Category: this and that

Frazzled Friday, or: On the Road Again

Steve, my purse, and a Tim Horton’s coffee cup

And thus it begins – the first trip of the year. A short-notice-planned jaunt to Germany on family business, which on even shorter notice got rebooked for a few days early.

Steve and I got as far as the local airport, twenty minutes from home, where we found the first flight delayed by an hour, and then by another two. It’s fine as we originally had a seven-hour layover to the next leg of the flight, so now it’s four – still plenty of time. However, it also gave me time to have my anxiety spin in circles wondering if I should get one of the Offspring to come down to the airport and bring me my walking shoes instead of the half-boots I’ve got on now that I’m worried will be too warm for Europe, where it’s usually much more spring-like at this time of year then here. Fortunately, I smartened up in time, and thankfully the Offspring has plenty of patience with maternal fussings. Or, as he said, “What are children for if not to have compassion on your poor nerves?” (I pride myself on having raised them on a steady diet of Jane Austen movies, from which I now reap the benefits.)

Anyway. The three-hour delay resulted in us getting a $15 meal voucher from the airline. It was enough for a rice & chicken bowl at Tim Horton’s:

It was tasty, and unexpectedly spicy. I skipped eating the beans that were in it, for reasons we won’t go into here. (You’re welcome.)

So now we’ve progressed through security; Steve says the X-ray machine makes his head buzz. I forgot to take out my little bag of liquids, but they never even asked about it. Maybe they got confused by my question of whether I needed to take out the e-reader.

Another hour to the flight – provided they don’t delay it again. Ah well, the delay was for “unscheduled maintenance”, which I hope means they fixed whatever was wrong so that, for example, the wing doesn’t fall off in mid-flight and we have to make an emergency landing in the Rockies. However, if we do, at least I’m still wearing my boots and not flimsy walking shoes, which would be definitely be unsuited to mountaintop weather.

And that, for now, is Life, the Universe, and The First Trip of the Year. See you on the other side!

Groundhog Day and Candlemas

Today is a cross-quarter day, one of the four days of the year that fall between the quarter days. The quarter days, of course, were (or still are, really) festivals roughly equating to the solstices and equinoxes: Lady Day on March 25, St. John’s on June 24th, Michaelmas on Sept. 29, and Christmas on Dec. 25th. Smack-dab in between those days, there are the cross-quarter days, the old Celtic quarter days: Imbolc, Beltaine, Lughnasadh, and Samhain, on February, May, August, and November 1st, respectively. Notice something? Right close to several of those days are festivals we still know of today: May Day on May 1st; Halloween or “All Hallows E’en”, the evening before All Saint’s Day on Nov.1st; and then here we have Candlemas, also known as Groundhog Day or St. Brigid’s Day, on February 2nd.

In the old European traditions, Candlemas was an important day. It was the start of the agricultural year, the time when maids and farm labourers were hired or re-hired and got their yearly wages. In the Alpine regions, it was and still is also the last day of Christmastide. The Christmas tree, which is put up and decorated on Christmas Eve (not in early December like in America) stays up until Candlemas. Of course, by then a very small sneeze in its general vicinity will cause an avalanche of dry pine needles to shower to the ground, leaving a prickly pole with some sadly denuded sticks protruding from it that are valiantly attempting to hold up the decorations. Time to pack them away until next winter.

Because this winter, I’m glad to say, is more than half over now. If the quarter day of winter solstice means the turning point in the light, where we celebrate the changeover from the days getting shorter and shorter to the long ascend towards summer solstice (when I’ll be moaning about there being too much light, especially at 4am when the birds are yelling outside my window), the cross-quarter day of Candlemas means that we can actually see the days getting longer. By now, we have a reasonable chance of having our breakfast and maybe even cooking our supper in daylight, and back in the days when the only artificial light people had were candles, from Candlemas on they might be able to do their spinning without them.

Candlemas is called Candlemas because it was the day when the yearly supply of candles for both church and home was blessed. I only just learned that among the domestic candles people took to be blessed was a black “weather candle”, which was lit by way of a prayer for safety when there was a thunderstorm or other dangerous weather threatening. The black colour originally came from the weather candles being made of the sooty wax drippings of a church’s votive candles. People back in the day knew how to recycle.

When I thought about what other names February 2nd has, I remembered that way back when I first started blogging, I’d already written a post about it. I looked it up, and it’s actually quite funny (even if I say so myself). I’m pretty sure the photo of the groundhog (or gopher, rather) was one I took myself on a camping trip, but I can’t remember exactly what year or where.

The fact that in today’s English-speaking world most people know the term “Groundhog Day” is also funny. Because what they know, or associate with it, isn’t necessarily February 2nd. I mean, when you saw the title of this post, did you immediately think I was going to talk about a day that repeats itself over and over in an endless loop? If you did, you can thank the Bill Murray movie. I like it when a piece of fiction that was created simply for entertainment brings a whole new understanding of a concept to our culture, and becomes so firmly embedded in our ideas that it changes the very definition of a word.

That’s what culture is: transmission of ideas from one person to another. Celtic Imbolc, black weather candles in the Alps, the Groundhog Day movie. It ties us to the people around us and to those who came before.

Life, the Universe, and Groundhog Day (and Groundhog Day, and Groundhog Day, and Groundhog… Never mind). Happy Candlemas!

Caught in the Stream

It’s a new year. Time for some new habits. As Michelle Lloyd of United Art Space says, time to decide what to shelf and what to delve (deeper into).

So, one of the things I decided it’s time to shelf is some of my online subscriptions. Not so long ago, I was subscribed to four different streaming services – count ‘em, four! Three of them movies, one audiobooks. Britbox, Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Audible.

Now, I don’t know about you, but most of those I subscribed to “just for a while,” in order to watch a particular series or get a set of particular books. And then, I was going to cancel as soon as I had watched/purchased/got that thing I came for.

Right. I watched the new “Why Didn’t They Ask Evans” on Britbox, the one with Will Coulter and Lucy Boynton. I highly recommend it, you really should… No, you shouldn’t. Because if you’re like me, you get a Britbox subscription in spring of 2022 when the series comes out, and in summer of 2023 you’re still paying for it, even though you hardly watch the channel.

And then there’s the Audible subscription. I signed up for long enough to get all six Austen novels as narrated by Juliet Stevenson, because they’re just So. Dang. Good. Now, I’ll grant you: you sign up, you pay your $15 a month ($16.74 with tax), and you get a free audiobook for that, which, if you buy it outright, would cost anywhere from $25 to $40. And you get to keep that book even after you cancel the subscription. So that’s a good deal. However. I signed up. I got my first few books. Then they offered me a deal on buying more credits, which brought each credit (i.e. each audiobook) down to about $13. Even better, right? So I got the rest of the Austens. And the whole Narnia collection (all of them for one credit!), and a few Heyers. I got what I came for! And then some! But did I pack up and leave?

Spoiler alert: No. At least not without some pretty serious struggles.

I decided to cancel my Britbox last summer. They popped up a message to the tune of “Are you really, absolutely, totally sure you want to leave? Why? WHY???” When I clicked the little button that said I was leaving because I was “trying to save money,” they offered me one month free. Heck, yeah, I’m not one to pass up a freebie! At the end of that month I went to cancel again. This time they offered me a couple of months at half price. I mean, sure, why not?

Stuck again.

I kept making myself calendar reminders, in plenty of time before the next billing due date: “Cancel Britbox.” “Cancel Audible.” “Cancel Prime.” Then the day would come around, the reminder pop up on my phone, and I’d go “Ummm, I’ll do it tomorrow…” Tomorrow came, and the reminder got postponed for another few days yet. Eventually, the billing period rolled around, and here I was, with another month of streaming services paid for that I hardly made use of.

But finally, I decided to bite the bullet and do that thing. Pull the plug, get out. But, but, but – all those benefits I’d be missing out on! I wouldn’t be able to watch Poirot whenever I felt like it, or one of the old BBC Shakespeares, like the Romeo and Juliet from 1978 that has a young Alan Rickman with floppy dark hair playing Tybalt…. Did I ever watch that Romeo and Juliet in the last two years? No. But I could have! And if I cancel, I definitely won’t be able to!

FOMO, the Fear Of Missing Out, strikes full force. It’s astonishing how powerful that force is. And the streaming services, aka the people whose sole purpose for existence is to answer the question “How can I get your money into my pocket?”, play it up to the hilt. Quite literally. Trying to cancel Amazon Prime, you have to click through at least three windows that shout at you over and over “LOOK AT WHAT YOU’LL BE MISSING!” And even though most of what they’re telling me I’ll be missing is services I have no interest in (such as Amazon Music, or Amazon Photos), that phrase still has the power to make me pause, and cringe a little, and stop to consider – do I really want to cancel… really really…?

I found myself quite surprised at just how difficult it was to click those buttons to cancel. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t sign up again anytime I want. If I get an irresistible craving some Saturday evening to watch David Suchet put “ze little grey cells” of Hercule Poirot to work, all it takes is a few more clicks of the mouse, and my Britbox subscription is reactivated. As for the Prime benefits beyond the streaming video, I can still order things from Amazon; it just takes a few days longer for the stuff to get here. If I’m really desperate for 2-day shipping on an order, I could – gasp! – pay for shipping, which would probably still cost less than $10/month…

Because that’s the thing: it’s not like they’re giving us all these wonderful services for FREE. Sure, once you’ve signed up, your forget the chunk of money that drops out of your credit card every month. The pain comes in when you first hit that button, when you perform the action of paying the money. But once the action is completed, you forget it. The pain comes in making a change. That’s what they’re relying on with their marketing strategies: once they’ve got you to take the action and make a change, i.e. subscribe to their service, it’s easier for you to not make another change, and you very quickly get to feeling that you actually deserve whatever they’re giving you, that you’re getting it without cost, “as a membership benefit.”

But there is a cost. A not insubstantial one, at that. I just (gulp!) pulled the plug on Prime and Audible. And when I did the math, I realized that with tax, that’s $27.93 that won’t be coming out of my credit card every month. I cancelled Britbox at the end of December; another $11.19 per month. That’s nearly $40 every month that I’m saving. Genuinely saving, not the fake “Save with our discounted products!” that marketing strategies like to sucker you in with.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to say that streaming services are bad, that you should cancel your streaming subscriptions, that cancelling is more righteous than keeping your services, that I’ll never sign up to another streaming service again, or any such nonsense.

My point is that I noticed just how difficult it is to make the choice to discontinue, even if I don’t really get my money’s worth out of it anymore. Even if I have plenty of alternatives: I have hundreds of DVDs on my shelf, and probably thousands I can get from my local library. Public service broadcasters – around here that’s Knowledge and CBC – have free movie streaming available. Librivox has thousands of public domain audiobooks, and the library has thousands more. I’m not exaggerating – thousands. And all of that genuinely, truly FREE.

Yet I found it hard to click that “cancel” button.

With all the shouting that the stream-for-money services are doing to trigger my FOMO, I’ve almost forgotten about all the resources I have available to me. I’ve let myself be sucked into the stream, into the idea that I need to keep those services because else I’ll… I’ll… I don’t know, I’ll be bored on a Saturday evening when I don’t have a movie to watch? I know. It’s ridiculous.

So I clicked the button, wincing just a little. And now I have a week to watch the last few Prime Video episodes I can’t do without (but kept putting off), and listen to the last few chapters of the free Audible book I’ve got on the go, and then I will try life without those services. But truth be told, it already feels good to know that there will be $28 less coming out of my account each month. Think of what I could do with that…

Life, the Universe, and Getting Out of the Stream. The Joy Of Missing Out.

A Newsletter and the Sleepy Time of Year

Happy New Year, Gentle Reader. I just put together the January edition of Clay and Words News, my newsletter (are you subscribed yet? You can do so over here: https://amovitam.ca/newsletter/).

Red Bench Cottage, 5x6x5″, stoneware, the feature piece of “From the Studio” in the January newsletter. The fairies are chopping wood to keep warm.

It’s very January-ish around here right now, dark and cold. Although it hasn’t been nearly as cold as is normal for this time of year, the lack of snow makes things seem even darker than usual. We still need the electric lights on at 8AM, and of course turn them back on by at least 4PM. Good thing we’re past solstice, and it’ll only get brighter from here on.

Every January I wonder how our ancestors lived through that dark season, with nothing but candles to illuminate their houses, and poor quality candles at that. Beeswax was expensive even then, reserved for the church and rich people (Jane Austen, Emma: “Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable!”), and from what I understand, tallow candles, which ordinary people used, don’t give a very clear light. Never mind rush lights, which are about the equivalent of a tiny flashlight with the battery in its death throes.

I was reminded of a post I wrote a few years ago right around this time, when I realized that January is, in fact, the Midnight of the Year. The tiredness so many of us in the more Northern latitudes feel right now, and the urge to just curl up with a blanket and a good book and not move until spring, might well have a good reason, and perhaps instead of fighting them it would be worth humouring our desires. It’s probably healthier for body and soul.

As per usual, the cat has the right idea. I think I’ll go follow his example.

Life, the Universe, and the Midnight of the Year. Stay warm and carry on.

How to Effortlessly Learn a Language the Natural Way

As you might know, I’m fluently bilingual. English or German, I can make my desires know: “Excuse me, where do you keep curtain hardware?” or “Wo ist die Zahnpasta, bitte?” It’s not a problem—I jump from one track to the other, and operate in either system without having to think about it.

And then I went to France. For the first time in my life, I was confronted with being struck deaf and mute. The extent of my French is, pretty much, Bonjour, Au revoir, and merci beaucoup*. In Paris, I understand nothing, and can communicate nothing. And let me tell you, it is astonishingly disconcerting. You don’t realize how much you rely on your verbal prowess until it’s taken away from you. So, I decided it was time I did something about it, and I set out to learn at least a little bit of French. You’ll be glad to know that as of this morning, I have learned to say “Un café au lait avec du sucre, s’il vous plaît, et deux croissants.” You know, the necessities of life. I do not yet know how to ask where the bathroom is, but as I most likely wouldn’t understand the answer, that’s just as well.

But this whole process got me thinking about how to learn languages. It’s really not that hard, we’ve all done it! Yes, you have too—you’re reading this, aren’t you? You learned at least one language completely fluently, effortlessly, grammatically correct, with flawless pronunciation. So, all it should take is to repeat that process with another language, and you’re golden. I’m by no means the first person to come up with that idea; I don’t know how many times I’ve seen language learning programs advertised as being “completely natural” and “just like learning your first language.” It should work, shouldn’t it? No problem.

Das Baby und die Katze.

Now, as luck would have it, a couple of weeks ago I had a front seat to watching the process in action, courtesy of a visit of a young relative. This young gentleman, who recently obtained his first birthday, is a remarkably intelligent individual (of course he is, he’s related to me), who is very interested in language and in the world around him, particularly the four-footed variety. I observed him closely, and I’m now in a position to tell you exactly how this language learning thing is done. Here you are:

LEARNING A LANGUAGE THE NATURAL WAY, IN EASY-TO-FOLLOW STEPS

Step 1.) (Optional, but helpful) Be as cute as you can possibly be.
Step 2.) Surround yourself with as many individuals as you can who adore you and are willing to repeat words to you on a continuous feedback loop.
Step 3.) Point to an object of your interest and make gurgling noises (example: the cat).
Step 4.) Wait for your adoring audience to supply the word in the language of their choice (“Die Katze!”).
Step 5.) Copy the word to the best of your ability (“Tz-tz!”).
Step 6.) Let your audience correct your pronunciation and try again. (“T-tz!”)
Step 7.) Repeat steps 3.-6. approximately twenty times per hour during all your waking hours, every day, for the next two to three years. Vary the objects labelled as required and improve your pronunciation as needed.

By the end of four or five years, you should be completely fluent in your new language and will be able to move on to instructing others.

There you have it: the one, the only, the infallible completely natural method to learning languages. It really works.

Now if I could only find someone to repeat le chat to me, over and over and over and…

Life, the Universe, and Natural Language Acquisition. It’s the only proven method.

*being Canadian, I can also read some French food labels: I know that fraise is strawberry, framboise is raspberry, and bleuet is blueberry. I know my yogurt flavours. But they’re of limited usefulness in navigating the Paris metro system or buying museum tickets.