C'est une langue belle

La fin de semaine dernière, j'ai eu une discussion avec mon ami JP Monette sur la langue française et ceci m'a fait réfléchir.

Bien que je suis à la base francophone, je me définie surtout comme personne bilingue.

J’ai grandi dans une famille francophone. À la maison, on ne parlait qu’en français, d’ailleurs, mon père ne parlait pas beaucoup l’anglais. Ma mère pour sa part travaillait au Parlement comme sténographe pour les débats français de la Chambre des communes. La maison était toujours remplie de livres car ma mère adorait la lecture et elle avait toujours un livre à la main (elle ne lisais qu'en français). J'ai beaucoup aimé lire la série "Martine" et "La Contesse de Ségur. En famille, on écoutait surtout de la musique francophone et souvent on pouvait entendre du Pierre Lalonde, du Renée Martel ou du Mireille Mathieu à la maison. Pour ce qui est de la télé, on écoutait principalement des émissions et films francophones (même si la plupart des films étaient des traductions de films américains anglophones comme ceux de Jerry Lewis et Elvis Presley).

J’ai aussi fait tout mon éducation en français (école primaire et secondaire).Bien que la grammaire ne fût pas mon fort, ma mère était toujours disponible pour corriger mes travaux car elle avait un français impeccable. Avec mes amis, tout se passait en français…jeux, discussions et cinéma.

Après le décès de ma mère, j’ai dû me débrouiller tant bien que mal et mes notes en français en ont soufferts quelques peu. C’est à l’adolescence que tout a changé. Au sein de mon groupe d’ami(e)s, c’était « à la mode » de parler « franglais ».On prenait plaisir à mélanger l’anglais et le français .J’ai commencé à écouter que de la musique anglophone seulement, à regarder des émissions de télé américaines et à parler de plus en plus anglais (par choix ou par habitude je n'en suis pas certaine).

Je me souciais peu de préserver ma langue maternelle, laissant cette tâche aux autres. J’étais confiante que c’était un acquis et je ne perdrais jamais mon français. Mais à force de mettre plus d’emphase sur l’anglais, petit à petit j’ai amélioré mon anglais et quelques peu perdu mon français. Une amie m'a déjà dit que j'étais une anglaise, je pensais en anglais (affirmation que je ne pris pas comme une insulte).

En 1982, j’ai rencontré Serge. Pour lui, parler français n’était pas seulement un choix, mais plutôt un besoin. Il n’écoutait que de la musique francophone, lisait que de la littérature francophone ou québécoise et regardait des films et émissions francophones seulement. Il était fier militant pour les droits des francophones, surtout hors Québec. Ayant vécu les 10 premières années de sa vie à Hull, il avait un amour profond pour la langue française duquel je me souciais peu. Pour moi, c'était tout aussi facile de m'adresser en anglais, donc je n'y voyais aucuns problèmes.

À défaut et à l’usure, ses goûts et préférences pour la langue française devins les miens. On choisit d’élever nos enfants en français (école, livres, films et émissions en français) bien que l’influence anglophone était toujours présente (surtout à cause des amies).

J’ai accepté volontiers cette voie pour mes filles, mais pour ma part, j’ai choisi de continuer de privilégié l’anglais dans mon travail, dans mes passe-temps et mes loisirs. Ceci ne m’a pas empêché d’aimer et participer à la culture et loisirs francophone avec mes filles et Serge. À mon avis, c’était un heureux mariage des deux langues.

Je me suis toujours questionnée sur la raison pour laquelle on nous demandait de choisir l’une ou l’autre des deux langues. Ne peut-on par vivre en harmonie entre anglophones et francophones. Malheureusement, ceci n’est pas toujours la réalité. Au cours des dernières années, j’ai réalisé qu’il est important de maintenir notre langue afin de s’assurer que nos besoins soient respectés. Il faut demander des services en français et ceci est doublement important lorsque je dois me présenter à l’hôpital.

Il me semble que lorsqu’on est malade, c’est important de se faire servir en français, c’est pourquoi je choisi souvent l’Hôpital Montfort. Et dire qu’il y a quelques années, le gouvernement provincial voulait fermer Montfort. Heureusement pour les francophones de la région et des petits villages environnant que Gisèle Lalonde a réussi, à travers son travail acharné, à renverser la décision.

Bien sûr, je préfère encore l’anglais pour ma correspondance, je compose mes textes et documents principalement en anglais (surtout à cause de mon insécurité face à la grammaire), et je continue à regarder des émissions et films en anglais. Je suis maintenant accro des téléséries francophones (souvent plus que Serge) et j’adore découvrir des chanteurs et chanteuses francophones/ québécoises.

Pourtant, le bilinguisme me tiens à cœur. Je m’affaire à le faire respecter dans l’exécution de mon travail surtout puisque je travaille en communications Web (destinés à tous les canadiens).Être bilingue m’a apporté plusieurs avantages comme employé au gouvernement et je ne pourrais pas occuper le poste que j’occupe si je ne l’étais pas. Oui, j’aimerais parfois m’adresser en français plus souvent durant les réunions et je sais que c’est mon droit de le faire si je le désire. Mais j’avoue que j’ai tendance à m’adresser en anglais en premier et ce, pour me faire comprendre par mes collègues. Après tout, je ne suis pas de nature combattante et donc je choisi de m’ajuster au lieu d’insister d’être accommodé.

Je suis bilingue et j’en suis fier. J’ai un amour partagée pour les deux langues et «entre les deux mon cœur balance».

Je regrette seulement de n’avoir jamais appris une troisième langue….se pourrait être un beau projet de retraite, qui sais.

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À noter : veuillez excuser les anglicismes et les fautes de français.

 

In a state of panic - turning 50!

Every year around my birthday, as I was turning 30, 35, 40 and so on…I used to think: “it’s just a number, it does not matter…when I turn 50, then I’ll feel old”.



Now that I’m almost there…turning 50 in April, I feel like I’m in panic mode waiting for it to happen.  It’s not as if anything is going to change overnight, I know that, but it somehow feels that way.

Turning 50 is like a new chapter and it seems like I am embarking on the final leg of the journey.  I may seem a bit fatalist but I can’t help but feel this way.  I know I am not alone, I’ve talked to some of my friends, who are also turning the big 50 this year, and it’s a shared sentiment.

In essence, I should be glad, I am turning 50, it means retirement is close at hand, freedom 55 as they say.  But even then, I think it’s the fear of the unknown of what’s to come. 

I saw a post shared by Sue this morning that said “My mind say’s I’m in my twenties but my body says “Yah, you wish!”.  I thought it was quite funny!  But when I stop to think about this, and weight the pros and cons, I’m not sure I would want to be in my twenties again.  It was hard work, raising the kids, the full time job, the financial woes, etc.  50 feels a lot calmer.  It may not be perfect, nothing ever is, but it is still good. 

I am a “poised and mature” woman, or so I like to think.  I have a lot more confidence then I had in my twenties.  I know what I like and don’t like, I now what I want, and don’t want.  I even have enough confidence to voice it out loud, most of the time.  My family seem to want to take care of me more; I am not sure if it’s the age or because they are getting older themselves.  In any case, I’ll gladly take the extra attention.

I also have more experience; I’ve been to the “school of life” as my friend Catherine told me many years ago. Over the years, I mentored some younger colleagues, offered my advice to my friends and family, I know things I don’t know why I know, I just do.  I have a lot of baggage, and I don’t mean bags under my eyes J  My wrinkles or wisdom lines, as I like to call them, are there to stay, so I accept them.

I have “lived” through multiple technology changes (before internet and color tv). I’ve used an IBM typewriter, carbon paper, I listed to a 45 record and 8 track tape, I’ve used a telephone with a rotary dial; I’ve even seen my mom wash clothes using an old washing machine (the manual kind where you see the water and the clothes pass through a ringer) and my family has had milk in a bottle (or or might have been a carton) delivered to my door by the milk man.

For sure, being older has its perks…a while back, someone offered me her seat in the bus.  Although I should have been “insulted”, I still was able to look past the “you look old enough to need a seat” to “there are still some decent people with good manners”.   I remember riding the bus with my mom when I was 5 and giving my seat to a “older” lady.  The reason I do remember is that my mom told my teacher and my teacher gave me a book to reward my good action.

I should be thankful that I am turning 50 as my mom never had the chance; she died when she was 44 years old!  I remember celebrating when I turned 45, thinking how lucky I was!!  I may not have the memory I used to, I may not be in great shape (I have small aches and pains), but I still think that there are good years to come.

I have enough dreams and plans to last me for the next 50 years, maybe not 50 but one can always hope that there will be many yet!  I do look forward to retirement, travel, lots of time at the cottage, me time, even if the unknown is a bit scary to think about.  Maybe that’s what my problem is…thinking to much.  Perhaps, the best way to face turning 50 and the years to come, is to do it the “Que sera sera” way…just let life happen and take everything with a grain of salt.  Not easy for someone like me who is a worry wart.

And since I can’t change the situation or turn back time, I might as well embrace it and hope for the best. 

When April 16^th rolls around, I will get up that morning and say it loud and clear: I am 50 years old and alive.  And I will wear the years proudly!

In the meantime, I am sending my childhood friends, those that are also turning 50 this year, an invitation.  Let’s plan a get together in 2013 to celebrate our mutual milestone.  After all, we do have something to celebrate, its not often you see a bunch of friends who still talk to each other and get together, after all these years. 

 

Until then, I will enjoy the months until I have to blow my 50 candles, or perhaps I should opt for the Over the hill candle instead...it might just do the trick.

Until we meet again

Funerals and weddings bring family together.  One of my cousins said this to me today.  How true that statement is.

As I sat at the luncheon following my godmother’s funeral service, looking at all the faces of the family members I grew up with, I realized that although we may not see each other often, we still have this undeniable bond that links us together. 

Being with them feels comfortable, there is no artifice and no shyness.  I can be myself and I know that they appreciate me for who I am.   Of course, we shared stories of our childhood, it’s at the essence of who were are and I enjoyed looking at the photo album put together by my cousin Francine for the occasion. As I looked at these photographs of my grand-parents, aunts, uncles and cousins, I realized how much we’ve all changed but at the same time remained the same. 

Many of my aunts and uncles are no longer with us, my inner circle is changing and I think that this is what is making nostalgic as I grow older.  I suddenly have this urge to gather photos, videos and mementoes so that I do not loose these precious souvenirs of my childhood and the people who have enriched it.  I know that this sentiment was shared by several of my cousins today.

During his sermon, the priest said something to the effect that it’s not our bank account that make us rich, it’s our life experiences and  the people we meet along the way that do.  Whether it be happy or not so happy experiences and whether it be friends or family, this is certainly true.

As Julie (my godmother’s grand-daughter) said during her tribute, these experiences and values that we receive and are passed down to us, we can in turn share with our own daughters.  I think this is a precious gift that we can pass along to the next generation.

Life sometimes changes in the blink of an eye, so we must make every day count. 

As we each go our separate ways, only to meet on Facebook occasionally or at the next family gathering, I know that we will keep our memories alive. 
 
I have one last thought for ma tante Jeannine, may she rest in peace.

Until we meet again.

In memoriam - My godmother Jeannine Bigras

Version française

It is with a very sad heart that I write this post today.  My godmother, Jeannine Bigras, passed away this morning.

My Story
 
For the first 4 years of my life, I lived on St-Patrick Street in a triplex my maternal grandfather bought so that he could live near his two girls, my mother and her sister (my godmother).  Our two families were always very close.  You see, the two sisters (my mom and my godmother) married two brothers (my dad and my godfather).  My godfather and I even shared our birthdays, April 16^th.

We spent all our Christmases with my godmother, godfather, cousins and grand-parents.  We also visited my grand-parent’s cottage often every summer, which later became my godmother’s and godfather’s cottage.  I grew up surrounded by all members of the great Bigras family including my cousins, Michel, Francine and Lucie (my godmother’s kids) .  I often felt, I was like their little sister (the pesky little sister that was always around, especially for Lucie J).

After my mom died when I was 13, matante Jeannine took on a special role.  She attended important events in my life, such as coming to my speech at school when I won an award, my engagement party and more importantly, coming with me (and my dad) to pick out my wedding dress as my mom would have done.  At our wedding, she told Serge to take good care of me or he would have to answer to her J and she was there at both my girls’ baptisms.

My godmother and I shared a special bond.  Whenever she would visit or at family gatherings, I was always drawn to her; I think because she reminded me of my mom.  Being her sister, she was the closest link that I had to my mom.  I always wanted to hear stories of when they were growing up and she graciously complied.

As I grew older and was busy with my own family, we did not get to visit that often.  Still, she always sent me a card for my birthday and after my godfather died, I would always make it a point to call her on my birthday to let her know that I was thinking of him fondly.

I remember visiting her many years ago and sitting with her to look through her hope chest (which to me was like a treasure chest).  She had all kinds of souvenirs in there (her baptism dress (which was also my mother’s), a little book of poems written by my great grand-mother, a braid of hair from my paternal grandmother and even the scab from my vaccine (booster shot when I was 6 years old), taped to a small cardboard inside an envelope.  My mother had sent it to her in the mail when it fell off and she had kept it all these years (a joke they shared, I think).   I recall telling her how precious all these souvenirs were and how I was exactly like her and kept all kinds of souvenirs that were also dear to me.   

I remember eating her cooked ham (cottage roll) which tasted better than my dad’s, although I would never admit this to him.  I loved her “sucre à la crème” and “rêves d’or” the most delicious desert I have ever eaten.

When I called her, which I did not do often enough, we would talk for over an hour.  This was also the case when she called my dad.  She would always scowl him and say: “pourquoi tu m’appelle pas?” and then talk to him for sometimes 2 hours.  They also had a special bond, and I am sure he is very sad tonight.  Before he got married, my dad stayed at their house for a few years (as did his brothers, Lionel and Elian, and perhaps others, I am not sure).  This was their boarding house so they could work in town (since they came from Clarence Creek in the country).  He told me of the pranks the brothers played on each other and how my godmother would take it in stide and take care of all of them (cooking and doing their laundry).  I am sure it must not have been easy raising 3 kids with a bunch of rowdy brothers living in the same house.

The last time I saw her was last year when my aunt Claire turned 90.  She and my aunt Claire grew up together and although they were not sisters (in fact Claire was her aunt but they were close in age), it was just as if they were.  At Aunt Claire’s 90th birthday celebration, it was so beautiful to see them together, laughing, giggling like young girls over their glass of wine. I will cherish this memory always.

With her passing, I can’t help but remember all my other aunts, uncles, grand-parents and beloved cousin Rachelle, that have left us over the years.  I know I am lucky to have had such a loving, caring and close knit family.  I think of them often and with many great souvenirs.

Just before she fell ill, my dad and I had planned to visit her at the Retirement home she recently moved to.  This never came to be unfortunately but I am thankful that she did not suffer for very long before passing.

As she died only 2 days before the anniversary of my mom’s death (January 9^th), I think of them together, reuniting, after all these years (my mom died 36 years ago).  I am sure she will also be welcomed by her dear husband and parents.  I like to think that our loved ones open their arms to us when we die, whether this is the case or not, it comforts me.

To my cousins, Michel (his wife Louise), Francine and Lucie (her husband Gilles), I offer my heartfelt condolences and deepest love in this time of great sadness.  I also extend my condolences to Julie, Renée, Rachel and Anne, her grand-daughters and their families.  I know she was very proud of each of her precious grand-daughters as she talked about them with pride whenever we had the opportunity to chat on the phone.

She will always be in my heart and I will remember her always.

One of my favorite quote: "Il ne faut pas pleurer pour ce qui n'est plus, mais être heureux pour ce qui a été".

Je t’aime matante Jeannine
Ta Lison
xx

A new year, a new set of resolutions

A new year often brings a new perspective on life.  This happens to me at the start of every new year.  I don’t necessary make New Year’s resolution per say, because I never seem to keep them, but I always want to make changes in my life (maybe resolutions in disguise).

At the top of the list is always losing weight and it’s no different this year.  Last August, I started eating healthier portions and counting calories using the “My Fitness Pal” application on my iPad.  It was actually working very well and it was fun.   I was doing well (I lost 20 pounds) then I got operated and got off track.  So I am thinking that getting back to the routine will also help to get back on track with “My Pal”.

Of course, getting healthy includes some type of exercising, like getting back to my stationary bike.  It has been in my kitchen for the past 3 months gathering dust…it had previously spent some time in the bedroom only to be used as a clothes rack.  I also have an elliptical and treadmill in the basement that are calling to me, but I have been ignoring them.  Although I really don’t like, in fact I hate, spinning on the bike, my knee surgeon told me that it was essential if I wanted to prevent another injury in the future.  Since I am turning 50 in 2013 (yes I know, it’s hard to believeJ)  but I am turning 50, these old bones need some help, so the stationary bike is exactly what the doctor ordered.

I also want or need to de-clutter my house.  This one is a biggie!!  We started in 2011 with cleaning out the basement but it never got completed.  My cluttered house seems to clutter my mind and it stresses me out to no end.   I think being at home for the past two month has not helped.  I have been sitting here looking at the clutter unable to do anything about it. 

Now that I am back to normal (health wise), I need to get it done once and for all.  I remember my friend Fran telling me a few years ago that she had decided to set aside 1 hour per week for de-cluttering.  This sounds like a plan to me and although it may take me a few months, at least it would be progress.   I have an extra incentive this year as I want to get rid of my junk or things we don’t use in preparation for a move in the next few years.  I know we can bring some stuff to cottage but I don’t want to just move the problem from one place to the other.

Getting odd jobs done also comes to mind, including getting all the little things that are either broken or simply not working properly fixed, finishing the paint job that we started in 2011  and giving the garden a “pick me up” as it did not fare well during the heat wave of last summer.  It seems pretty ambitious and since it depends a lot on Serge to get this done, I differ to him in terms of timing and priority.  I also have a few projects that I have started and not completed.  If I can finish 1 of these this year, I will be happy.

Just writing these things down are stressing me out and it seems like a huge mountain of undertakings to take on.  If I could freeze time or take a few months off (not because of illness but because I want to) then I could maybe get all these things done.

I guess this is what retirement is for….getting things done.  But since I can’t wait another 4 years to start getting my priorities in order, it will have to come down to mind over matter.  I have an overwhelming need to make a plan, write a list, or start something.  I wish I could do like on tv and have a professional organizer come to my house and help me get started or motivate me.  I have often said that I needed a wife and that I needed to rent a handyman for 2 weeks to be at my beck and call (get your mind out of the gutter, all I am thinking about is a hammer, a ladder and a few 2 x 4s…
nothing elseJ).

As I know that no one is going to come to my rescue and magically get things done for me, I will have to motivate myself and get it done.  What a feeling it must be when it finally gets done…if that’s even possible.  

But are we ever completely done? 

I recently saw a post on Facebook that suggested taking an empty jar and writing down all the good things that happen throughout the year and put it in the jar.  Then on New Year ’s Eve, you go through the jar.  In my case, I think I will make a “things that got done jar” and on New Year’s day 2014, I will look through the jar and see what I got done…hopefully it is full to the rim. 

Although there may be bumps and curves in the road throughout the year, I am assured that 2013 will be like every other year…filled with happy moments spent with my family.  Love conquers all, even New Year’s resolutions that don’t quite get kept.

Happy New Year to all my readers!