Canadian French and how it’s regarded is still fascinating to me. It must take a particular amount of entitlement and colonising mindset to pronounce a whole dialect ‘incorrect’ or ‘not proper French’, even when an extremely vast number of the turns of phrase in that dialect would in fact be considered downright literary in France. ‘L’hiver s’en vient‘ (winter is coming) is one of my favourite, for purely random reasons. In France you would find it in poetry, not in everyday speech.
The leaves are almost all gone. One funny thing you discover when living in a continental climate is how strong its influence was on the conception of time, weather and seasons. The picture books I had as a child showed four long seasons, with the landscape dramatically changing between them (there was an audio book based on Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, which was particularly nice, and which depicted them as the four suitors wooing Planet Earth, all as different from each other as you could imagine): pastel colours in spring, strong vibrant colours in summer, oranges and browns in autumn, bluish-white in winter. It was all very lovely, but it had so little to do with what actually happened outside my home. In Provence, spring and autumn exist, but they’re somewhat perfunctory. The flowers on the trees last for a few weeks, and there is much that doesn’t change at all in the hills (there is not nearly enough water for plants to afford new leaves every year). In autumn, the leaves on the deciduous trees wither, dry and fall off without much ceremony; it’s all over in a few weeks as well, and then it’s time to get out the winter coats (the sort of coats that made my friends in Québec laugh uncontrollably when I told them that was what I intended to wear all winter). Summers are green and dry and hot, winters are green and dry and… well, what we define as cold anyway. There is no bluish-white, and autumn just adds a touch of brown in some places. Since it’s still a temperate place, I could draw parallels with what I read. But it never was quite exactly the same. I just assumed that life never looks as neat and colourful as it does in books and left it at that.
So it took me moving to Québec to understand what they really meant by the four seasons. Autumn has been red, and yellow, and orange, all bright light and fluttering leaves that took all the time they needed to change colour, then fall off. It’s not just a question of species either: even trees that are rather common in Aix changed much more softly and quietly here. This summer, the plants burst all over the place, taking all the space they could in the few months they had to thrive. Spring was slow as well, with flowers peeking under the snow and buds swelling little by little on the branches. It feels a bit strange to realise that I did not understand what the deal was about the seasons until my late twenties.
Now autumn is moving on, with rain and fog and all-around depressing weather. The cats upstairs kick up a party with the Halloween decorations every night at around 5 am, but since they’ve both been through a lot of stressful vet stuff recently, it’s only fair to let them play. I’ve bought earplugs instead, which don’t do much, because I hate sleeping with stuff in my ears and so instead of waking up before dawn, now I just plainly don’t go to sleep. Never mind that though, Halloween will be gone in a couple of days, and I still have to do my First Ever Halloween party and general distribution of sweets to the children of the neighbourhood, which is more important than cats partying at indecent hours.
Also, I’m hungry. All the time. I’ve decided to lose a dozen pounds, because I was tired of looking at myself in the mirror and being reminded every time of how my PhD was so stressful I tried to eat the pressure off and only ended up putting on weight and feeling worse. Since my eating habits are fairly healthy already and anyway I’m not big on complicated diets (to me, they sound more like a good way to add a load of unnecessary control and pressure to your daily life), I’ve just decided to take about one third off my normal portions, and keep exercising regularly so my body won’t assume that it can tuck into my muscles to make up for the lack of calories. It works, obviously. It also means I’m constantly hungry and thinking about food, even when I go to bed or finish eating. But the strangest thing about it is that it actually feels good. Hunger is uncomfortable, but I feel more motivated and enthusiastic than I have in weeks. I don’t even get cravings. I don’t get tired of it. I can’t wait to go back to a normal eating schedule, but at the same time, I just feel good, even with the lack of sleep and of daylight and the rain. Maybe I’ll keep doing that in the future: not permanently of course, but I might give myself a week of half-fasting every now and then, just to get my mood up.
Maybe it will even get me through the winter.