I am looking forward to trying this. I have an appalling recall - it’s a protective habit to shield me from emotions, I know that, a product of leaving for boarding school at an early age I think. But I shall scratch around.
I wanted to say, this is fabulous writing, Susie. Full of admiration for your role as an encourager, for the work you have put into the language, for your immersion. Brilliant. Enviable. B
As always Barrie I’m very appreciative of your very generous comments... I cannot deny, I have worked hard at the language, not least because I’ve had to but also my father was of French origins and always hoped I would study French at university and move on to greater things; I failed him in this as a young girl so I hope he’s taking note of my diligence now.
It’s harder than one would think, to recall so many and yes I think perhaps many people close down the recall button for protective reasons. I have my own but later in life, events I can’t even write of still...
I hope you can think of some though, and if you do I popped a prompt in Notes!
I remember scraping my knee on the aroused roots of my father's pine trees, three, grown in a straight line to border our property, an old house I grew up in. I was being chased after by my cousin because I had refused to speak to her after she stole my food. I was crying, angry that I had lost this game I didn't even want to play, and she was laughing, because her life is always fun for her.
I remember my grandmother swearing, from her seat, one of two rattan chairs with colourful square cushions, one for her and one for my grandfather because she was caught off guard by a noise she'd heard from the garden. My grandfather looked up, and then returned to his newspaper, the rustling of the pages swiftly calming her down.
I remember my fringe being cut by my aunt, in her cold bathroom with the tiny blue tiles. There was a clay starfish framed on the wall behind her and I kept wondering how it would feel like to rub that starfish all over my face.
These are such clear memories Lisha, beautifully detailed as always... I too remember my fringe being cut, I also remember my father cutting all my hair off, short like a boy - he was ships hairdresser and then a barber for a number of years, we were never allowed to go to the hairdresser because he never liked the cut, we three girls cried often during haircut days... thank you for sharing lovely xx
Such raw honesty about the challenges in your work with the students, such courage to jump in headlong when you did, such exquisite imagery (as always), such a delightful exercise--remembering.
I, too, remember the day Elvis died. My mother, too, cried--all day. We were on family holiday. It was a beach trip. She was having a hot bath. My father had the news on. She heard it from the bathroom. The rest of the day was not the same.
I remember when Nixon was impeached. I did not know what it was about, but, again, she was crying. I look upon that now with the worst kind of confusion . . . and, at the same time, it fills in some gaps.
I remember the smell of marigolds brushing against my legs in summer time, walking to my grandmother's house.
Then, this post again . . . I'm meandering along, and I see your mention of the conversation between Mariah and me. Thank you for listening, Susie, and thank you for sharing.
Thank you for recognising my courage Renée, it was and still is work that teaches me so much more than I teach my students, they give to me ten times that which I give to them in terms of life learning which makes it doubly hard for me when progress is not evident. It was a courageous move, one I doubt I ever would have made if I'd known just how courageous I would have to remain.
Thank you, also, for joining me with you memories. And, it was delighted interest that I listened to you and Mariah while I walked across my hill, almost as if you had joined me...
I remember at ten driving through the American south with my family and asking my father why the white painted wooden church we had just passed had a sign out front that said White Church. Gratefully, he explained segregation to me in the most sensitive and open way.
I remember at 12, the day JFK was assassinated, when our school principal came into our class to tell us, then sent us all home.
I remember at 16, the clash of the Summer of Love, LSD, cat fights in the girls bathrooms, cheerleaders and football games and the confusing lack of self in all the Vietnam War demonstrations to come. Too young to know, too aware not to care.
Thank you for joining in Kate, your memories trigger more of my own, the day John Lennon died, Dec 1980 was another day of sadness in our home. And segregation in churches too, I remember arriving in Ireland where we lived for thirteen years, we attended the baptism of a cousin, the women had to sit one side, the men the other. It was the first and last time we set foot in a church.
What a wonderful read Susie, having lived in Belgium and struggled with the French language myself and also worked in a school, albeit International, you have my sympathy! As for memories, let's see...
- I remember my father tending a bonfire in the garden while gently puffing on a pipe, the smell of sweet tobacco so different to cigarettes and pleasantly mixing with damp, leafy autumnal scents.
- I remember hiding in my younger sister's wardrobe and jumping out to make her jump, what made us both jump was the mirror on the door breaking as I did so!
- I remember many lessons with my wonderful French teacher Edwige whose patience and humour was endless, without her I could never have constructed anything remotely resembling a grammatically correct sentence and I think of her often and with great fondness.
Thank you so much for reading and joining in Vanessa, I too remember the sweet smell of my fathers pipe smoke, also the smell of his favourite french cigarettes which he treated himself too from time to time... and I remember my mothers grumbles every time he did.
Learning another language fluently is so hard! Learning French fluently, is utterly impossible... even after 20 years! x
Firstly, somehow I missed the memo that you and your hill are in France! Lol. Sometimes I amaze myself with my lack of attention to big details like that. I'm in awe of your courage to jump into something so new and uncertain the way you did. That's really something! ♥️♥️♥️ I LOVE the idea of trying to come up with 480 memories from 10-25. That sounds like my idea of a great time! 😁 That includes all the teenage years, my first marriage and the first five years of my son's life. Surely I can remember 480, right? I guess I'll find out! Thank you for this delightful exercise!
Ahh, Jenna, you are not alone in the missing of small details, I too am guilty of such things. I think it is not so difficult to do either. I, as I’m sure you do too, read at every available moment (there are never enough...) and though we try to retain all information it is perhaps only that which lights up our hearts and souls that registers fully... I am just happy that you are interested enough to read my words 🙏🏽
And yes!! 480 memories... it’s a lot but not impossible, I have bought a note book just for this and writing memories as they return, I’m not sure how many I have yet but the pages are filling. I am much older than you I think so they return slowly but each time I recall one thing, another slots in behind it... it is a fabulous exercise for the brain and to a certain degree the heart too... many things we have hidden away in the recesses of our mind for a reason right?
I hope you enjoy the search for yours and I’m thrilled you find the idea as exciting as I did... 🤍🕊️🍂
I remember seeing my aristocratic grandmother in her nightgown and long grey hair at the landing. And her shocked expression.
I remember the car free Sundays in the seventies during the oil crisis and we were allowed to ride our bikes on the freeway.
I remember my horror we went on a family holiday to Norway, while I just wanted to go the little island in the north of the Netherlands. But Norway turned out to be magical.
I read your story with so much pleasure! Thank you for the insights in your life Susie.
Warmest thanks for joining in dear Elske, I too have a similar memory of my grandmother, her hair loose (which we never saw) and her body frail in her nightdress, it was as shocking for me as it was for her... somehow she looked normal, just like any other person and yet she had always held such authority otherwise.
Wishing you a beautiful day, here it is wild, wet and windy... and we have ten stère of logs arriving any minute... 🙈xxx
I couldn’t live with myself if I gave up darling... it’s just not in my nature? But you already know that ! 😉
Huge thanks for joining in sweet soul, I too remember my first day at school, I wasn’t terrified just wildly curious as to who all these other children were, where had they come from and why were they all so noisy all the time? I fear that last question remains when I enter a class even now? 😂 xx
Heartfelt thanks Debs, there are still days when I question my ability, whether I’m actually helping or hindering... but I have put my whole heart into this work and in doing so am not prepared to fall at the slightest difficulty, in truth, it’s all difficult, heartbreakingly so in many cases...
Have a good day lovely... BTW, I’m sure it’s not an error on your part but just in case you aren’t aware, comments are restricted to paying subscribers on your publications... Hence, sadly, I cannot leave you encouraging words lovely.. xx
Don't doubt yourself - you will be making a difference. I did what you are doing for one week so I can understand how you might think you aren't. But you are.
I've just checked the settings on my posts and they are all open to comments, so that's weird.
Which post were you trying to comment on specifically?
I'm having the same issue with your posts but I thought it was intentional - maybe its a bug?
It must be a bug... I’ve tried to comment on all your last posts and cannot... or couldn’t at least... I’ll try again later - after the vet has been to look at my poor sheep -I’m praying it’s not Blue tongue they have which is circulating like wildfire...
Thank you for the encouragement Debs, it is a tough job with virtually no recognition by the authorities that count here... courses are given but the people that hold them have no idea of how these children are in reality... there is a vast difference between learning from text and being confronted by the children (all of whom are different) themselves... 🙏🏽
I've spent a lot of time in France and can really relate to the constant apprehension at not being understood or butchering the language and being publicly shamed! You are brave to be doing the work you're engaged with and I know your presence is helping so many students.
Thank you for sharing our conversation, I'm grateful it touched your heart. 💗🙏
Thank you Mariah, I love my work, as heartbreaking as it is to see these children suffering, the joy of seeing even small progress more than compensates. But to say it has been a battle to learn the language would be a vast understatement but hard work and perseverance has paid off tenfold. I have a feeling I still sound a little like a Spanish goat though, it’s so very hard to hide an accent...
You’re so welcome, thank YOU and Renée for the chance to listen to a conversation that I felt so connected to. It was a wonderful walk! X
I am looking forward to trying this. I have an appalling recall - it’s a protective habit to shield me from emotions, I know that, a product of leaving for boarding school at an early age I think. But I shall scratch around.
I wanted to say, this is fabulous writing, Susie. Full of admiration for your role as an encourager, for the work you have put into the language, for your immersion. Brilliant. Enviable. B
As always Barrie I’m very appreciative of your very generous comments... I cannot deny, I have worked hard at the language, not least because I’ve had to but also my father was of French origins and always hoped I would study French at university and move on to greater things; I failed him in this as a young girl so I hope he’s taking note of my diligence now.
It’s harder than one would think, to recall so many and yes I think perhaps many people close down the recall button for protective reasons. I have my own but later in life, events I can’t even write of still...
I hope you can think of some though, and if you do I popped a prompt in Notes!
I can only imagine your father's pride at your language, your life en France and your wordsmithery
I know he’s watching Barrie, he always said he would...
Like you, Barrie, I have closed off a lot of my earliest memories. But I'll give it a go, Susie!
It's amazing what pops to mind. I managed mine over on Susie's Note
I remember scraping my knee on the aroused roots of my father's pine trees, three, grown in a straight line to border our property, an old house I grew up in. I was being chased after by my cousin because I had refused to speak to her after she stole my food. I was crying, angry that I had lost this game I didn't even want to play, and she was laughing, because her life is always fun for her.
I remember my grandmother swearing, from her seat, one of two rattan chairs with colourful square cushions, one for her and one for my grandfather because she was caught off guard by a noise she'd heard from the garden. My grandfather looked up, and then returned to his newspaper, the rustling of the pages swiftly calming her down.
I remember my fringe being cut by my aunt, in her cold bathroom with the tiny blue tiles. There was a clay starfish framed on the wall behind her and I kept wondering how it would feel like to rub that starfish all over my face.
These are such clear memories Lisha, beautifully detailed as always... I too remember my fringe being cut, I also remember my father cutting all my hair off, short like a boy - he was ships hairdresser and then a barber for a number of years, we were never allowed to go to the hairdresser because he never liked the cut, we three girls cried often during haircut days... thank you for sharing lovely xx
Oh I can totally relate to haircuts that are accompanied by tears! Thank you for giving me space to share ❤️
Susie,
So much here:
Such raw honesty about the challenges in your work with the students, such courage to jump in headlong when you did, such exquisite imagery (as always), such a delightful exercise--remembering.
I, too, remember the day Elvis died. My mother, too, cried--all day. We were on family holiday. It was a beach trip. She was having a hot bath. My father had the news on. She heard it from the bathroom. The rest of the day was not the same.
I remember when Nixon was impeached. I did not know what it was about, but, again, she was crying. I look upon that now with the worst kind of confusion . . . and, at the same time, it fills in some gaps.
I remember the smell of marigolds brushing against my legs in summer time, walking to my grandmother's house.
Then, this post again . . . I'm meandering along, and I see your mention of the conversation between Mariah and me. Thank you for listening, Susie, and thank you for sharing.
Thank you for recognising my courage Renée, it was and still is work that teaches me so much more than I teach my students, they give to me ten times that which I give to them in terms of life learning which makes it doubly hard for me when progress is not evident. It was a courageous move, one I doubt I ever would have made if I'd known just how courageous I would have to remain.
Thank you, also, for joining me with you memories. And, it was delighted interest that I listened to you and Mariah while I walked across my hill, almost as if you had joined me...
Thank you!
With love xx
I remember at ten driving through the American south with my family and asking my father why the white painted wooden church we had just passed had a sign out front that said White Church. Gratefully, he explained segregation to me in the most sensitive and open way.
I remember at 12, the day JFK was assassinated, when our school principal came into our class to tell us, then sent us all home.
I remember at 16, the clash of the Summer of Love, LSD, cat fights in the girls bathrooms, cheerleaders and football games and the confusing lack of self in all the Vietnam War demonstrations to come. Too young to know, too aware not to care.
Thank you for joining in Kate, your memories trigger more of my own, the day John Lennon died, Dec 1980 was another day of sadness in our home. And segregation in churches too, I remember arriving in Ireland where we lived for thirteen years, we attended the baptism of a cousin, the women had to sit one side, the men the other. It was the first and last time we set foot in a church.
I’ll give it a go. Beautiful. I do admire you for the job you have taken on. And in a foreign language!!
I have been here twenty years next May Pipp... and I still speak French like a Spanish goat..! Lucky for me my students live that I do..! 😂
Thanks lovely...
What a wonderful read Susie, having lived in Belgium and struggled with the French language myself and also worked in a school, albeit International, you have my sympathy! As for memories, let's see...
- I remember my father tending a bonfire in the garden while gently puffing on a pipe, the smell of sweet tobacco so different to cigarettes and pleasantly mixing with damp, leafy autumnal scents.
- I remember hiding in my younger sister's wardrobe and jumping out to make her jump, what made us both jump was the mirror on the door breaking as I did so!
- I remember many lessons with my wonderful French teacher Edwige whose patience and humour was endless, without her I could never have constructed anything remotely resembling a grammatically correct sentence and I think of her often and with great fondness.
Thank you so much for reading and joining in Vanessa, I too remember the sweet smell of my fathers pipe smoke, also the smell of his favourite french cigarettes which he treated himself too from time to time... and I remember my mothers grumbles every time he did.
Learning another language fluently is so hard! Learning French fluently, is utterly impossible... even after 20 years! x
Firstly, somehow I missed the memo that you and your hill are in France! Lol. Sometimes I amaze myself with my lack of attention to big details like that. I'm in awe of your courage to jump into something so new and uncertain the way you did. That's really something! ♥️♥️♥️ I LOVE the idea of trying to come up with 480 memories from 10-25. That sounds like my idea of a great time! 😁 That includes all the teenage years, my first marriage and the first five years of my son's life. Surely I can remember 480, right? I guess I'll find out! Thank you for this delightful exercise!
Ahh, Jenna, you are not alone in the missing of small details, I too am guilty of such things. I think it is not so difficult to do either. I, as I’m sure you do too, read at every available moment (there are never enough...) and though we try to retain all information it is perhaps only that which lights up our hearts and souls that registers fully... I am just happy that you are interested enough to read my words 🙏🏽
And yes!! 480 memories... it’s a lot but not impossible, I have bought a note book just for this and writing memories as they return, I’m not sure how many I have yet but the pages are filling. I am much older than you I think so they return slowly but each time I recall one thing, another slots in behind it... it is a fabulous exercise for the brain and to a certain degree the heart too... many things we have hidden away in the recesses of our mind for a reason right?
I hope you enjoy the search for yours and I’m thrilled you find the idea as exciting as I did... 🤍🕊️🍂
I remember seeing my aristocratic grandmother in her nightgown and long grey hair at the landing. And her shocked expression.
I remember the car free Sundays in the seventies during the oil crisis and we were allowed to ride our bikes on the freeway.
I remember my horror we went on a family holiday to Norway, while I just wanted to go the little island in the north of the Netherlands. But Norway turned out to be magical.
I read your story with so much pleasure! Thank you for the insights in your life Susie.
Warmest thanks for joining in dear Elske, I too have a similar memory of my grandmother, her hair loose (which we never saw) and her body frail in her nightdress, it was as shocking for me as it was for her... somehow she looked normal, just like any other person and yet she had always held such authority otherwise.
Wishing you a beautiful day, here it is wild, wet and windy... and we have ten stère of logs arriving any minute... 🙈xxx
Fantastic thought provoking story. You never give up which is why I admire and love you!
Here goes: I remember my first day of school - petrified.
I remember boarding the PO Orient ship, sailing to a new life in New Zealand - excited.
I remember Santa Claus coming to our house, discovering rather quickly it was an Imposter, my Uncle George - disappointed leading to distrust.
I couldn’t live with myself if I gave up darling... it’s just not in my nature? But you already know that ! 😉
Huge thanks for joining in sweet soul, I too remember my first day at school, I wasn’t terrified just wildly curious as to who all these other children were, where had they come from and why were they all so noisy all the time? I fear that last question remains when I enter a class even now? 😂 xx
I am in awe of what you are doing, and have done. You really are part of, and contributing to the lives of children in France.
Heartfelt thanks Debs, there are still days when I question my ability, whether I’m actually helping or hindering... but I have put my whole heart into this work and in doing so am not prepared to fall at the slightest difficulty, in truth, it’s all difficult, heartbreakingly so in many cases...
Have a good day lovely... BTW, I’m sure it’s not an error on your part but just in case you aren’t aware, comments are restricted to paying subscribers on your publications... Hence, sadly, I cannot leave you encouraging words lovely.. xx
Don't doubt yourself - you will be making a difference. I did what you are doing for one week so I can understand how you might think you aren't. But you are.
I've just checked the settings on my posts and they are all open to comments, so that's weird.
Which post were you trying to comment on specifically?
I'm having the same issue with your posts but I thought it was intentional - maybe its a bug?
It must be a bug... I’ve tried to comment on all your last posts and cannot... or couldn’t at least... I’ll try again later - after the vet has been to look at my poor sheep -I’m praying it’s not Blue tongue they have which is circulating like wildfire...
Thank you for the encouragement Debs, it is a tough job with virtually no recognition by the authorities that count here... courses are given but the people that hold them have no idea of how these children are in reality... there is a vast difference between learning from text and being confronted by the children (all of whom are different) themselves... 🙏🏽
I've spent a lot of time in France and can really relate to the constant apprehension at not being understood or butchering the language and being publicly shamed! You are brave to be doing the work you're engaged with and I know your presence is helping so many students.
Thank you for sharing our conversation, I'm grateful it touched your heart. 💗🙏
Thank you Mariah, I love my work, as heartbreaking as it is to see these children suffering, the joy of seeing even small progress more than compensates. But to say it has been a battle to learn the language would be a vast understatement but hard work and perseverance has paid off tenfold. I have a feeling I still sound a little like a Spanish goat though, it’s so very hard to hide an accent...
You’re so welcome, thank YOU and Renée for the chance to listen to a conversation that I felt so connected to. It was a wonderful walk! X