Pinot, Bretzels, and Cathedrals

Hello to all my awesome friends!

How are you all doing?

It’s February already, and I can convincingly say that yet another month has passed me by in relative randomness.  Yes, it’s been coldish enough to say that it’s winter, but truthfully, it hasn’t been unbearable, barre 10 days mid- January, when I actually wore more than 2 layers of clothing on just about every extremity of my body. And just as soon as the deep cold arrived (finally), it disappeared, and within 5 days, we were almost back to double digits; the sun was out, and the daffodils continued to stretch the legs out.  Yes, dafs in February.  I bet you Mom would be most amused to hear that the dafs are on the verge of opening up!

What HAVE I done in the last 5 weeks?  I had a fortunate need to sit behind my computer screen at home creating a photo-book from Dads Camino photos, which kept me busy for the better part of 3 weeks. I actually had a lot of fun pulling it together: some of the photos were not self explanatory, so I had to thread a story behind the photos, as well as research a couple of areas that Dad had photographed, but due to the lack of English signage, wasn’t aware of the story behind the images he was photographing.  100 pages later, I can almost confess to ‘writing’ my first book!  (I wish…)

Afterwards, came the foray into online geneology research.  Dad is looking into his Irish links, and it seems the Irish are pretty keen to give away passports if you can prove you’re Irish.  Apparently, drinking copious amounts of Guiness while singing “Cockles and Mussels”  and dancing a wee jig is not the ultimate proof of Irish-ness. (Who me? No, I didn’t do that.  Ever.)  So with a few names to hand, I spent some time on geneology websites, trying to track my Irish ancestors.  It’s not easy.  At one stage, I was about to buy a plane ticket and hop over to Dublin, but unfortunately something stopped me.  But then I remembered that I have a slightly tenuous connection to Dublin through a delightful old lady who worked with my great-grandfathers’ sister.  I actually met the delightful lady in 2001 when my cuz and I trawled the Dublin pubs visited Dublin, so when I got my hands on an email address, I sent off an indulgent gushy e-mail in the hopes of finding information.

Blow me down- she phoned me last weekend!!!!!!!  Excuse the exclamation marks, but it was really exciting, because she phoned to tell me that she has cases of paperwork tracing various Carr relatives across the world, and that she can possibly help me with locating my Dublin ancestors.  I wanted to write up here what a serendipitous moment it was, and how I am now determined to draw up my family tree, just as soon as the girls go back to school, and I cancel my Netflix account…

Anyway, it is now the second week into February, and after a short 5 weeks, the girls are on another 2 week long ‘mid-term’ holiday, but it’s pouring with rain.  Nice.  Not only is the snow in the mountains melting, but its bucketing down, so craftwork, baking and playdates are on the cards.

 

 
So far this year has given forth loads of things for me to talk about, from racism in South Africa, to more racism in South Africa, to a slight deviation of racism in South Africa.  Up on this side of the world, I couldn’t tell you what about French politics, but there is the minor little detail of us possibly relocating our family to Mud Island.

Before you get your knickers in a knot, and ask me all sorts of questions, this is not a definite ‘on the cards’ kind of thing, but a possible job for Anton has opened up that appeals to him, so we are in the process of discovery, and weighing up our options.

Right out of the gate, my immediate reaction is one of horror. S’truth.  I love this little Franco-German town, I love my girls gorgeous French accents (when they speak French), I adore their school with its amazing mix of international friends, I love all of the very special friends that I have made here, and I am not so sure I could deal with a move so soon after our arrival here.

But there is the simple fact that I am a shadow of my former being.  I shy away from doing much more than absolutely necessary because of 2 major reasons:  the first is obviously the language barrier, but the second is a bit more complicated.  This is not the country of my birth, and despite paying taxes, contributing to the economy, embracing the culture as far as I can, I still feel like a visitor, that I really don’t deserve the rights of those born here.

I will always be a foreigner.  It’s not that the French have made us feel unwelcome.  It partially has to do with not being able to express myself properly, but there is just something to being a born and bred local that rises beyond anything else.  Given that we haven’t shut down our lives in South Africa, this feeling is quite normal, but it has made me think about real emigration, and just how exactly do other people in this situation feel- would they empathise with me feeling like a stranger forever?  At what point do you start feeling local?  Emigrants will never be able to claim to being a ‘born and bred’ local, and to me- this is important.

It goes without saying that a move to England will not resolve this feeling that I have, and there’s a part of me that believes I won’t find my spine there either, but maybe just being able to phone a support centre and vent in my mother tongue will help just a little bit.

Back home?  Sadly, I don’t know.  Yes, most definitely please, but then again, the divisive black and whiteness, the name-calling, and simply having to admit that I have ‘white privilege’ is not what I want to be dealing with right now.  My ostrich neck is deeply stuck in the sand when it comes to that whole saga for now.

Our initial decision to come to France was to give the girls something.  I think that for now, this is the best place for them.  But what about me?  I am unable to answer that- I don’t know what I want anymore.  I just can’t.

 

But like I said, we are still in the process of discovery.  Who knows- maybe David Cameron and John Smith don’t want any more South Africans across there anyway, in which case, we shall not have to start weighing up pro’s and cons, and we just get on with it here on the continent , with so many other cool places to visit.

Anyway, I have rambled on enough for this time.  I said earlier that the weather had turned quite balmy, but it seems I am mistaken- the cold is back, and I think I need to turn the heating back on and add an extra layer of clothes. It’s duvet and pancake weather, which is all good since it’s carnival season, and pancakes are the order of the day.

  
Hugs and kisses to your hubbies, wives and kids from me, and adieu ’til next time.

With love,

Xxx