Never give up

The last few weeks haven’t been easy, and a few nights ago I was super keen for an early night and a comforting distraction. Whilst I am reading an excellent book that would have taken me someplace else, I did what I often do and picked up my phone to scroll my Instagram feed.

“Hai le fette di salame sugli occhi.” – (You have slices of salami on your eyes) 

 

Well, OK, Instagram square. Nice of you to be so direct. Bags, under my eyes? Maybe. But salami? Isn’t that taking things a bit too far? 

 

I see (Catherine nods wisely to her empty bedroom, squinting from under her processed meat), I should have clicked on the ‘10 useful sentences in Italian’ post instead.

 

“Sonno d’accordo con te.” (I agree with you)

 

Ooh, universe, are you listening to me?

 

“Sto scherando.” (I’m joking)

 

Well, why didn’t you say so when you hurled perfectly good aperitivo fare at my face?

 

“Non ne ho idea.” (I have no idea)

 

Ouch. Sono senza parole. (I have no words)

 

That’s not true. I do have words. Lots of them today. Motivational ones. So, please do read on …

 

But what was that first Italian sentence all about? Not salami, I was pretty sure. I checked and this is what I was told.

 

“You don’t see the reality.” “Hai le fette di salame sugli occhi.” I see (I think) the connection.

 

Hang on a minute, though. Yes I do. Life is reality at the moment. I’m stressed, cold and tired and you are toying with me. I’m leaving your perfectly curated ‘learn Italian’ space. I’m away to find something more relaxing, less personal.

As luck would have it, my eyes were drawn to a picture of home, my French home, and I snuggled deeper under my quilt, clicking on the post and subsequent podcast as I did so. Minutes later, I was drifting, carried on the melodic tones of an all-too-familiar Haute-Savoyard accent as Jean Sulpice, Talloire’s very own 2-star Michelin chef, talked. I closed my eyes. 

 

As much as the listening was comfortable, I was surprised by the story. Apparently Monsieur Sulpice, who now runs the kitchen and hotel owned by previous generations of the Bise family in the most beautiful of lakeside locations, did not always have it easy. In fact, in his early days of trying to bring gastronomy to the ski resort of Val Thorens, it was not uncommon for him to have an empty restaurant and be grateful for just one customer in an evening allowing him to fire up his stoves. If not a steady stream of diners, what he did have was a dream, big portions of self-belief and an unwaveringly supportive partner. And, not crumbling, abandoning, or looking for an easier career led Monsieur Sulpice to his first Michelin star.

 

Suddenly, whereas previously he had been met with an all-too-familiar French shrug and a half-hearted but definite, “Non, ce n’est pas possible, Monsieur,” suppliers could be bothered driving up a snowy mountain to deliver produce. Suddenly, instead of battling to recruit staff, he was receiving CVs and able to make choices about who he wanted in his team, and suddenly, he was receiving letters of congratulations from the greats, the hatted and feted French chefs whom he had admired from afar.

 

I could relate. The stars I aim for are not the same and I’ll never be featured in a Michelin guide, but how often in my early authoring days did I bend over backwards to meet, greet and persuade, grateful for every titbit of encouragement and support from my readers? Daily.

 

I drifted to sleep pondering my packaged and tasty take-away. It was clear, logical and simple. 

 

Never give up.

 

I hadn’t. I don’t intend to. I am too curious for that.

Plus, with supporters who give love like this, why would I?

And, once again, with thanks for your ongoing support, here are my books (including Books 1-3 in the 'French at Heart' series)

The links should take you to where you need to go, wherever you are in the world, to make a purchase. 

• But you are in France, Madame: One family, three children, five bags and the promise of adventure living in the French Alps
• Weaving a French Life: An Australian story
• Love, fear and a return to France: A family memoir
• With bare feet and sandy toes: Growing up in Australia in the 1960s & 70s

As a special request, if you are buying a print copy of Love, fear and a return to France, I would be so grateful if you could do so through my friend Kristi's page. Kristi has provided fun, family-centred posts of her life in France in her French Word-A-Day blog for many years now and relies on reader contributions to maintain her wonderful efforts. Should you use the link above on the left sidebar of her blog, Kristi will benefit and it will be at no extra cost to you. 

 

 

Choices

I had finished my morning swim at the rock pool and was enjoying a few moments of peace, sitting on the slatted wooden bench at the end of one of the lanes. To my right, a long stretch of pristine sand; to my left, a rock platform abutting a cliff, from the top of which I knew there were panoramic views up and down the coastline. I registered that there were sounds ... gulls, waves... but they were not intrusive, just faint, familiar background noises. Unlike Mediterranean beaches, this beautiful place was not crowded, I had not had to pay and there was not the slightest indication that I was in reality only kilometres from the busy Sydney CBD.

A lady came up beside me. We exchanged the inclusive smile of early morning swimmers and she got on with the job of readying herself; goggles, swimming cap, towel ready for the exit from the water. An elderly man swam up to us both and mid-turn, he addressed her briefly.

"G'day."

"Hey, Dad", she answered back, before he disappeared and she slid into the water beside him.

I watched them both for a while longer and then headed back to my car, reflective, and a little sad.

My own father was hundreds of kilometres away. There was no chance of us bumping into each other during our morning rituals.

We have not had that privilege since I left home for my first teaching job, several decades ago. Then, I gave it no thought. In fact, I was driven - to leave, to explore the world, to do things differently, to experience - and what I left behind was simply unavoidable collateral damage.

My oldest daughter left home a couple of months ago. She was just about to turn 19. Since then, she has thrived in her new independent environment and I am proud, very proud, of the choices that she is making. Of course, I understand better what my own parents might have been feeling when they put me on the Overland train from Adelaide to Melbourne, with my one suitcase filled with a limited collection of clothes and novice teaching materials.

My husband and I chose to go and live in France with our children. We chose to absent ourselves from family and friends and struggle through unfamiliarity and loneliness. Several years later, we also chose to come back to Sydney. For us it was another new city, another set of challenges. We were still a long way from my family.

But, despite the occasional twinges of regret about how life could have been lived differently, closer to my first home, closer to my parents and sisters, I am witnessing for myself the benefits of the lessons that my children have already learned from the choices that we have made for them. What are they? A deeper awareness of more than what would have been their own little world; an interest in people, that allows them to want to communicate with others, a desire to do, to see, to experience, to be independent and to know better how to cope when times are tough.

What is interesting is that my parents chose to take myself and my three sisters overseas to live for a year when I was twelve. The person that I became grew from this experience ... just like my own children are growing from theirs.

Does this mean that in years to come, I will be far from them, wishing that I, too, could glance up at them from the water, as our daily paths crossed?

Probably.

But, I have made a choice to give them the freedom to see the world differently. I can't go back on that now.

10 pictures to continue telling our story

     

     

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