Mal du Pays

It came upon me unexpectedly, in a flash, like those moments of grief when someone who has died is suddenly in your mind. Of course, there were signs that I should have recognized: the emotional reaction to the Jardin des Cousins, the somewhat obsessive investigation of my email inbox, the petty irritations over not being able to find tea, oatmeal, of wanting my own duvet and other small comforts of life in Canada. Homesickness:  that feeling of disconnection, of longing for things to be the same as before, for the comfort of people who know you well, where you can begin in the middle instead of always at the beginning.
That was it, that is what I was feeling as I stood at the edge of the blowing sea and thought: "They're all so far away, over there, beyond this ocean--all the people I love."  I'm not sure why it was so unexpected. I knew from experience that I would experience that feeling of loss. The past two and a half months have been so full of excitement and discovery, of intense feelings of great good luck and happiness at being able to fulfill this dream that I thought perhaps I had escaped, but no. I think when we leave home for any extended period, we take all that is good and comforting with us, leaving behind the petty irritations of that life. And that is what we remember when we are away. You are all bathed in a glow of perfection. We are blessed to have ready access to the internet, wonderful Skype and the camera phone, the telephone itself. But we can't just pick up the phone without planning. 1 or 2 AM our time is definitely the best for you but obviously not for us!!
And there are parts of life here that are difficult. It is hard not to be able to express myself completely. Although my facility in French is improving, I still can't discuss some kinds of concepts in any depth--politics, psychology--because I don't have the vocabulary. I feel as though I am speaking in a child's voice and must sound a bit dim. It is different for David I think, as no one expects him to be able to add to such conversations in French. He is at liberty to speak in English where it is possible. Of course, then he wonders if they have understood him, as our friends suffer from the same problem in English as I do in French. And it is hard work to listen so carefully, to try to catch the nuances as well as the correct meaning. It is why I often fall into bed very early and very tired. The good news is that David has had some dreams in French. "Il fait des progrès." everyone tells him.

Yes, I am making some progress in French, mainly now able to comprehend flyers and signs. I have been working on juvenile discovery books of France from the library. My greatest frustration is with hardware type things: if there was only a Canadian Tire. Maybe this is guiding me away from my usual escape into doing things to more thoughtful activities. More living life in my right brain.

I have found some good strong tea, we "imported" some oatmeal from England; now that it is cooling off at night, the apartment duvet doesn't feel so hot and heavy.

And the Jardin des Cousins, rather than making me cry, gives me comfort. We discovered it one morning while jogging in the extensive park near our home. The Parc Charruyer runs the length of the city centre and was a donation by Mlle. Charruyer of her family domain, along with money to keep it in good order.  The sign describes how the city developed this garden in 2008 to commemorate the founding of Québec by Champlain who came from a small town nearby. The garden is full of shrubs and trees from "les immenses étendues boisées du Canada". There are maple trees and hemlock, poplars and elders and . . . goldenrod! We watched the maple tree carefully to see if it would produce red leaves but apparently in this climate, it can only manage a yellowy-gold.

I am also comforted by the Rue du Canada near here and all the ones that have appeared in the small villages we have visited. The Rochelais I meet around and about, detecting an accent in my French, ask me if I am "anglaise" and I reply: "Non, canadienne". Without exception, at that moment a large smile appears and they say in such a friendly and enthusiastic way: "Aaah, canadienne! Mais vous êtes une cousine!" All these moments contribute to a feeling of being at home here too and help to alleviate the feeling of being a "stranger in a strange land".

But mainly, there are all of you who keep in touch so we know we aren't forgotten--the lovely emails, the ability to participate in discussion groups at home via Skype, the wonderful package of drawings from grandchildren (that now has a place of honour in our gallery of family photos), the planned visits from some of you in the spring. All this is comforting.

It seems Marcel Proust said: "The real voyage of discovery is not in discovering new lands, but in seeing with new eyes." This year was meant to be one of discovery, not just of France but also of our ability to cope with change, newness and difference. So this burst of homesickness is part of that, of learning what I can do without and what is really important.

But just in case it happens again, here is another quote from a very early TV show:"Keep those cards and letters coming!"