s bed. It’s not going to make itself!
I’m eating the first melon this year. One of those dark green rugby ball shaped melons a bit like honeydew. Sadly probably an imported one, it’s nonetheless fine and quite sweet.
Wednesday saw the first strawberry jam. It’s light jam, low in sugar and not cooked for very long, which means it still has a strawberry colour rather than the yummy brown I always seem to end up with. I often shiver at the idea of whatever chemical or method makes shop-bought strawberry jam so red.
Oh, the bad thing about the jam, or more precisely the making thereof, was the fact that my fabulous man was so very disappointed by the fact I set about doing it while he felt too tired to. He’s not the first or the last to say he’s not creative or good with his hands and however grand the counter-proof it’s so often not enough to reassure him and others that, actually they do great. Anyhow, I stole his job and was very sorry that I made him so sad in an instant. I’m not worried though because he’s so much more precise in how he makes our preserves of all kind that his jam is guaranteed to be nicer than mine.
The next batch of strawberries are all yours my love!
The pavers on the little square just down our road have finally upped their hours from half a day a week (I estimate the rate they progressed for the previous 6-8 weeks between 2 and 4 hours per week.) It’s nice because It’s sad to have fencing around the square just because the pathway round the edge is ‘in progress. If they worked this morning too, they may actually have finished.
Ah, and finally, a little non-PC-ness to round off my ramblings.
Walking into town the other day I witnesses one of my ‘only in …” such or such a place could this happen kinds of situations.
Only in France
Never in the UK without a fenced off perimeter and a little tent thing over his head.
If ever in the USA someone would manage to fall in and sue the poor man they squashed, his company and their local council too.
Shall I explain at last? Oh yes! It made me giggle… As I began, I was walking into town and looking to my right, between 2 large flower-beds, I noticed an open manhole. There was a traffic cone (Possibly 😛 stolen from Swansea of Cardiff council?) about a meter away and a toolbox about a foot to the side I walked. All I could see of the worker was the top of his head just below ground level as he stood up before bending back down to carry on whatever work he was doing. Like I said I giggled. I carried on walking and laughed to myself thinking how relaxed the French and many other continentals can be over a bloke down a manhole and then I played of in my head what would have happened elsewhere.
I’ve listed above my two main stereotypes and I’d add there’re probably one or two places where there’d be a couple of guys standing around watching, handing him a tool once in a while and generally providing conversation and encouragement as their day’s work.
I love situations like that, surprising moments of realising how a town or region or country (sometimes even a street is enough) are so different from the next.
Right, now back to dealing with everyday stuff and getting a bit more done towards this freelance project.
I’m sad to say I didn’t get the job. It was a very exciting time and both Fabrice and I would have loved to move to such a beautiful town, but Bordeaux is not for now. I can’t say I’m not sad, but I know there’s so much of Lyon and the area yet to discover and I’m quite glad to stay near my sister and her kids, so I’ll survive. Also, having little choice now but to go freelance, that’ll keep me out of trouble I’m sure. Fabrice is the one who most needed the change I suppose and I think he’s far more disappointed than I am.
We spent this week on holiday there visiting and discovering the town, the area, the wine, and we enjoyed that and the sun which warmed each day in spite of the nippy wind.
There’re proportionally more British tourists and expats in Bordeaux than in Lyon, probably because of the wine and the sea.
Tuesday was spent on the beach in Arcachon, lovely long sandy… then St Émilion on Wednesday afternoon and Château Pape Clément on Friday afternoon. The rest of the time we mostly trod the majestic streets of Bordeaux, noses in the air and sun on our backs and found many nice places to eat and stop a while.
I like going out: restaurants or concerts, walks, visits, picnics, it’s all good.
Tonight, Fabrice is taking me out to a restaurant to celebrate my arrival a whole year ago, and it’s a surprise. I’ve been trying to figure out where it might be but not asking because I actually like the idea of it being a surprise this evening when we get there,,,, I’ve been itching to ask Fabrice or people I know he’s told, but I haven’t.
I’ll wear something nice and hope it’s very yummy 🙂