Moments

http://polaroid41.com/moments-english/

To celebrate the 100th episode of Polaroid 41, this week I’m writing and recording an English translation of ‘Moments,’ Marc’s very first Polaroid, and he’s writing and recording a French version of mine. For our non-French speaking listeners, this is your chance to “meet” Marc, hear one of his stories and discover his style.

The original French version is available at: http://polaroid41.com/moments

Sunday, September 19th, 2021 - 12:19pm

I’m on the beach in Hendaye when one of my daughters points out the fact that, right now, right this minute, life is good. She’s aware that we’re happy and says we have to remember this moment. This little seven-year-old girl blows me away. She tells me she’s going to write the moment down in a ‘moments notebook’ so that if ever she’s feeling sad all she’ll have to do is flip through the notebook to feel better. “Wouldn’t that be great?! Reliving all my happy moments!” Yup. Seven-year-olds are perfect for reminding us of these kinds of things.

And just like that, I find myself thinking back and wondering: when have I been aware that I was happy? Of course, I’m not talking about the big happy moments, like the births of my daughters, or the day I met my sweetheart, or even our wedding. No. I’m talking about the little happy moments, the sort of everyday happiness that is fleeting and easy to forget. Happiness as brief and intense as a breath of fresh air. The answer is in my childhood, no doubt. That time in life that’s so inclined to little, everyday happiness. As children, our joy is big, we marvel at small things, and self-consciousness and social norms don’t exist yet. We don’t hold back from happiness, we run right at it with open arms.

I’m nine years old, it’s August, and I’m spending the entirety of my summer vacation with my uncle and my grandparents on their farm. After lunch, despite the sweltering heat, I follow my uncle out to the pasture below the farm to check that the dairy cows have enough water. We walk side by side and, for maybe the first time in my life, I feel like a man. Granted, a little man, but a man nonetheless. We don’t say much. I match his pace, and soon we see the cows at the edge of the path. The water trough, sitting under an enormous linden tree, is three-quarters empty. Unsurprising given the heat of the last few days.

My uncle places the hose linked to the watering barrel into the trough and opens the valve. Then, without a word, he lies down in the grass in the cool shade of the linden tree, tips his straw hat down over his eyes and drifts off to sleep. I copy him, mimicking each movement and gesture, taking my place beside him, I pull my cap down over my eyes, and wait. But I’m worried. What if I fall asleep and the water overflows? One of us needs to stay awake and keep watch. We’re two men, two soldiers on a mission. It’s his turn to sleep and my turn to keep watch.
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The complete 'polaroid' - text, minicast and polaroid photo - available at: http://polaroid41.com/moments-english/