Through a friend I was contacted to interpret for the FAITES SANS OGM festival in Le Thor. I said yes, put aside the dates, and went about my life. Then I looked again and said oops, who is that? oh yes. That's why I'm busy this weekend.
I managed to re-ignite the contact and confirm times, payment (what they could afford) and place, etc.,
And off I went on Sunday -- they were set on Saturday apparently.
And what a delightful experience! I was there interpreting during the speeches of Percy Schmeiser (the Canadian farmer who had such a terrible experience being sued by Monsanto for theft of their patented canola plants, which had arrived by the wind from his neighbor's land! -- though in the end he won the battle) and Vandana Shiva, the mother of all seed preservers in India.
These two have worked for years to combat the ever creeping presence and power of Monsanto and the world of genetically modified seeds. They have worked to preserve the ancient varieties of seeds and the ancient ways of farmers. They have stressed and explained why organic and traditional methods get the best yields, nourish the land and feed families and communities. They have spoken at the International Monetary Fund, the UN and far and wide dispelling the myths propagated by Monsanto as to yields (far below what was predicted so confidently) use of toxic pesticides (far over what was predicted) and the reality of organic agriculture.
These two 'grosses pointures' as we say here (super VIP) were joined by their Mexican colleague (for whom I did not translate, but who was splendid and fascinating), Ana De Ita who has been defending the varieties and bio-diversity of the local corns of Mexico against the infiltration (illegal during a moratorium banning OGM corn!) of Monsanto's GMO corn into Mexico.
I had a grand time, learned oodles, and managed to convince the conference operators that they should hire skilled translators more often. It is a truism that many many people speak English in France. But, sadly, this does not always mean they can retain information in their heads for a few minutes, and repeat it in coherent sentences for the audience to follow. Nor is a basically good vocabulary always sufficient. And, well, just take a look at many a translated menu...
All this to say, I will be keeping in touch with this group and am likely to work with them again.
What's ironic is that I actually knew a handful of the actors in this festival -- from the attaché for the Green Party in the mayor's office of Le Thor (from Tango) to two of the volunteers and adherents to Folle'Avoine, the non-profit that helped put this festival together (also from Tango), to one of the civil representatives for the safety of humanity (from the Steiner School), to a number of faces from the Conféderation Paysanne (from my years as companion to an organic vintner).
And yet the job offer came via a friend in Avignon (thank you my dear!) not at all from these numerous individuals who've seen me regularly in the past few years. Apparently, I have not been particularly open or demonstrative as to my interpreting skills... or they're all simply so accustomed to communicating with me in French that they forget that I'm fully bi-lingual?
Ah yes, I've neglected to say that the day finished at a wonderful tango spot, and shoes in hand, I danced a lovely bit before heading home to my kids, my normal life, and an early morning the next day.
I'm rather in awe at how many aspects of my life came together on this day: Steiner school, tango, nutrition/organic agriculture/life-style, translating skills (including simultaneous), and my accumulation of knowledge on this topic (thank you Michael Pollan!, OCA newsletters and more!).
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Monday, February 14, 2011
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Self motivation in a young 'Arabe'
It doesn't take long, once you've arrived and truly begun living in this country, to sense the deep crevice that separates the French French from the immigrant population, majoritarily from North Africa, i.e. the 'Arabes'.
Most slurs, most annoyances, most grievances, most fear towards young people, most accusations for violent crime, fall upon the heads of the young male Arabic population.
Yes, there are sufficient incidents to prove a basis for this belief, though their grievances and reasons for acting out, burning cars, etc., are as numerous, if not more so. There are also as many other individuals who are trying tremendously hard to adapt to French culture, work in school, get ahead, be honest, strive to succeed in this country their parents chose to move to.
However, France is a country lacking in civil rights laws. Americans have these, by necessity and by belief. It is still a fact that people will hire more easily new employees who resemble them, with whom they feel at ease, etc., and thus whether you call it nepotism or simply the freedom to choose, it ends up with a slant towards hiring young white men and women from 'good' backgrounds. Particularly in a country where firing people after a short trial period is quite difficult.
I bring this sensitive topic up as I went to get my IPhone fixed the other day. The screen was smashed and I hoped to be able to replace simply the screen, and not the phone. Orange, who provided me with my phone, would take it from me and charge me a bundle, but that was not my preferred solution, particularly as I do not want to be separated from my phone, nor did I want to pay a hefty bundle.
A friend mentioned an Arab run phone/internet/etc., shop in Avignon. I found it (pretty easy to do) and discovered that the individual who repairs the phones is actually in Le Pontet. They gave me his number, I arranged to go by the next morning and thus get my phone fixed on-site while I waited, rather than leave it over night.
After scoping about a bit -- the shop is not in the easiest to spot place, and only young Arabs have any idea where it is, which I discovered after asking at a magazine store, and the Post Office. I found one such young Arab, the server of a little cafe filled with Arab men, and asked him where I might find Salin to fix my phone. He gave me good directions, told me that the shop has a name - Deblock Phone - and I went on my way.
I was graciously received, my problem solved, and a pleasant half an hour was spent in the presence of a very young man, Salin, who shared his story as a Parisian who upon graduating from high school sought out internships, etc., and was refused point blank at each stop. He had put together his resume/CV as suggested by his guidance counselor, he had been well-dressed, excessively polite, but no go. He became disgusted with the system, and decided to take the situation into his own hands. He is now the main person in our large area (including many villages, and local cities) who repairs a bit of everything, computers included, but most particularly cell phones.
A good situation evolved out of pain and rejection. He is very bright and skilled and thus could create a niche for himself. But, the chip on the shoulder remains. He's successful now, and can hire others to work with him, lease out his talents, etc., And yes, there are others like him who run the internet cafes, long distance phone card sellers, etc., They are working hard, creating businesses that everyone needs, and getting ahead. But, they still feel dismissed by the powers that be.
It's not easy living amidst racism, judgment by your origins, etc., I can see that the demographics are changing, that these young men and women are striking out on their own, adapting to the real conditions of this country and in so doing, learning to their chagrin and pain that the system set up for white French people doesn't always apply to them. I wonder for how much longer we'll hold to these rigid formulas of entering the working world when they only work for a portion of the population?
School - internships - first job(s) - hired for life.
Whether we wish it or no, things will change. Keep watching and reading.
Most slurs, most annoyances, most grievances, most fear towards young people, most accusations for violent crime, fall upon the heads of the young male Arabic population.
Yes, there are sufficient incidents to prove a basis for this belief, though their grievances and reasons for acting out, burning cars, etc., are as numerous, if not more so. There are also as many other individuals who are trying tremendously hard to adapt to French culture, work in school, get ahead, be honest, strive to succeed in this country their parents chose to move to.
However, France is a country lacking in civil rights laws. Americans have these, by necessity and by belief. It is still a fact that people will hire more easily new employees who resemble them, with whom they feel at ease, etc., and thus whether you call it nepotism or simply the freedom to choose, it ends up with a slant towards hiring young white men and women from 'good' backgrounds. Particularly in a country where firing people after a short trial period is quite difficult.
I bring this sensitive topic up as I went to get my IPhone fixed the other day. The screen was smashed and I hoped to be able to replace simply the screen, and not the phone. Orange, who provided me with my phone, would take it from me and charge me a bundle, but that was not my preferred solution, particularly as I do not want to be separated from my phone, nor did I want to pay a hefty bundle.
A friend mentioned an Arab run phone/internet/etc., shop in Avignon. I found it (pretty easy to do) and discovered that the individual who repairs the phones is actually in Le Pontet. They gave me his number, I arranged to go by the next morning and thus get my phone fixed on-site while I waited, rather than leave it over night.
After scoping about a bit -- the shop is not in the easiest to spot place, and only young Arabs have any idea where it is, which I discovered after asking at a magazine store, and the Post Office. I found one such young Arab, the server of a little cafe filled with Arab men, and asked him where I might find Salin to fix my phone. He gave me good directions, told me that the shop has a name - Deblock Phone - and I went on my way.
I was graciously received, my problem solved, and a pleasant half an hour was spent in the presence of a very young man, Salin, who shared his story as a Parisian who upon graduating from high school sought out internships, etc., and was refused point blank at each stop. He had put together his resume/CV as suggested by his guidance counselor, he had been well-dressed, excessively polite, but no go. He became disgusted with the system, and decided to take the situation into his own hands. He is now the main person in our large area (including many villages, and local cities) who repairs a bit of everything, computers included, but most particularly cell phones.
A good situation evolved out of pain and rejection. He is very bright and skilled and thus could create a niche for himself. But, the chip on the shoulder remains. He's successful now, and can hire others to work with him, lease out his talents, etc., And yes, there are others like him who run the internet cafes, long distance phone card sellers, etc., They are working hard, creating businesses that everyone needs, and getting ahead. But, they still feel dismissed by the powers that be.
It's not easy living amidst racism, judgment by your origins, etc., I can see that the demographics are changing, that these young men and women are striking out on their own, adapting to the real conditions of this country and in so doing, learning to their chagrin and pain that the system set up for white French people doesn't always apply to them. I wonder for how much longer we'll hold to these rigid formulas of entering the working world when they only work for a portion of the population?
School - internships - first job(s) - hired for life.
Whether we wish it or no, things will change. Keep watching and reading.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Lessons for future and present renovations
Well, life is ever interesting, and ever evolving. I own a home. And with this goes the responsibility of caring for it. But, I've been idea-rich and cash-poor for some time now. And this has stymied me. I've been counseled that fixing my leaking roof would be upwards of 10-15,000Euros, but best to check with any number of local companies (entreprises) who specialized in this. Need I say that I've put off this more and more urgent issue for over three years now as I've simply not the funds? nor the means to get a loan of this size? And there I stopped. I would put cups and towels down when fall storms sent drops of water down into my bed room, the stairwell, the kids' room. I dealt by not dealing, though occasionally moaning and groaning, in a bag-over-the-head sort of way.
And then there was the shabby-chic room downstairs. The one that is pleasantly cool and dark and refreshing in the hot summer, and damp, cold, a bit moldy and dusty in the winter. This is the room where Leo is choosing to be at the moment. Um, is there something wrong with this picture?
And then there is the dream project of a glassed in terrace/living space out beyond my kitchen on the polished ochre-colored cement floor I put in right after my arrival. I'd checked with a local eco-builder who had estimated the highly insulated, wood/windows/sliding doors 20sq meter room at 40,000Euros -- a couple of years' ago. The room would be on the north side of the house, thus subject to the cold winds, not too much sunshine and the insulation/double/triple paned windows/plexi for the roof, etc., would bring the price way up. Yes, this too was quite obviously put on hold.
I've been telling myself that the day the b&b in Arles is sold....
And then my dear friend Martine got me thinking that I had to get Leo's room into order, and soon. It is just not healthy for him to breath moldy, damp air. It wasn't hard to convince me. After toying with various ideas -- put up a wooden wall with air space behind it? cover it with a nice rug? -- She suggested I use the technique known as enduit en chanvre -- a hemp-filled stucco -- that insulates, equalizes the hydrometry of a room and renders the space healthy, warm...
It just so happens that the person who is master of this technique and who has been practicing it, preaching, teaching it and more over these past 20 years is a father in my kids' school (very bio-dynamic/Steiner'ish all this stuff). Yves Kuhn -- you can google him. And so I gave him a call and he came to visit my house. With his urging I got to work. I and the kids removed all Leo's belongings from the room, and I began to tear down the cement/stucco that was covering the stone walls with Erick's burin/burineur -- serious heavy equipment. With two walls completely cleared and the third nearly there, you could say I'm now committed to this project.
I called to find out the estimate for the cost of materials (nearly 1000E for the surface area I've to do) ouch! And discovered that there was a workshop/stage this past weekend to learn precisely the techniques I needed. Being financially-challenged at the moment, and being that the woman who runs the company is dedicated to helping others (truly a great lady! named Mirei), I was able to do the class for a song, and I brought Erick with me as he with his masonry background shall be my main helper for this and perhaps future jobs. Good thing I get along with my ex-husband, n'est-ce pas?
And so Saturday saw us both over at Yve's workshop learning to mix hemp, pumice, chalk/white wash, plaster, water, etc., and smooth them into wall mixtures, flooring mixtures, stucco mixtures, finishing mixtures, roof insulation, sculpture clay (for sinks, showers, etc.,) and more. Quite an extraordinary day. I was supposed to be baking cookies Sunday for the school Christmas market (Nov. 27/28) but I just couldn't resist going back for a second day of lessons in these techniques. Ever since I built Martine's raw clay brick wall (see blog post this time last year) I have been even more aware of the profound pleasure and delight I absorb when deep in manual activities.
As Erick clicked with Yves -- both men having been sculpted from the primeval clay of this earth by Prometheus, I got more and more ideas and Eureka moments. I don't need to hire an expensive company to do my roof! There's a serious possibility of doing it with friends, insulating it so that summers are not so hot and unpleasant, putting in the skylights for the stairwell and bedrooms, etc., at perhaps a third the price (or more realistically half) of what I'd been expecting to pay....
And hey, what about my terrace/living room? I could insulate the wall between myself and my neighbor with this technique, and build the half wall to the north this way, maybe put in a rounded corner with the denser material over a
frame of woven cane such as Yves showed us in his studio covered in plaster-dipped gauze, (that being the corner with a view from the neighbor's window, thus best visually blocked) then put in my windows, the sliding doors to the West, etc., build the roof with this technique and have one row of windows in it... and I could do this myself with Erick and a friend or two, thus having only the cost of materials: way below the estimate of 40,000 from the builder...
Suddenly the world is opening up. It is doable, affordable, beautiful, eco/organic, and it is a technique that favors collaboration, sharing, teaching, working together.
Hm, for those of you who've been reading this blog a bit more faithfully. Didn't I mention somewhere that I had begun dating an architect? Yes. And yes, in a past life it would have been normal for me to say, hey, want to design my terrace/living space? But you know, this is my house, and though I appreciate his taste in urban design, I don't see him doing this kind of artisanal, hands-on (thus expensive on a large scale), organic technique. And, deeply feminine and sensual as I be, I love the idea of rounding and softening angles, rendering the rooms in warm tones (yes you add natural ochres to the mixtures to get beautiful colors in the mass, not just applied, though these are ideal surfaces for frescoes). His taste is more in the red/white/black/metallic direction. Let us say, I'm discovering new power and pleasure in contemplating the possible tactile, nourishing renovations I might actually be able to manifest through my own impulse (with a lot of help from friends), and who knows, maybe I'll teach him something? And, I have to say that I do not feel in need of being saved (as I once did by the vintner, and we know that didn't work out!), nor am I as impatient and eager to jump into our living together before it feels right. Thus, for the indefinite future, we'll enjoy the virtues of the city at his place, and the country at mine.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Teaching my Native Language
I am now teaching English three to six hours a week. I've from three to eight students and my main role is to get them to use whatever vocabulary and grammar they've gotten into their heads. Thus, I ask questions, I encourage dialog, I get them to read articles, I ask them to write about what they did last weekend, where they went to school, what they want to do tomorrow, or as a job in the future. I ask them about their best memories, and their dreams. I get them to practice various past tenses, to describe meals, to tell me about people in their lives. I get them writing up and acting out conversations and dialogs between customers and hotel receptionists, restaurant waiters, etc.,
It's challenging for me. I speak more slowly than normally -- by necessity as anyone who knows me will confirm! I prepare all my classes with relatively minimal advance notice -- zooming through the internet, seeking ideas, vocabulary, descriptions, texts, etc., And, as each class is a three hour marathon with minimal breaks (the two smokers in the group are good at making sure these happen), it is rather intense.
However, what I find most challenging is simply being confronted by young and middle-aged, out-of-work chomeurs struggling to make sense of this life. They are more than a bit sad and depressed. If I ask what they did over the weekend, the answer is often as not watched a film on TV, slept late, ate lunch with my mother. I feel at times like I'm pulling teeth, but also that I'm there to encourage them in their accomplishments, to reinforce the possibilities of finding a new job, getting their lives in order, etc.,
I feel the weight of the ruts they are in, and at times fear being pulled in with them. I too am juggling, coping, seeking, hoping. I too am sending out resumes for other jobs in marketing, teaching, translating. I too am wishing to hear the phone ring, get my chance at an interview, eager to move forward and upward in this world. I too am scared and at times demoralized, before I get out the bull whip and kick myself out of my seat and get back to work.
It's a curious sensation.
My mother taught beginning French for years. And I wonder how it is that I am revisiting this world of beginning language study. It is not an easy area of study for the students, particularly when adult. You have individuals with a certain limited vocabulary left over from their high school years-- perhaps just 5-6 years ago, or twenty--. Their lives keep them somewhat busy; they have limited resources to learn what you're teaching. It is necessary on the one hand to move along slowly, so they have the time to absorb, take notes, etc., Yet on the other, if you move too slowly, they get bored and annoyed and stop taking said notes (I noticed this when I was putting quite a bit of vocabulary for food on the board yesterday).
And, I don't have the brightest of the bright in front of me. I have the individuals who are not coping in many areas of their lives. They are here having failed elsewhere. It is brave to strive to acquire a new skill, not sure if they're even capable of it. It is clear that too few actually study and work at home. So much of what I've tried to put across each week has simply gone in one ear and out the other (or gotten clipped into a notebook and shelved). As such, the building blocks to more interesting conversations, more depth and greater comprehension are only very very slowly coming into place. For every two steps forward I think I've brought them, I realize that I need to take at least one step back, and perhaps three.
It is humbling, fascinating, challenging and more. There are days I get stumped, and days I get them laughing. Do I dare bring in pop tunes and try to get them singing?? I remember reading about a teacher of English in Cuba who began with the Beatles, "I want to hold your hand," and with time brought his class up to the level of complexity evinced by "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." May I do so well.
It's challenging for me. I speak more slowly than normally -- by necessity as anyone who knows me will confirm! I prepare all my classes with relatively minimal advance notice -- zooming through the internet, seeking ideas, vocabulary, descriptions, texts, etc., And, as each class is a three hour marathon with minimal breaks (the two smokers in the group are good at making sure these happen), it is rather intense.
However, what I find most challenging is simply being confronted by young and middle-aged, out-of-work chomeurs struggling to make sense of this life. They are more than a bit sad and depressed. If I ask what they did over the weekend, the answer is often as not watched a film on TV, slept late, ate lunch with my mother. I feel at times like I'm pulling teeth, but also that I'm there to encourage them in their accomplishments, to reinforce the possibilities of finding a new job, getting their lives in order, etc.,
I feel the weight of the ruts they are in, and at times fear being pulled in with them. I too am juggling, coping, seeking, hoping. I too am sending out resumes for other jobs in marketing, teaching, translating. I too am wishing to hear the phone ring, get my chance at an interview, eager to move forward and upward in this world. I too am scared and at times demoralized, before I get out the bull whip and kick myself out of my seat and get back to work.
It's a curious sensation.
My mother taught beginning French for years. And I wonder how it is that I am revisiting this world of beginning language study. It is not an easy area of study for the students, particularly when adult. You have individuals with a certain limited vocabulary left over from their high school years-- perhaps just 5-6 years ago, or twenty--. Their lives keep them somewhat busy; they have limited resources to learn what you're teaching. It is necessary on the one hand to move along slowly, so they have the time to absorb, take notes, etc., Yet on the other, if you move too slowly, they get bored and annoyed and stop taking said notes (I noticed this when I was putting quite a bit of vocabulary for food on the board yesterday).
And, I don't have the brightest of the bright in front of me. I have the individuals who are not coping in many areas of their lives. They are here having failed elsewhere. It is brave to strive to acquire a new skill, not sure if they're even capable of it. It is clear that too few actually study and work at home. So much of what I've tried to put across each week has simply gone in one ear and out the other (or gotten clipped into a notebook and shelved). As such, the building blocks to more interesting conversations, more depth and greater comprehension are only very very slowly coming into place. For every two steps forward I think I've brought them, I realize that I need to take at least one step back, and perhaps three.
It is humbling, fascinating, challenging and more. There are days I get stumped, and days I get them laughing. Do I dare bring in pop tunes and try to get them singing?? I remember reading about a teacher of English in Cuba who began with the Beatles, "I want to hold your hand," and with time brought his class up to the level of complexity evinced by "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." May I do so well.
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Mommy Track - Theme and Variations
I started working early. Already in high school I was a hostess in a Chinese restaurant 4-5 hours each weekend night. Then I worked every summer -- a common thing to do for many an American teen -- in cafes, or for a kids' summer arts' festival, or at a book publisher's. I worked all through university, in the cafeteria (I already liked to cook, and made mean pancakes and french toast, though my special order eggs needed some work); and in clothing shops in town. And then, once on my own, I worked pretty much nonstop. In the beginning temping in various secretarial positions, then as the assistant director of a photography gallery, then in Japan at the University Presidents' conference, and onwards to France.
For a good ten years I was single, living with a boyfriend or not, and working full time. I had more or less interesting jobs, and gave lots of energy and time to them. It was pleasant, stimulating, and led to many discoveries and of course, many learning experiences.
Then I had kids. I continued working very long hours as that's simply what you do, right? I sent my kids to day care, or to nannies, hired au pairs, and juggled. I did this for ten years, more or less. All this time I was busy with my businesses, building them, caring for clients, working on the web site, working on the recipes, paying for renovations, learning new routes, hikes, going to conferences. All that one must do to make a business successful. I loved it. It was stimulating, fun, challenging, and used me to the utmost.
But where did my kids fit in? Those little beasties I would often have removed from my sight from 7AM to 7PM? I had an epiphany one day. And, though I felt quite constrained by circumstances, and told myself over and over again that I didn't want to leave destruction in my wake, I ended up by doing just that. I left my marriage and with it, pretty much the two businesses I'd co-created and built. The momentum of the divorce, or setting up home in a new house, of simply coping has carried me far.
For not quite two years now I've worked only sporadically, and whenever possible from home (translations). And now, I feel that urge to go back to work on a more regular schedule, if I can. I miss the rhythm, the consistency of working through a pile of papers and coping on all the phone calls that are waiting, teaching the hours that are scheduled, plugging through a certain number of pages of translation.
I miss this, but I am also reveling in being available to my boys. I treasure my Friday afternoon with Jonas when we have time, just the two of us, to explore our island on bicycle. I have the time to bake bread, the time to get the house in order, the time to help Leo with his home-work. I have the time for chats, cuddles and being there. And yes, it feels extraordinarily precious.
Why is it that the Mommy Track is so punitive to women? Why is it that taking the time to raise our children while they're little is something that will cost you in the long run on your social security and retirement benefits? Why does society not reward you for doing your utmost to raise healthy and emotionally stable, considerate adults? Doesn't everyone prosper from such a task well-done?
Granted, I simply haven't found the right balance. I will fully admit this. Teachers work the hours their kids are in school, and are then able to be with them on vacations, weekends, etc., However, I couldn't live on a teacher's salary in France (minimum wage under the best of circumstances, less than that --1100E/mo--for a Waldorf teacher) and pay for my house, food, car, etc., A teacher's salary is meant to be but a portion of a household's income, not the whole thing.
In France, there is a 3/4 option -- work 4 days a week, rather than 5. But, there again, it is an option for half of a couple, but not a solution for a single mother unless she has other sources of income.
My friend Martine is now, for the first time in 16 years, free to give her full time and energy to a new job. Her sixteen year-old son has chosen to live with his father, her boyfriend is in the South. She is now at a new posting in Nantes, in Brittany. She passed a difficult exam and took the job that was available to her. Now, in a new world, a new apartment, with new colleagues, she is living a vibrant and stimulating new experience. For the first time in ever so long, she is not split in two (or three).
I listen to her on the phone and I get wistful. How I wish I could concentrate on one task and do it well! I miss that energy of arriving in a new town, settling into a new job, meeting, discovering, setting up new rhythms and possibilities. Perhaps I did that overly often? In Princeton, in Seattle, in Kobe, Japan, in Paris, in Arles...
More than anything, I miss the clarity of purpose that giving your all to a job brings. Must I wait till Jonas is 15 before I'll again have this? Of course I'll be working throughout, but, working while divided in my heart? distracted? Begging help from friends to get my kids home from school, leaving them instructions for getting dinner on the table (not such a bad thing this last, I do believe in encouraging lots of autonomy)...
Ah well. I'm just freely associating here. I'm coping, and I'll continue to do so, and yes, my kids will be ok. My mother worked full time and more from my early teen years onward. I handled my own dinners, getting up every morning and getting to school on my own by bike down the Boston Post Road no matter the weather. We had time together in the evenings.
But somehow, in this day and age, I'm not sure I see my boys biking to school through the abundance of traffic and the dark winter mornings that we have here. I'm not sure I see them up and out the door without a nudge from me. Though this may simply be a mother's worrying on my part. However, no one else in this particular society permits their teens to bike such long distances, particularly not in bad weather nor in the dark. Encouraging full independence and autonomy is rather out of fashion. So at the same time as I must work more to keep afloat, I live in a society that expects parents to protect their children far longer.
Yes, I do feel in a bind. I keep working to stretch the twine wrapped around my thoughts, but I've yet to completely untangle the knots.
For a good ten years I was single, living with a boyfriend or not, and working full time. I had more or less interesting jobs, and gave lots of energy and time to them. It was pleasant, stimulating, and led to many discoveries and of course, many learning experiences.
Then I had kids. I continued working very long hours as that's simply what you do, right? I sent my kids to day care, or to nannies, hired au pairs, and juggled. I did this for ten years, more or less. All this time I was busy with my businesses, building them, caring for clients, working on the web site, working on the recipes, paying for renovations, learning new routes, hikes, going to conferences. All that one must do to make a business successful. I loved it. It was stimulating, fun, challenging, and used me to the utmost.
But where did my kids fit in? Those little beasties I would often have removed from my sight from 7AM to 7PM? I had an epiphany one day. And, though I felt quite constrained by circumstances, and told myself over and over again that I didn't want to leave destruction in my wake, I ended up by doing just that. I left my marriage and with it, pretty much the two businesses I'd co-created and built. The momentum of the divorce, or setting up home in a new house, of simply coping has carried me far.
For not quite two years now I've worked only sporadically, and whenever possible from home (translations). And now, I feel that urge to go back to work on a more regular schedule, if I can. I miss the rhythm, the consistency of working through a pile of papers and coping on all the phone calls that are waiting, teaching the hours that are scheduled, plugging through a certain number of pages of translation.
I miss this, but I am also reveling in being available to my boys. I treasure my Friday afternoon with Jonas when we have time, just the two of us, to explore our island on bicycle. I have the time to bake bread, the time to get the house in order, the time to help Leo with his home-work. I have the time for chats, cuddles and being there. And yes, it feels extraordinarily precious.
Why is it that the Mommy Track is so punitive to women? Why is it that taking the time to raise our children while they're little is something that will cost you in the long run on your social security and retirement benefits? Why does society not reward you for doing your utmost to raise healthy and emotionally stable, considerate adults? Doesn't everyone prosper from such a task well-done?
Granted, I simply haven't found the right balance. I will fully admit this. Teachers work the hours their kids are in school, and are then able to be with them on vacations, weekends, etc., However, I couldn't live on a teacher's salary in France (minimum wage under the best of circumstances, less than that --1100E/mo--for a Waldorf teacher) and pay for my house, food, car, etc., A teacher's salary is meant to be but a portion of a household's income, not the whole thing.
In France, there is a 3/4 option -- work 4 days a week, rather than 5. But, there again, it is an option for half of a couple, but not a solution for a single mother unless she has other sources of income.
My friend Martine is now, for the first time in 16 years, free to give her full time and energy to a new job. Her sixteen year-old son has chosen to live with his father, her boyfriend is in the South. She is now at a new posting in Nantes, in Brittany. She passed a difficult exam and took the job that was available to her. Now, in a new world, a new apartment, with new colleagues, she is living a vibrant and stimulating new experience. For the first time in ever so long, she is not split in two (or three).
I listen to her on the phone and I get wistful. How I wish I could concentrate on one task and do it well! I miss that energy of arriving in a new town, settling into a new job, meeting, discovering, setting up new rhythms and possibilities. Perhaps I did that overly often? In Princeton, in Seattle, in Kobe, Japan, in Paris, in Arles...
More than anything, I miss the clarity of purpose that giving your all to a job brings. Must I wait till Jonas is 15 before I'll again have this? Of course I'll be working throughout, but, working while divided in my heart? distracted? Begging help from friends to get my kids home from school, leaving them instructions for getting dinner on the table (not such a bad thing this last, I do believe in encouraging lots of autonomy)...
Ah well. I'm just freely associating here. I'm coping, and I'll continue to do so, and yes, my kids will be ok. My mother worked full time and more from my early teen years onward. I handled my own dinners, getting up every morning and getting to school on my own by bike down the Boston Post Road no matter the weather. We had time together in the evenings.
But somehow, in this day and age, I'm not sure I see my boys biking to school through the abundance of traffic and the dark winter mornings that we have here. I'm not sure I see them up and out the door without a nudge from me. Though this may simply be a mother's worrying on my part. However, no one else in this particular society permits their teens to bike such long distances, particularly not in bad weather nor in the dark. Encouraging full independence and autonomy is rather out of fashion. So at the same time as I must work more to keep afloat, I live in a society that expects parents to protect their children far longer.
Yes, I do feel in a bind. I keep working to stretch the twine wrapped around my thoughts, but I've yet to completely untangle the knots.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Un bon déjeuner et une sièste -- ils sont sacrés!
A good lunch and a proper nap.
Do we still do this somewhere in the US (or even in the Anglo-Saxon world at large)? I certainly never did before I came to France. I remember being at work at 7:30AM, zooming through piles of text and tapes to type up, dashing out for a quick cup of soup at 11:45, back at my desk at noon, through another pile of folders, and out the door at 4:30PM, in time to get to an aerobics class. When necessary, I worked late into the night, nibbling at a hoagie or some Chinese food as I typed away, researched, etc., This was normal.
Then I came to France. In Paris the lunch hour was an hour plus. Everyone left their post. Everyone went outside and purchased something hot to eat, with a preference for a sit-down meal in a restaurant. I was still in Japan mode, and would bring my not-quite bento lunch to the office. My boss at the time, the travelling show coordinator at the Centre National de la Photographie, would look askance at my cold food, and encourage me to get out and about. A tendency to eat quickly and be back at my filing was something she just found odd and quirky, if not downright sad.
In France many businesses distribute lunch checks worth 10-12 Euros (perhaps more these days, I've not gotten any since I last worked in Paris, over 12 years' ago) to their employees. Thus, out the door, and go forth to purchase your lunch! Keep the bistrots and cafés in business. Or, if you are following the fast-food trend, perhaps a sandwich with crudités?
And then I moved south. My first years with Erick in Arles drove me batty. I tend to not be a morning person (before 7AM you're not likely to see me vertical). I need that cup of coffee. Unless I'm driven out the door by necessity, or facing an emergency, I have a brain that wakes up slowly. Brain speed is improved dramatically by a long bike ride in a brisk and moist wind before arriving at an office, or by an equally long and vigorous walk. But, when you work for yourself, it is a different sort of effort to put this activity into your day (particularly when you've small children to wake, dress, feed and get to school). All this to say that it was the rare morning when I could get to the computer and actually start working through emails, paying bills, etc., before 10/10:30AM.
But then I'd get on a roll and start boogying through the day's work. Simply writing, responding, corresponding would wake me up and I'd slip into the flow. Eleven thirty would arrive and I had to tear myself away from the computer, or the files, or the phone, and go prepare lunch. At twelve fifteen I called Erick (for many years he was working to renovate the b&b, so just visualize him covered in chalk dust, physically weary, and in need of a woman to put lunch on the table).
Salad, a hot dish with meat, pasta, cheese, wine, and then freshly brewed coffee with perhaps a square or two of chocolate. While Erick then went to sleep on the downstairs' couch, I would clean up, put away, do dishes, etc., It was now after 2PM.
I would feel sluggish from the meal, the post-lunch coffee didn't have the enlivening effect of its morning cousin. Stopping so abruptly for such a long lunch completely jammed my momentum. And yet, there was more work to do. At this point, I didn't consider taking a nap myself. How could I when there was ever so much more to get done? I was more than a bit terrorized by the idea that lying down mid-day would eat up whatever work hours were left, and then before I was newly conscious, the kids would be home, and time just a memory. So, I pushed myself up to the computer. There, it took a moment, but slowly, I'd get back into responding to emails, updating the email list, re-working the web site and the year's programs, etc., By 4:30 I was back in form and chugging through the work at hand.
5PM, little voices, feet running up stairs; the beasties are back. I could try to keep working, but distractions were many, and then if I didn't get dinner on the table, it didn't happen, so, off I would go to keep the household functioning. Between dinner prep, setting the table, eating, clearing, dishes, etc., then bath, tooth-brushing, bed, stories, ... I would never get back to the desk. For those who came to our cooking classes, they witnessed even busier evenings. No matter the needs of the kids, I was with the clients from 5PM till 11PM, with nary ten minutes here and there to run up to kiss the boys goodnight. Clients or kids, at a certain point bed called to me too, and off I would go. I've friends who manage to get back to work after the kids are down and work till far into the night. I'm not an adept of this option, unfortunately.
Thus, for me, this major pause mid-day -- 11:30 to 2:30 -- wrecked my efficiency. I lived this as a frustration and as a burden for years. I was in a state of shock and amazement. I would look back with nostalgia to the days when I got lots done (office work) every day, when I'd been a super-achieving employee, diving into piles, creating order, mowing down the tasks at hand. What might I have accomplished for our businesses if I'd been able to give the time my brain and past history told me was normal? I would laughingly say that both my business and my son would have benefited from all my time, but were managing with only a sliver, and yet, they both seemed to be doing okay.
But, I preamble for far too long. I'm trying to write about people who successfully nap, and though I've brought up an example, I am also digressing at length.
In my current life I spend time under the roof of and in the company of my vintner. He seems to epitomize the Frenchman who abides by the good lunch and proper nap routine, and yet who also succeeds in getting a lot of work done. He religiously eats his main meal at noon (and often noon on the dot), follows it with a small coffee and a square of chocolate, and then lays down for 30 minutes. Even on the longest of days, with stress pouring out of his ears, he peacefully nourishes himself and then allows his mind and body a moment of complete and total rest. As he helps me finish up the dishes, and nap time isn't till the kitchen is clean, I am able to join him with a clean conscience. The presence of a warm and perfectly situated shoulder to lay my head on renders the act of napping quite marvelous. I succumb to the temptation.
This past weekend was typical: no matter the work at hand, lunch and nap were integral parts of each day. Saturday work began at 8AM, pressing the marc, but he was up at the mas for his noon lunch. Back down to the cellar at 1:30 after fifteen minutes lying down, finishing up for the day at 8PM. He offered himself a brief social pause between 4:30 and 5, but otherwise, it was a day devoted to the work. And yet, a good meal and a nap were not neglected.
Sunday moved a touch more slowly. He actually slept in till 9AM. Breakfast, some paper work at the desk, then down to the cellar from 10:30 - noon. A lovely lunch with his mother and my good cooking from noon - 1, a good nap till after 2, and then back to the cellar to finish up the cleaning, hosing down, airing the fermenting tank, etc., When I departed at 5, he still had a couple more hours to go.
In the world I came from, working sun up to sun down with nary a moment's pause, grabbing a quick bite, drinking lots of coffee in large-sized cups is the standard operating procedure for many. There is a tremendous need and pressure to be efficient. We do the most we can physically accomplish. And if we return home and simply collapse, eating whatever is put in front of us that goes down easily, such is life.
But here--and I have to stress here in Provence amongst the traditional professions, as outside of my artisans, not all of the population still abides by these rhythms--work gets done, lots of work gets done, and yet the civilized meal, the refreshing nap are not sidelined in favor of more efficiency. Granted, there's no nibbling while working, there isn't a large cup of Java sitting on a side board to be sipped throughout the morning, and there's a strong discipline in regards to the workday -- weekdays begin at 7AM in the vineyards, and finish anywhere from 5-7PM. Only smokers take breaks during work hours (not my vintner's case, nor my baker's, nor the cheesemakers', nor the beekeeper's), everyone else is at work and working. Thus, when the lunch hour arrives, the rest is well-earned.
I see, I live, I taste this rhythm. I feel the sensible nature of caring for the body and soul in this way. And yet when I'm alone in my house in Avignon, I do admit, I return to what was inculcated into me as a young adult. I'm vertical at 7, but not really on top of things till 9:30AM (8-9 is drop off at school time). I work till 3PM when I have to ready myself to go pick up the kids. Lunch is thus a brief affair, and a nap non-existent (unless I'm in a state of collapse, but then I run the risk of not waking in time to get the kids). Getting the kids, being with them, keeping an eye on homework, preparing dinner, orchestrating dishes, etc., these eat up the rest of the day, (after all, there are six of them now) till my bed beckons and rest is at last an option.
Napping is a wonderful idea, and I adopt it when the opportunity is offered, when the situation warrants it, but... the rhythms of my birth country are still mark me.
Do we still do this somewhere in the US (or even in the Anglo-Saxon world at large)? I certainly never did before I came to France. I remember being at work at 7:30AM, zooming through piles of text and tapes to type up, dashing out for a quick cup of soup at 11:45, back at my desk at noon, through another pile of folders, and out the door at 4:30PM, in time to get to an aerobics class. When necessary, I worked late into the night, nibbling at a hoagie or some Chinese food as I typed away, researched, etc., This was normal.
Then I came to France. In Paris the lunch hour was an hour plus. Everyone left their post. Everyone went outside and purchased something hot to eat, with a preference for a sit-down meal in a restaurant. I was still in Japan mode, and would bring my not-quite bento lunch to the office. My boss at the time, the travelling show coordinator at the Centre National de la Photographie, would look askance at my cold food, and encourage me to get out and about. A tendency to eat quickly and be back at my filing was something she just found odd and quirky, if not downright sad.
In France many businesses distribute lunch checks worth 10-12 Euros (perhaps more these days, I've not gotten any since I last worked in Paris, over 12 years' ago) to their employees. Thus, out the door, and go forth to purchase your lunch! Keep the bistrots and cafés in business. Or, if you are following the fast-food trend, perhaps a sandwich with crudités?
And then I moved south. My first years with Erick in Arles drove me batty. I tend to not be a morning person (before 7AM you're not likely to see me vertical). I need that cup of coffee. Unless I'm driven out the door by necessity, or facing an emergency, I have a brain that wakes up slowly. Brain speed is improved dramatically by a long bike ride in a brisk and moist wind before arriving at an office, or by an equally long and vigorous walk. But, when you work for yourself, it is a different sort of effort to put this activity into your day (particularly when you've small children to wake, dress, feed and get to school). All this to say that it was the rare morning when I could get to the computer and actually start working through emails, paying bills, etc., before 10/10:30AM.
But then I'd get on a roll and start boogying through the day's work. Simply writing, responding, corresponding would wake me up and I'd slip into the flow. Eleven thirty would arrive and I had to tear myself away from the computer, or the files, or the phone, and go prepare lunch. At twelve fifteen I called Erick (for many years he was working to renovate the b&b, so just visualize him covered in chalk dust, physically weary, and in need of a woman to put lunch on the table).
Salad, a hot dish with meat, pasta, cheese, wine, and then freshly brewed coffee with perhaps a square or two of chocolate. While Erick then went to sleep on the downstairs' couch, I would clean up, put away, do dishes, etc., It was now after 2PM.
I would feel sluggish from the meal, the post-lunch coffee didn't have the enlivening effect of its morning cousin. Stopping so abruptly for such a long lunch completely jammed my momentum. And yet, there was more work to do. At this point, I didn't consider taking a nap myself. How could I when there was ever so much more to get done? I was more than a bit terrorized by the idea that lying down mid-day would eat up whatever work hours were left, and then before I was newly conscious, the kids would be home, and time just a memory. So, I pushed myself up to the computer. There, it took a moment, but slowly, I'd get back into responding to emails, updating the email list, re-working the web site and the year's programs, etc., By 4:30 I was back in form and chugging through the work at hand.
5PM, little voices, feet running up stairs; the beasties are back. I could try to keep working, but distractions were many, and then if I didn't get dinner on the table, it didn't happen, so, off I would go to keep the household functioning. Between dinner prep, setting the table, eating, clearing, dishes, etc., then bath, tooth-brushing, bed, stories, ... I would never get back to the desk. For those who came to our cooking classes, they witnessed even busier evenings. No matter the needs of the kids, I was with the clients from 5PM till 11PM, with nary ten minutes here and there to run up to kiss the boys goodnight. Clients or kids, at a certain point bed called to me too, and off I would go. I've friends who manage to get back to work after the kids are down and work till far into the night. I'm not an adept of this option, unfortunately.
Thus, for me, this major pause mid-day -- 11:30 to 2:30 -- wrecked my efficiency. I lived this as a frustration and as a burden for years. I was in a state of shock and amazement. I would look back with nostalgia to the days when I got lots done (office work) every day, when I'd been a super-achieving employee, diving into piles, creating order, mowing down the tasks at hand. What might I have accomplished for our businesses if I'd been able to give the time my brain and past history told me was normal? I would laughingly say that both my business and my son would have benefited from all my time, but were managing with only a sliver, and yet, they both seemed to be doing okay.
But, I preamble for far too long. I'm trying to write about people who successfully nap, and though I've brought up an example, I am also digressing at length.
In my current life I spend time under the roof of and in the company of my vintner. He seems to epitomize the Frenchman who abides by the good lunch and proper nap routine, and yet who also succeeds in getting a lot of work done. He religiously eats his main meal at noon (and often noon on the dot), follows it with a small coffee and a square of chocolate, and then lays down for 30 minutes. Even on the longest of days, with stress pouring out of his ears, he peacefully nourishes himself and then allows his mind and body a moment of complete and total rest. As he helps me finish up the dishes, and nap time isn't till the kitchen is clean, I am able to join him with a clean conscience. The presence of a warm and perfectly situated shoulder to lay my head on renders the act of napping quite marvelous. I succumb to the temptation.
This past weekend was typical: no matter the work at hand, lunch and nap were integral parts of each day. Saturday work began at 8AM, pressing the marc, but he was up at the mas for his noon lunch. Back down to the cellar at 1:30 after fifteen minutes lying down, finishing up for the day at 8PM. He offered himself a brief social pause between 4:30 and 5, but otherwise, it was a day devoted to the work. And yet, a good meal and a nap were not neglected.
Sunday moved a touch more slowly. He actually slept in till 9AM. Breakfast, some paper work at the desk, then down to the cellar from 10:30 - noon. A lovely lunch with his mother and my good cooking from noon - 1, a good nap till after 2, and then back to the cellar to finish up the cleaning, hosing down, airing the fermenting tank, etc., When I departed at 5, he still had a couple more hours to go.
In the world I came from, working sun up to sun down with nary a moment's pause, grabbing a quick bite, drinking lots of coffee in large-sized cups is the standard operating procedure for many. There is a tremendous need and pressure to be efficient. We do the most we can physically accomplish. And if we return home and simply collapse, eating whatever is put in front of us that goes down easily, such is life.
But here--and I have to stress here in Provence amongst the traditional professions, as outside of my artisans, not all of the population still abides by these rhythms--work gets done, lots of work gets done, and yet the civilized meal, the refreshing nap are not sidelined in favor of more efficiency. Granted, there's no nibbling while working, there isn't a large cup of Java sitting on a side board to be sipped throughout the morning, and there's a strong discipline in regards to the workday -- weekdays begin at 7AM in the vineyards, and finish anywhere from 5-7PM. Only smokers take breaks during work hours (not my vintner's case, nor my baker's, nor the cheesemakers', nor the beekeeper's), everyone else is at work and working. Thus, when the lunch hour arrives, the rest is well-earned.
I see, I live, I taste this rhythm. I feel the sensible nature of caring for the body and soul in this way. And yet when I'm alone in my house in Avignon, I do admit, I return to what was inculcated into me as a young adult. I'm vertical at 7, but not really on top of things till 9:30AM (8-9 is drop off at school time). I work till 3PM when I have to ready myself to go pick up the kids. Lunch is thus a brief affair, and a nap non-existent (unless I'm in a state of collapse, but then I run the risk of not waking in time to get the kids). Getting the kids, being with them, keeping an eye on homework, preparing dinner, orchestrating dishes, etc., these eat up the rest of the day, (after all, there are six of them now) till my bed beckons and rest is at last an option.
Napping is a wonderful idea, and I adopt it when the opportunity is offered, when the situation warrants it, but... the rhythms of my birth country are still mark me.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Starting in a Business in France
I spent two and a half hours at a meeting with the agency called Actif Conseil in Avignon the other day. The goal was to have the route to opening a business in France clarified and outlined for me and a number of other potential small business owners (all women by the way, interesting, hm?). Yes, I've run a business for over ten years in France alongside Erick, but... it was rather complicated in its structure, and I wasn't involved in the accounting, or in paying the taxes, and now it is time I understand how things function in this not a truly capitalist-bent country.
Despite checking on google maps ahead of time, it took me a moment to find the office -- a tiny plaque on a discreet door with no parking in front, and much dominated by the bakery to the left and the car repair garage to the right. I did quite a bit of bit of backing and forthing on a major street before finding said office, and then going back outside to move my car across the street to the supermarket parking lot. I then trotted up the stairs to join the others waiting for the presentation to begin.
First off, be prepared. Be enthusiastic. Have the will to go forth. This is harder than you might imagine as enthusiastic is conflated with naive in French culture, and nay-sayers are always more numerous than supporters. Then, send out surveys and get to know your competitors, do "études du marché" and see if your idea resonates.
All the classic advice was there: identify your client base, get to know them, give them a name, a job, number of kids, etc., and find out where they live, what their salary is, and how they spend their discretionary income. Figure out your pricing structure and your placement on the market taking into account traditional mark ups, your expenses, etc., but also your competitors' range of prices.
Have an idea of how you will market -- web sites are simply shop windows our young presenter reminded us. They are not a marketing device in and of themselves, you have to send people to it via your business card, ads in magazines, and ideally, word of mouth. This is not new to anyone who's attempted to run a business or read Money magazine, etc., but it was to many seated around the table.
We were a group of seven women of varying ages and origins: a quite silent Indian woman in the group, a young Magrébine, a very vocal woman of about 50, and three more around my age, 40-45. Before us was a dynamic young man and his powerpoint presentation. He ad-libbed here and there as this is what he does everyday. He puts people on the path (or removes them) to creating small businesses.
In France, the generous socialist system is slowing trying to re-direct itself to assisting people not just to get a basic minimum wage job, but to choose other options, such as creating a business, or taking over an existing one. When I did my mini-bilan de compétences which tested my basic skills, aptitude, and experiences, it was clear to the woman in charge that I had the profile to run my own business (this is reassuring, non?)
* sociability -- I like people (though I'm not necessarily therapist material), but I take great pleasure in my clients and artisans
* organization and figures -- I can handle these competently, but don't ask me to be your accountant
* movement -- I'm not someone who sits at a desk all day, thus my love of hikes, outings, dancing, etc.,
* artistic -- I'm not an artist myself, but I admire others who are, and surround myself with beauty, taste, pleasure
* intellect -- I'm not an astro-physicist in his laboratory, but I crave stimulation and the chance to learn
* management -- I can multi-task, direct others, delegate, orchestrate complicated schedules, etc.,
Thus, with these test results in hand, the local unemployment office is helping me (for free of course) put together the necessary materials to go forth, and/or directing me to the appropriate agencies.
I've a list of people to call and meet -- the Chamber of Commerce and Industry (where I'll speak with a tourism specialist) the Chamber of Agriculture (as so much of what I do involves agricultural producers), etc.,
There is not a SBA here (Small Business Association) as in the US, but there are privately run, publicly funded entities present to help you put together the business proposal and find matching start-up funding with minimal to zero interest rates. Various organizations are willing to loan sums from 3,000-10,000 Euros for start-up capital. However, they are not there to replace having a bank as a business partner. They recognize that it is easier for a bank to make a loan for a tangible object such as a car or the business offices, but far more rare for a bank to fill the start-up coffers.
And all these various sources of assistance are available to the unemployed of over six months. Fascinating, hm?
As the two and a half hour presentation continued, our young man presented us the various legal structures statut juridique, that we might choose for our business. They each have their virtues and vices. The most classic might be a micro-entreprise. For this you are your business and all that you possess is held as collateral to it. This is very scary to a Frenchman. Imagine losing your house if you've over-borrowed, etc? However, this is also the structure that most artisans have by necessity, be they bakers, woodworkers, or hairdressers.
Another option is more akin to a corporation. It involves multiple partners, and creates a non-personal legal entity run by you and your colleagues. In this case, the person(s) starting the business must decide upon a salary, and pay the necessary social charges, etc., out of the salary and the business capitol. However, in this situation, your personal effects (car, house, etc.,) are protected in case of a financial collapse. The first is a SARL (a minimum of two associates), the second is the EURL (which can be just one person). For these, a charter of sorts outlining the business, its goals, responsibilities, how it is structured, etc., is required as are yearly board meetings, and announcements of such. Lots more paper work. An accountant is a very good idea.
For the micro-entreprise you can opt to pay taxes and charges on your direct income after deductions, VAT taxes etc.,; or you can opt for what is called an abatement by which you pay on 50% of your gross income or 71% of your gross income (the former if you offer a service, the latter if you are selling a product). For this situation, you neither charge nor deduct the VAT tax.
Once you decide on the legal structure, you need to understand your social charges' rates (for unemployment insurance, retirement, health insurance, maternity insurance, etc.,) and how often you need to pay them. This is referred to as the régimes des cotisations sociales. You can be salaried, or a travailleur non-salarié, or a micro-social.
If you opt for the last option, it works with an abatement as well, meaning, you pay from 12 to 21.3% of your gross income monthly to the State for your charges.
To complicate things further, if you are a merchant, or typical small business owner, you calculate 45.05% of your net income as social charges.
A first year business can pay a base fee of 3300E for the charges, no matter the income.
The French are all excited by a new legal structure called the auto-entreprise. It's supposed to be simpler to put into effect, allow you to combine two incomes (a salary during the day, and your small business effort on the weekend for instance which used to be outlawed), and to calculate by percentage what you are to pay each month. Thus the months you earn nothing, you pay nothing (which is not the case in the traditional micro-entreprise structure).
Our young man didn't like this one too much as too many people have surged towards starting businesses without his most essential advice on how to do so. He regaled us with figures and facts on the success and failure of businesses in France, and how entities such as his can dramatically change these. But in general, this new structure is being greeted with much suspicion by the Chamber of Commerce and Industry and other official institutions that feel un-connected to this new idea that might just encourage people to act on impulse. God forbid, right?
I left the meeting with lots of notes, a bit better informed, but also rather confused. I once thought I was a smart woman... France and its many complicated laws can quickly humble you. However, it is reassuring to know that all sorts of simulated programs exist on the computer to test your business ideas, figure out what level of taxes, charges, etc., you'll be paying, and what possible financial help you might be in a position to obtain. This I find most interesting, and essential. So, perhaps next fall when the summer is over, the kids back in school and life a bit more under control (though is it ever?).
Onward and upward.
Despite checking on google maps ahead of time, it took me a moment to find the office -- a tiny plaque on a discreet door with no parking in front, and much dominated by the bakery to the left and the car repair garage to the right. I did quite a bit of bit of backing and forthing on a major street before finding said office, and then going back outside to move my car across the street to the supermarket parking lot. I then trotted up the stairs to join the others waiting for the presentation to begin.
First off, be prepared. Be enthusiastic. Have the will to go forth. This is harder than you might imagine as enthusiastic is conflated with naive in French culture, and nay-sayers are always more numerous than supporters. Then, send out surveys and get to know your competitors, do "études du marché" and see if your idea resonates.
All the classic advice was there: identify your client base, get to know them, give them a name, a job, number of kids, etc., and find out where they live, what their salary is, and how they spend their discretionary income. Figure out your pricing structure and your placement on the market taking into account traditional mark ups, your expenses, etc., but also your competitors' range of prices.
Have an idea of how you will market -- web sites are simply shop windows our young presenter reminded us. They are not a marketing device in and of themselves, you have to send people to it via your business card, ads in magazines, and ideally, word of mouth. This is not new to anyone who's attempted to run a business or read Money magazine, etc., but it was to many seated around the table.
We were a group of seven women of varying ages and origins: a quite silent Indian woman in the group, a young Magrébine, a very vocal woman of about 50, and three more around my age, 40-45. Before us was a dynamic young man and his powerpoint presentation. He ad-libbed here and there as this is what he does everyday. He puts people on the path (or removes them) to creating small businesses.
In France, the generous socialist system is slowing trying to re-direct itself to assisting people not just to get a basic minimum wage job, but to choose other options, such as creating a business, or taking over an existing one. When I did my mini-bilan de compétences which tested my basic skills, aptitude, and experiences, it was clear to the woman in charge that I had the profile to run my own business (this is reassuring, non?)
* sociability -- I like people (though I'm not necessarily therapist material), but I take great pleasure in my clients and artisans
* organization and figures -- I can handle these competently, but don't ask me to be your accountant
* movement -- I'm not someone who sits at a desk all day, thus my love of hikes, outings, dancing, etc.,
* artistic -- I'm not an artist myself, but I admire others who are, and surround myself with beauty, taste, pleasure
* intellect -- I'm not an astro-physicist in his laboratory, but I crave stimulation and the chance to learn
* management -- I can multi-task, direct others, delegate, orchestrate complicated schedules, etc.,
Thus, with these test results in hand, the local unemployment office is helping me (for free of course) put together the necessary materials to go forth, and/or directing me to the appropriate agencies.
I've a list of people to call and meet -- the Chamber of Commerce and Industry (where I'll speak with a tourism specialist) the Chamber of Agriculture (as so much of what I do involves agricultural producers), etc.,
There is not a SBA here (Small Business Association) as in the US, but there are privately run, publicly funded entities present to help you put together the business proposal and find matching start-up funding with minimal to zero interest rates. Various organizations are willing to loan sums from 3,000-10,000 Euros for start-up capital. However, they are not there to replace having a bank as a business partner. They recognize that it is easier for a bank to make a loan for a tangible object such as a car or the business offices, but far more rare for a bank to fill the start-up coffers.
And all these various sources of assistance are available to the unemployed of over six months. Fascinating, hm?
As the two and a half hour presentation continued, our young man presented us the various legal structures statut juridique, that we might choose for our business. They each have their virtues and vices. The most classic might be a micro-entreprise. For this you are your business and all that you possess is held as collateral to it. This is very scary to a Frenchman. Imagine losing your house if you've over-borrowed, etc? However, this is also the structure that most artisans have by necessity, be they bakers, woodworkers, or hairdressers.
Another option is more akin to a corporation. It involves multiple partners, and creates a non-personal legal entity run by you and your colleagues. In this case, the person(s) starting the business must decide upon a salary, and pay the necessary social charges, etc., out of the salary and the business capitol. However, in this situation, your personal effects (car, house, etc.,) are protected in case of a financial collapse. The first is a SARL (a minimum of two associates), the second is the EURL (which can be just one person). For these, a charter of sorts outlining the business, its goals, responsibilities, how it is structured, etc., is required as are yearly board meetings, and announcements of such. Lots more paper work. An accountant is a very good idea.
For the micro-entreprise you can opt to pay taxes and charges on your direct income after deductions, VAT taxes etc.,; or you can opt for what is called an abatement by which you pay on 50% of your gross income or 71% of your gross income (the former if you offer a service, the latter if you are selling a product). For this situation, you neither charge nor deduct the VAT tax.
Once you decide on the legal structure, you need to understand your social charges' rates (for unemployment insurance, retirement, health insurance, maternity insurance, etc.,) and how often you need to pay them. This is referred to as the régimes des cotisations sociales. You can be salaried, or a travailleur non-salarié, or a micro-social.
If you opt for the last option, it works with an abatement as well, meaning, you pay from 12 to 21.3% of your gross income monthly to the State for your charges.
To complicate things further, if you are a merchant, or typical small business owner, you calculate 45.05% of your net income as social charges.
A first year business can pay a base fee of 3300E for the charges, no matter the income.
The French are all excited by a new legal structure called the auto-entreprise. It's supposed to be simpler to put into effect, allow you to combine two incomes (a salary during the day, and your small business effort on the weekend for instance which used to be outlawed), and to calculate by percentage what you are to pay each month. Thus the months you earn nothing, you pay nothing (which is not the case in the traditional micro-entreprise structure).
Our young man didn't like this one too much as too many people have surged towards starting businesses without his most essential advice on how to do so. He regaled us with figures and facts on the success and failure of businesses in France, and how entities such as his can dramatically change these. But in general, this new structure is being greeted with much suspicion by the Chamber of Commerce and Industry and other official institutions that feel un-connected to this new idea that might just encourage people to act on impulse. God forbid, right?
I left the meeting with lots of notes, a bit better informed, but also rather confused. I once thought I was a smart woman... France and its many complicated laws can quickly humble you. However, it is reassuring to know that all sorts of simulated programs exist on the computer to test your business ideas, figure out what level of taxes, charges, etc., you'll be paying, and what possible financial help you might be in a position to obtain. This I find most interesting, and essential. So, perhaps next fall when the summer is over, the kids back in school and life a bit more under control (though is it ever?).
Onward and upward.
I too once lived in Paris...
Reading the very funny list of what he might miss in Paris by David Lebovitz on his self-titled blog reminded me that yes, I too once made an attempt to fit into the Parisian way of life. I swished down the street in elegant attire. I spoke in a clipped Parisian accent. I cultivated "euhs" in my speech. I licked the shop windows lusting (ever so discreetly) after the chic (or not so) clothing inside. I walked and walked and walked and walked -- I'm not a fan of the metro-- and had the most gorgeous jambes while I lived there. I drank my coffee black and serré. I spent my spare evenings wandering the corridors of some of the world's most splendid museums, and I had my spot as a regular at my favorite brasserie (where they still remember me thirteen years later).
I most competently sought out obscure addresses with my handy Paris guide that should be replicated by every city in the world, particularly Tokyo where I believe the buildings are numbered chronologically... In thirty minutes I could arrive at nearly any destination (if I took public transport, preferably the bus).
I was pretty darned proud of myself when I took my friend's portfolios of model wanabees to the major agencies (Elite, etc.,) where I'd set up interviews carefully ahead of time. I felt elegant and well-received, and yes I was proud they were impressed by my French and my demeanor. Hey, what girl wouldn't want to feel pretty and respected at a top modeling agency? All your worst nightmares could be confirmed, or not, in such a place.
I learned to talk and argue and defend my point of view. I learned to flirt and to handle relatively aggressive male attention. But, I never learned to adjust to Parisian sidewalk behavior.
I've a theory that in Manhattan, we all walk quickly, but it's a socially agreed upon choreography of avoiding slamming into fellow pedestrians. It's a dance of running, dodging, jumping, swirling. And never, but never have I collided with a fellow pedestrian in NYC, even when I've been deep in conversation with a friend and relatively clueless to the world striding past. However, in Paris, more than once, walking abreast of a girlfriend (speaking in French mind you), I was slammed in the outside shoulder, and I mean slammed. It was frightening, shocking, disturbing, and more than a bit of, "what the????" I mean, was I taking up too much sidewalk or what?
Yes, I can move quickly, and be impatient, but I'm not rude. I value being considerate... which is a bit out of place in Paris, though not always. If you are not polite and say Bonjour Monsieur, or Madame, or Mademoiselle, you will not get good service and you will most definitely be in the position of the rude and boorish one.
Meeting students at my graduate program, finding certain interesting, I tried to propose an out-of-class get-together. "No, I already have friends, I don't have time for anyone else." Oh... that's an interesting point of view.
At work at the Centre National de la Photo, and later with the photo book editor Robert Delpire, I worked hard and did extra. Fine. But I also answered the phone with a full "Centre National de la Photo, puis je vous aider?" and my boss looked at me like I was crazy. The standard response to a phone call from who knows who? (world-famous Henri Cartier Bresson, a minister, a student, a Swedish colleague) "Oui." And you leave the caller to explain his mission, and then pass him onto someone else, not necessarily with an explanation or introduction, so it's up to him/her to explain him/herself all over again.
Paris was a world where I experienced being alone. After my rich social life in super friendly Seattle, and the member of the family work life in Japan, here I was on my own. I was able to call friends of friends occasionally, and be invited to a nice dinner in someone's home: "Bonjour, je m'appelle Madeleine. Je vous appelle de la part de Mme. D. Brodin, elle m'a donné votre numéro et.... Je suis actuellement étudiante à Paris... etc., etc.," But, it was very very difficult to find friends. So, I took to my evening habits of walking everywhere. I went to two dance classes a week (and briefly dated my Antonio Banderas look alike teacher, which was fun if brief), to my brasserie on the Ile St. Louis on the weekend, and to museums during their evening hours. I worked and I studied. I took in the amazing array of films, old and new, in the hundreds of cinémas in Paris. I picked up a copy of the Paris Spectacle every week for 2F and checked out the phenomenal art exhibitions and the numerous galleries and museums or free Sunday church concerts. I explored flea markets and took walking tours as outlined in the Guide Routard.
It was a time to look at works of art at my leisure, with ideas swirling in my head unshared, un-compared. It was a time to admire buildings, people, dogs, parks, skylines, in my own way and at my own pace. It was a curious and unusual for me. I'm terribly social, as many in my world will agree, and yet, I don't shy from being alone. It is often a preference, and vastly superior to being tugged along at another's pace on occasion.
I wasn't yet an adamant foodie, but I certainly enjoyed good food. A fellow dancer in class was married to the dairy shop owner in rue Daguerre, and from here I purchased yummy cheeses, fresh butter, artisanal crème fraîche and discovered the currant rolls from Poilane (in 1995 mind you, a bit ahead of the craze to follow). I sated my sweet tooth on tarts and éclairs et réligieuses till I could walk past a pastry shop and no longer drool -- that took a couple of months, but now, I know they're there, and when I need one, I can have one. It is no longer necessary to throw myself upon their mercy to satisfy the sweet cravings of a little girl whose mother was careful to raise her with few to no desserts in the house.
I walked down Rue Mouffetard, shopping along the way for a slice of pâté, some runny cheese and a gorgeous fresh peach or two for lunch. And I discovered La Maison du Chocolat nearby my office by Étoile. One, two, perhaps three amazing ganâche filled chocolates? I didn't dare get myself a whole box. But you're perfectly welcome to purchase chocolates by the gram, and carefully saying, Bonjour Madame, and Merci Madame, and ça sera tout Madame, goes a long way to a polite-if not warm-welcome.
I think as a young American female (I was 27 at the time), what was most frustrating was being hit on and followed way too often by strange men. Okay, I'm told it is to flatter us. That men feel it necessary to do this to stroke our egos. That actually, you should start worrying when this stops! But, as someone who likes to lie on a lovely green lawn (in between the visits of the Luxembourg Gardens' Lawn Guards) with a good book in her hands soaking up the unusual and sincerely welcome sunshine of a late Parisian spring... well, it's damn annoying to have a somewhat normal looking young man start talking to you, and then, ask you to come watch him jerk off in the bushes. Good Lord, is that what a gentle "please leave me alone" gets you? So I learned to be brusk and never to say a word, never to make eye contact. They did not exist, they were beneath my notice, and thus, I could have some level of peace.
On the flip side, when working the Photo Art Fair in Paris, I would greet potential clients as they walked into our booth to look more closely at the photos. I'll never forget the man who looked at me, startled, and said, "on se connait?" Ah, no, I don't know you sir, I'm simply a pathetically naive and friendly American who says hello to people who walk into her space....
Yes, I had ups, and downs. It's a gorgeous city. I love knowing it well, I love visiting, I loved my charming apartments, my studies, my free student entries to museums, theatres, the opera, dance, and so much more. What an incredible time in my life. Though oddly, I came to Paris via Seattle and Kobe Japan, not directly from NY. Had I done the latter, I might have fit in better.
Would I live there full time? After moving to Provence? I think not. But that's another story.
I most competently sought out obscure addresses with my handy Paris guide that should be replicated by every city in the world, particularly Tokyo where I believe the buildings are numbered chronologically... In thirty minutes I could arrive at nearly any destination (if I took public transport, preferably the bus).
I was pretty darned proud of myself when I took my friend's portfolios of model wanabees to the major agencies (Elite, etc.,) where I'd set up interviews carefully ahead of time. I felt elegant and well-received, and yes I was proud they were impressed by my French and my demeanor. Hey, what girl wouldn't want to feel pretty and respected at a top modeling agency? All your worst nightmares could be confirmed, or not, in such a place.
I learned to talk and argue and defend my point of view. I learned to flirt and to handle relatively aggressive male attention. But, I never learned to adjust to Parisian sidewalk behavior.
I've a theory that in Manhattan, we all walk quickly, but it's a socially agreed upon choreography of avoiding slamming into fellow pedestrians. It's a dance of running, dodging, jumping, swirling. And never, but never have I collided with a fellow pedestrian in NYC, even when I've been deep in conversation with a friend and relatively clueless to the world striding past. However, in Paris, more than once, walking abreast of a girlfriend (speaking in French mind you), I was slammed in the outside shoulder, and I mean slammed. It was frightening, shocking, disturbing, and more than a bit of, "what the????" I mean, was I taking up too much sidewalk or what?
Yes, I can move quickly, and be impatient, but I'm not rude. I value being considerate... which is a bit out of place in Paris, though not always. If you are not polite and say Bonjour Monsieur, or Madame, or Mademoiselle, you will not get good service and you will most definitely be in the position of the rude and boorish one.
Meeting students at my graduate program, finding certain interesting, I tried to propose an out-of-class get-together. "No, I already have friends, I don't have time for anyone else." Oh... that's an interesting point of view.
At work at the Centre National de la Photo, and later with the photo book editor Robert Delpire, I worked hard and did extra. Fine. But I also answered the phone with a full "Centre National de la Photo, puis je vous aider?" and my boss looked at me like I was crazy. The standard response to a phone call from who knows who? (world-famous Henri Cartier Bresson, a minister, a student, a Swedish colleague) "Oui." And you leave the caller to explain his mission, and then pass him onto someone else, not necessarily with an explanation or introduction, so it's up to him/her to explain him/herself all over again.
Paris was a world where I experienced being alone. After my rich social life in super friendly Seattle, and the member of the family work life in Japan, here I was on my own. I was able to call friends of friends occasionally, and be invited to a nice dinner in someone's home: "Bonjour, je m'appelle Madeleine. Je vous appelle de la part de Mme. D. Brodin, elle m'a donné votre numéro et.... Je suis actuellement étudiante à Paris... etc., etc.," But, it was very very difficult to find friends. So, I took to my evening habits of walking everywhere. I went to two dance classes a week (and briefly dated my Antonio Banderas look alike teacher, which was fun if brief), to my brasserie on the Ile St. Louis on the weekend, and to museums during their evening hours. I worked and I studied. I took in the amazing array of films, old and new, in the hundreds of cinémas in Paris. I picked up a copy of the Paris Spectacle every week for 2F and checked out the phenomenal art exhibitions and the numerous galleries and museums or free Sunday church concerts. I explored flea markets and took walking tours as outlined in the Guide Routard.
It was a time to look at works of art at my leisure, with ideas swirling in my head unshared, un-compared. It was a time to admire buildings, people, dogs, parks, skylines, in my own way and at my own pace. It was a curious and unusual for me. I'm terribly social, as many in my world will agree, and yet, I don't shy from being alone. It is often a preference, and vastly superior to being tugged along at another's pace on occasion.
I wasn't yet an adamant foodie, but I certainly enjoyed good food. A fellow dancer in class was married to the dairy shop owner in rue Daguerre, and from here I purchased yummy cheeses, fresh butter, artisanal crème fraîche and discovered the currant rolls from Poilane (in 1995 mind you, a bit ahead of the craze to follow). I sated my sweet tooth on tarts and éclairs et réligieuses till I could walk past a pastry shop and no longer drool -- that took a couple of months, but now, I know they're there, and when I need one, I can have one. It is no longer necessary to throw myself upon their mercy to satisfy the sweet cravings of a little girl whose mother was careful to raise her with few to no desserts in the house.
I walked down Rue Mouffetard, shopping along the way for a slice of pâté, some runny cheese and a gorgeous fresh peach or two for lunch. And I discovered La Maison du Chocolat nearby my office by Étoile. One, two, perhaps three amazing ganâche filled chocolates? I didn't dare get myself a whole box. But you're perfectly welcome to purchase chocolates by the gram, and carefully saying, Bonjour Madame, and Merci Madame, and ça sera tout Madame, goes a long way to a polite-if not warm-welcome.
I think as a young American female (I was 27 at the time), what was most frustrating was being hit on and followed way too often by strange men. Okay, I'm told it is to flatter us. That men feel it necessary to do this to stroke our egos. That actually, you should start worrying when this stops! But, as someone who likes to lie on a lovely green lawn (in between the visits of the Luxembourg Gardens' Lawn Guards) with a good book in her hands soaking up the unusual and sincerely welcome sunshine of a late Parisian spring... well, it's damn annoying to have a somewhat normal looking young man start talking to you, and then, ask you to come watch him jerk off in the bushes. Good Lord, is that what a gentle "please leave me alone" gets you? So I learned to be brusk and never to say a word, never to make eye contact. They did not exist, they were beneath my notice, and thus, I could have some level of peace.
On the flip side, when working the Photo Art Fair in Paris, I would greet potential clients as they walked into our booth to look more closely at the photos. I'll never forget the man who looked at me, startled, and said, "on se connait?" Ah, no, I don't know you sir, I'm simply a pathetically naive and friendly American who says hello to people who walk into her space....
Yes, I had ups, and downs. It's a gorgeous city. I love knowing it well, I love visiting, I loved my charming apartments, my studies, my free student entries to museums, theatres, the opera, dance, and so much more. What an incredible time in my life. Though oddly, I came to Paris via Seattle and Kobe Japan, not directly from NY. Had I done the latter, I might have fit in better.
Would I live there full time? After moving to Provence? I think not. But that's another story.
Friday, May 8, 2009
French Women and 'Pouvoir' in its Many Senses
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
I spent yesterday at an all day seminar for women concerning their relationship to power. Remember, the French word "Pouvoir" is not just power in the sense of strength, but can also be defined as ability, and to be able.
I'm participating in a fully subsidized program for women to help get their lives together, their finances under control, find balance in their lives, put together their resumes, re-evaluate their abilities, find the right job, or put into motion the project that best fits them . . . and much more. It is fascinating. It is run (and the funding was put together) by a team of psychologists who work for a structure called the CIBC (Centre Interinstitutional de Bilan de Compétence), of which there are 100 or so in France. The CIBC is at the root of the "bilan de compétences" which is the program into which both the unemployed, never employed, employed and more can work closely with a professional to figure out what they know how to do, what they want to do, what they have the aptitude to do, etc.,. In general, the CIBC likes to work with people who have outside entities paying for them (your job, the various funds into which employees pay yearly, the unemployment office, etc.,). I stumbled upon their offerings when I attended a meeting with JP who'd done a full bilan de compétence there a few years back. After speaking with a couple of the women who work there, we decided that as I didn't have an institution to pay for a full bilan, that wouldn't be possible, but that they have two programs that are fully funded into which I would fit.
The first is a program for women. And the second is a program designed to accompany me in putting my business project together, finding the information, classes, seminars, advisors, legal structures, eventually funding. I'm still working with the business ideas I've had (and I've put into motion) over the past 10 years with Erick, but this would be, if you will, perhaps more firmly built, and structurally more coherent. And hey, I never refuse advice freely and intelligently offered.
So. Women and Pouvoir. A fascinating subject, no? We began the day discussing key dates in the history of women's rights in France.
The date whereby women were granted the right to vote in France: 1944
(By comparison: New Zealand 1893, Australia 1898/1901, Finland 1906, Norway & Denmark 1913, Russia, Canada, Germany and Poland 1918, Holland, 1919, USA 1869 [Wyoming Territory]-1920, Britain 1918) by the UN to all women 1948.
The date whereby women were granted the right by law to run a business in France by themselves (without the husband's permission): 1965 (If there is an equivalent in British or US law, I'd be curious to know when it is, I'm having a hard time on the internet googling this).
However, as an interesting tidbit, in 1902, an English woman, Rosa Lewis bought the Cavendish hotel in London and ran it herself.
The dates whereby women were granted the right to open their own bank accounts without their husband's permission: 1962
The date when the discussion of equal pay for equal work first was initiated: 1946
The French still do not have an equal pay act, though in the US we passed it in 1963, although few would dispute that it is not always observed.
The date when women were granted the right to take the baccalaureat exam: 1919
The date when women were granted the right to take the same baccalaureat exam as the men: 1924
The date when women were granted the right to take the exam without their husband's permission: 1938
And across the Channel:
At the beginning of the 20th century it was very difficult for women to obtain a university education. In 1870 Emily Davies and Barbara Bodichon helped to set up Girton College, the first university college for women, but it was not recognised by the university authorities. In 1880 Newnham College was established at Cambridge University. By 1910 there were just over a thousand women students at Oxford and Cambridge. However, they had to obtain permission to attend lectures and were not allowed to take degrees.
Without a university degree it was very difficult for women to enter the professions. After a long struggle the medical profession had allowed women to become doctors. Even so, by 1900 there were only 200 women doctors. It was not until 1910 that women were allowed to become accountants and bankers. However, there were still no women diplomats, barristers or judges.
(found on the web site: http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/Wuniversity.htm)
The date when women were permitted on the French stock market floor: 1967. However, they had been banished from it by royal decree since 1724. In the US, women were permitted from 1943 onwards, whereas for the English, this date came later, 1973.
Money = Power
You can imagine that these questions -- as we were asked to guess in each case -- provoked quite a bit of discussion amongst the 40 some odd participants. France is not Scandinavian. The senate is not half women and half men. Parity is an idea, but far from the reality. Salaries for the same position tend to be 20-25% less for a woman than for a man. Women are less likely to get funding for a business project, be it from a bank or from family, etc., We are a long way off.
But what is power to a woman? Power to change the status quo? Power to flaunt and shock? Power to earn and invest money? Political power to govern and affect the public sphere? Power over her own body (the right to abort is a big one, the right to have children how and when we choose to do so). So much is so recently gained. There is no question that women have power over the domestic sphere. And yet that is not considered "work" and the choice to stay at home to raise one's children can result in financial disaster and professional jeopardy. Certainly there is no country in this world that guarantees a woman a decent retirement fund for choosing to spend her strongest working years raising and educating her children. Society benefits when she does so, but it does not reward the woman.
Power is choice, and belief. Power is finding the perfect balance that works for each woman, and ideally, not being punished for your decisions. If you work full time, and love that, and do it well, power means finding people to help you keep the house in order, pick up your kids from school, get meals on the table, and as necessary, educate and raise those kids. If you stay at home and raise your kids yourself, power is having some level of external respect and recognition for your choice. Both should be possible.
I was reminded of a colleague of my mother's, a woman in her 70s who juggled raising her kids, mostly as a single mom, worked part-time, then full time, and finally, when the kids were grown, was able to truly concentrate on her career. She worked her way to the top of her profession, running foundations that focused on education grants for high school programs. A powerhouse in her field, she nonetheless came to it relatively late compared to my generation. But what I remember very clearly was her telling me that she knew how to read a woman's CV. She knew how to interpret the skills honed by a life juggling limited finances, carpooling, initiating group activities, running the PTA, organizing home-work groups, getting every member of the family to each of their multiple after school activities on time. Simply being organized and on the ball enough to keep a complicated household running efficiently. When you really look closely, why couldn't these women transfer these validated skills in budget management, scheduling, people management, time management and multi-tasking into running a corporation or a foundation, or a school or ???
I tried to convey this point of view to the women with whom I lunched yesterday. I think they were rather mystified by what I put in the air. And yes, I know I come across as a rather eccentric, enthusiastic and a bit naive American. And, I realize that they will rarely have in front of them women like Joan, who know how to read a woman's resume. And what a shame that is. Women need mentors to advance, and they seem (from my biased eyes) to be few and far between here. However, I correct myself, the team at CIBC are, and are quite marvelous: positive problem solvers, seeking to bring to the fore these women's skills and attributes as few others in their entourage know nor are willing to do. May they succeed.
Somehow nothing touches me more than wasted resources. And smart and capable women are only too often in this category.
One promising element: my young boys are mystified by stories about little girls whose fathers won't let them inherit a thrown, or who need to be saved by princes. If we could let their generation inherit the earth without the historical baggage we're bringing with us, would they see things differently? For them, at least now, of course girls are as smart, nearly as fast, as adept at climbing trees, bicycling, tossing a ball, what-have-you as boys are. But of course! How silly the past was, and how strange and unfamiliar. And no, I've not yet spoken to them about the Taliban, nor have we particularly discussed veiled muslim women. That will come.
I spent yesterday at an all day seminar for women concerning their relationship to power. Remember, the French word "Pouvoir" is not just power in the sense of strength, but can also be defined as ability, and to be able.
I'm participating in a fully subsidized program for women to help get their lives together, their finances under control, find balance in their lives, put together their resumes, re-evaluate their abilities, find the right job, or put into motion the project that best fits them . . . and much more. It is fascinating. It is run (and the funding was put together) by a team of psychologists who work for a structure called the CIBC (Centre Interinstitutional de Bilan de Compétence), of which there are 100 or so in France. The CIBC is at the root of the "bilan de compétences" which is the program into which both the unemployed, never employed, employed and more can work closely with a professional to figure out what they know how to do, what they want to do, what they have the aptitude to do, etc.,. In general, the CIBC likes to work with people who have outside entities paying for them (your job, the various funds into which employees pay yearly, the unemployment office, etc.,). I stumbled upon their offerings when I attended a meeting with JP who'd done a full bilan de compétence there a few years back. After speaking with a couple of the women who work there, we decided that as I didn't have an institution to pay for a full bilan, that wouldn't be possible, but that they have two programs that are fully funded into which I would fit.
The first is a program for women. And the second is a program designed to accompany me in putting my business project together, finding the information, classes, seminars, advisors, legal structures, eventually funding. I'm still working with the business ideas I've had (and I've put into motion) over the past 10 years with Erick, but this would be, if you will, perhaps more firmly built, and structurally more coherent. And hey, I never refuse advice freely and intelligently offered.
So. Women and Pouvoir. A fascinating subject, no? We began the day discussing key dates in the history of women's rights in France.
The date whereby women were granted the right to vote in France: 1944
(By comparison: New Zealand 1893, Australia 1898/1901, Finland 1906, Norway & Denmark 1913, Russia, Canada, Germany and Poland 1918, Holland, 1919, USA 1869 [Wyoming Territory]-1920, Britain 1918) by the UN to all women 1948.
The date whereby women were granted the right by law to run a business in France by themselves (without the husband's permission): 1965 (If there is an equivalent in British or US law, I'd be curious to know when it is, I'm having a hard time on the internet googling this).
However, as an interesting tidbit, in 1902, an English woman, Rosa Lewis bought the Cavendish hotel in London and ran it herself.
The dates whereby women were granted the right to open their own bank accounts without their husband's permission: 1962
The date when the discussion of equal pay for equal work first was initiated: 1946
The French still do not have an equal pay act, though in the US we passed it in 1963, although few would dispute that it is not always observed.
The date when women were granted the right to take the baccalaureat exam: 1919
The date when women were granted the right to take the same baccalaureat exam as the men: 1924
The date when women were granted the right to take the exam without their husband's permission: 1938
And across the Channel:
At the beginning of the 20th century it was very difficult for women to obtain a university education. In 1870 Emily Davies and Barbara Bodichon helped to set up Girton College, the first university college for women, but it was not recognised by the university authorities. In 1880 Newnham College was established at Cambridge University. By 1910 there were just over a thousand women students at Oxford and Cambridge. However, they had to obtain permission to attend lectures and were not allowed to take degrees.
Without a university degree it was very difficult for women to enter the professions. After a long struggle the medical profession had allowed women to become doctors. Even so, by 1900 there were only 200 women doctors. It was not until 1910 that women were allowed to become accountants and bankers. However, there were still no women diplomats, barristers or judges.
(found on the web site: http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/Wuniversity.htm)
The date when women were permitted on the French stock market floor: 1967. However, they had been banished from it by royal decree since 1724. In the US, women were permitted from 1943 onwards, whereas for the English, this date came later, 1973.
Money = Power
You can imagine that these questions -- as we were asked to guess in each case -- provoked quite a bit of discussion amongst the 40 some odd participants. France is not Scandinavian. The senate is not half women and half men. Parity is an idea, but far from the reality. Salaries for the same position tend to be 20-25% less for a woman than for a man. Women are less likely to get funding for a business project, be it from a bank or from family, etc., We are a long way off.
But what is power to a woman? Power to change the status quo? Power to flaunt and shock? Power to earn and invest money? Political power to govern and affect the public sphere? Power over her own body (the right to abort is a big one, the right to have children how and when we choose to do so). So much is so recently gained. There is no question that women have power over the domestic sphere. And yet that is not considered "work" and the choice to stay at home to raise one's children can result in financial disaster and professional jeopardy. Certainly there is no country in this world that guarantees a woman a decent retirement fund for choosing to spend her strongest working years raising and educating her children. Society benefits when she does so, but it does not reward the woman.
Power is choice, and belief. Power is finding the perfect balance that works for each woman, and ideally, not being punished for your decisions. If you work full time, and love that, and do it well, power means finding people to help you keep the house in order, pick up your kids from school, get meals on the table, and as necessary, educate and raise those kids. If you stay at home and raise your kids yourself, power is having some level of external respect and recognition for your choice. Both should be possible.
I was reminded of a colleague of my mother's, a woman in her 70s who juggled raising her kids, mostly as a single mom, worked part-time, then full time, and finally, when the kids were grown, was able to truly concentrate on her career. She worked her way to the top of her profession, running foundations that focused on education grants for high school programs. A powerhouse in her field, she nonetheless came to it relatively late compared to my generation. But what I remember very clearly was her telling me that she knew how to read a woman's CV. She knew how to interpret the skills honed by a life juggling limited finances, carpooling, initiating group activities, running the PTA, organizing home-work groups, getting every member of the family to each of their multiple after school activities on time. Simply being organized and on the ball enough to keep a complicated household running efficiently. When you really look closely, why couldn't these women transfer these validated skills in budget management, scheduling, people management, time management and multi-tasking into running a corporation or a foundation, or a school or ???
I tried to convey this point of view to the women with whom I lunched yesterday. I think they were rather mystified by what I put in the air. And yes, I know I come across as a rather eccentric, enthusiastic and a bit naive American. And, I realize that they will rarely have in front of them women like Joan, who know how to read a woman's resume. And what a shame that is. Women need mentors to advance, and they seem (from my biased eyes) to be few and far between here. However, I correct myself, the team at CIBC are, and are quite marvelous: positive problem solvers, seeking to bring to the fore these women's skills and attributes as few others in their entourage know nor are willing to do. May they succeed.
Somehow nothing touches me more than wasted resources. And smart and capable women are only too often in this category.
One promising element: my young boys are mystified by stories about little girls whose fathers won't let them inherit a thrown, or who need to be saved by princes. If we could let their generation inherit the earth without the historical baggage we're bringing with us, would they see things differently? For them, at least now, of course girls are as smart, nearly as fast, as adept at climbing trees, bicycling, tossing a ball, what-have-you as boys are. But of course! How silly the past was, and how strange and unfamiliar. And no, I've not yet spoken to them about the Taliban, nor have we particularly discussed veiled muslim women. That will come.
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