Dob-log

You can tell that a corner has been turned in technological-interpersonal relations when your mum says she's surprised you haven't updated you blog.

So, a week ago we arrived in Sassuolo, after a train journey of a bit longer than three hours, with the two biggest suitcases we could get our hands on, to sign the paperwork for my tirocinio, essentially low-paid work experience. But, very much on the plus side, they're paying for our accomodation, so it actually works out very generous, especially given that we're essentially staying in a hotel. It seems a bit ridiculous really - we've been very lucky. I forget precisely what we did that day, but it won't have been too much 'cos we were cream-crackered.

The most reasonably-priced supermarket is just over the road, and today Monica informed me that they have HP brown sauce, Colman's mustard, Weetabix and Jordan's cereals, which, sadly, but in all honestly, is a bit mind-blowing.

My first working week started on a Tuesday. It's a 20 minute walk, which I can't really complain about. We are at the edge of town though really, which is a bit of a bore. It took me quite a few efforts to find the quickest route using a map. They're not big on labelling streets in Italy. Monica seems to think it's much of a muchness in England, but I don't think so.

For the first week I was working entirely on one series of documents for one client, to do with cars. It wasn't gripping stuff, but it was useful, because I kept on seeing the same terminology over and over again, and I was revising it, so I saw both versions. The revision seems to be paper-based, which is charmingly low-tech, but I'm not quite sure that the disadvantages don't outweigh the benefits. The work environment seems pretty good - a bit less today I think, but then it's Monday even in Italy. Tomorrow I finally get a computer and another job to do.

On Saturday we had quite a frustrating day really. Monica saw a cheap iron in the publicity for a supermarket. We needed an iron because the hotel doesn't have ironing facilities for the guests, but you can pay for them to do it for you - sod that. We went for a 20 minute walk to buy the iron, among other things, 20 minutes back in order for the iron to break pretty much instantly and Monica to take an extended look on the bleak side of life until we went back to the same place to buy a more expensive iron, and shell out for the adaptor* and extension lead that we needed to buy in any case. And then we walked back. Then we found out that a letter form the Student Loans company dated April had arrived in Offagna (quite a sense of timing that the postal service have, eh?) which seems to indicate that Monica has to cough up a number of hundreds of quids, plus she has to see the doctor about something. Humph.

Sunday we went to mass, obviously. We decided to try S. Antonio because they seem to have loads going on, a choir, two seperate groups for married couples, Rinnovamento nello Spirito and so on. We were a bit disappointed. We had a peek at the church during the week, and Monica isn't keen on the architecture. I think she finds it harder than I do to look beyond these things; I'm not mad keen on it myself, but I don't think it's that horribly modern actually. I don't know if they do this in English Catholic parishes, but here sometimes you get someone popping up at the lectern and giving brief reflections/commentaries on the mass. It's usually pretty trite and you want them to let the priest get on and say mass because the ordinary liturgy is rather more inspiring. They had one of those. It was the music that really let it down though. Perhaps you'll think me unkind, but I would have found it easier to worship without the music group (it wasn't really a choir - I could see that coming in all honestly). The musicians were pretty okay actually, but the mix was all wrong**; you couldn't hear the words of whatever they were singing, and there didn't even seem to be any hymnals - in Italy you're just expected to know the words. We couldn't really hear the singers, just enough to know that they were a bit ropey. I bet that they practise with the instruments too loud as well, so they never really hear themselves. I'm not just a young fogey, I promise - I like guitars and whatnot, but it jsut didn't come together - it was more of a distraction from the liturgy than anything, and I don't need any help with being distracted.

Well, that was negative way to end that blog entry. Never mind. Until the next time I, or someone else (hah!), blogs, toodle-oo.

* Because it's not enough to have one kind of silly European plug in Italy, they have two which seem to alternate at random, and you can only plug certain everyday eletrical appliances into a given socket!

** I don't know quite what it is about Italians and mixing desks, but they don't seem to mix (so to speak). Italian sound set-ups, whether in church, on the radio or the television, always make me think that I could do better with one hand tied behind my back.

I say book review, but I don't know if this isn't going to more preamble than review.

When I was living in Gordon Road in Exeter, a Catholic in a house full of people who went to Belmont Chapel*, "an independent, evangelical church with strong bible teaching", I found a textbook lying round from a course taken by (at least some of) their contact workers. This one was from a module on the history of the reformation, and I had a nosey because it never hurts to know how people with opinions other than yours see things.

One of the things it mentioned was the cult of the saints. It was some time ago so I can't recall the exact words, but the gist of it was that the Church's stress on the importance of venerating saints made people feel distant from God; it set up an image of impossibly perfect people who are better than us and closer to God than we are, whereas us grotty sinners need to beg them for salvation and do everything the Church tells us. Naughty Catholic Church.

Now, there's something in the first part of that, but only because any truth can be distorted: "[W]here sin increased, grace increased all the more[. ...] What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?" (Romans 5-6) The above is not what the Church tells us about the saints, though of course priests are quite capable of preaching error, or preaching badly. The Church's doctrine of the saints is a joyful things, but the devil is a dab-hand at making what is good appear evil, and what is evil appear good. There's a lot of joy on offer for a practising Catholic, and a lot of guilt for a lapsed Catholic - the same, in point of fact is true for any kind of Christian, although perhaps less explicitly.

For now, it suffices to say that the saints are our brothers in Christ, because they are as much part of the one body of Christ as we are, and "neither death nor life[...] will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8) which is inseparable from love for our brothers: "[I]f we love one another, God abides in us." (1 John 4) The Church singles out the saints for us as people who lived holy lives, so that we can follow their example, as they followed the example of Christ. (c.f. I Corinthians 11:1) I wrote a lot about the saints a while ago, here, here and here.

I should probably start talking about the book now shouldn't I? I already blogged saying that I wanted to read (or listen to) The Story of a Soul by St. Thérèse of Lisieux, because trying to follow the example of the saints without getting to know them doesn't make a lot more sense than trying to have a relationship with God without praying. The best way, I thought, to dispel this gloomy picture of perfect little plaster-saints that have nothing to do with us muggles is to find out about them.

Well, it wasn't quite what I expected. I liked the beginning a lot, reading about her family life, the trials and the graces, and somewhat predictably, her sweet demeanour. She's easy to like, and reading that part is like spending time in the company of a child - no bad thing, which is a part of St. Thérèse's message. James recently blogged about a writer at the Tablet (the Catholic Weekly we all love to hate, and which always seems to get airtime on R4's Sunday programme) who inexplicably described St. Thérèse's family as dysfunctional. I can't think of a more strange adjective to apply. Rather annoyingly, this seemed to me to be the picture of a perfect family, and where I was hoping to find the saint surprisingly similar to me, I found myself musing on whether I would be a saint too if I'd had that family (all self-delusion of course - and I'll just take a moment to thank my Mum and Dad for all that they've done for me in my life).

The middle section of the book, which is really the majority of it, describing her life in the Carmelite order, left me cold lots of times. It seemed that, far from escaping those plaster-saints, I'd found the perfect example of one; she enjoyed suffering, was filled with seemingly effortless love for God, was delighted to be forgotten and ignored - in short, the complete opposite of me, and the kind of person I feel the urge to slap around for making it all look so easy. The experiment definitely looked to be failing. Yeah, yeah, she suffered terribly - so what if she liked it so much?

What really redeemed the book for me was the final chapter. Until then it's all autobiography; the last chapter is supplied because she becomes unable to write. Now, I think it's worth saying at this point that I don't think many saints would want to be recognised as such - it stands to reason, you don't get to be a saint without a little bit of humility. I was reconciled to St. Thérèse by the witness of those who knew her. Especially towards the end, St. Thérèse talks about how she offers her sufferings to God for sinners, for missionaries, for priests. She talks about her love for mankind and her intention never to stop offering her life for her brothers even after death, never to rest until the end of the world and the beginning of eternity.

Love. Predictably enough, that's what sums it up, and whereas St. Thérèse's own words often didn't agree with me, the witness of the nuns to her tireless intercession and self-giving love for all the suffering and weary children of God did finally get through to me. It's very hard to describe - you'd have to read it you know. St. Thérèse of Lisieux was an apostle of God's love; That probably sounds very trite, and shallow, and very plaster saint, but you shall never appreciate what it means unless you get to know her, and that holds for all of the saints of God.

* Just because you can use Blogger to make a web-site, it doesn't mean you should. What happened to the nice hand-made site guys?

Hey,

Apparently no damage has been reported, so I don't suppose it'll touch the British papers, but just in case...

There was an earthquake last night, that we felt at about 6, I think. 4.6 On the Richter scale, depth of 37km. The area affected was between the provinces of Ancona and Macerata and the epicentre was between Montefano e Santa Maria Nuova (Macerata, not the one near us).

Like I say, no damage reported, except to Monica and Vanessa's psyche.

P.S. Monica would prefer me to mention that the bed was shaking for under a minute (the number of seconds is in dispute) and the furniture (especially the display cabinet) was making disquieting noises. I think she's worried I might have made her sound like a wuss (pappamolla). She's not. I wasn't so worried, but I suspect that's more due to ignorance than anything else.

Hey everyone,

Good news, I've got a 3 month work trial with a translation agency called Omnia based in Sassuolo. That's further north and more inland, in Emilia-Romagna, the land of spaghetti (alla) bolognese, parmesan, Parma ham and lasagna. It's quite a way away, but the accommodation will be arranged (possibly free) for both of us in a way we can manage. It's quite a specialised agency, which deals with mostly technical translations, manuals etc., for agricultural and earth-moving vehicles as well as cars. I shall have a bit to learn.

If the trial works out, it'll be a proper apprenticeship deal, and the salary would pretty good considering the current climate, not enough to start a family with unfortunately, but enough to manage on and start from.

We're pretty pleased and relieved even it only ends up being for three months. Thanks for all your prayers - you can carry on if you like.

I thought I'd blog something I was interested in which just happens to be topical. A little while ago James was criticising something that Archbishop Vincent Nichols said in an interview with the Catholic Herald. When I looked at that interview, I noticed this:

[B]y avoiding personal Confession do Catholics miss out on a unique encounter with Jesus himself?

Of course they do. [...]

I've been assured that when the relics of St Thérèse come then one of the things we must be prepared for is a huge increase in personal Confession. There were a couple of hundred youngsters up at the Brightlights festival in north London last weekend. At one time there were 15 priests there hearing Confessions on and off during the Saturday.

So there is something very precious about Confession and I think Catholics realise that. One of the things it is is a profound human truth, because all sacraments bring together the human realities and the divine intervention. It's a profound truth that we have to confess, that we have to face and name what we have done that is wrong. Otherwise the human process of healing, which grace builds on, doesn't begin. Sooner or later we have to do that.

I heard more about St. Thérèse's relics coming to the UK on Sunday last weekend; unfortunately you won't be able to hear that now, as they've had another transmission since then. They said the same thing about the spiritual fruits that her relics are bearing, the increase in confession etc.

It so happens that I've been meaning to read her Story of a Soul for some time. She's a Doctor of the Church, which means that it has been officially declared that through her writings the whole Church has derived great advantage. She's known for her "Little Way", a recognition that heroic deeds and great acts are not necessary to achieve great holiness but love can be lived out in the least of actions. Though she undertook the religious life, the "Little Way" has proved especially helpful for the laity.

So where am I going with all this? Well, the wonderful people at Librivox have just made Story of a Soul available in audio format. This is good for people like me, who like the fact that, say, Project Gutenberg has the text online, but would rather gouge out their own eyes than read a book from a monitor.

So, Librivox's Story of a Soul is here, and comes with helpful listening options (MP3s to download directly, individually or zipped, RSS feed, iTunes subscription, Chapter-a-day).
It's slightly less conveniently here in MP3 as well, at Maria Lectrix.
Or if you're a real glutton for punishment, you could read it online at Project Gutenberg.

Well, I hope I didn't just waste my time typing that. I'm really looking forward to listening to it myself.

Good morning and a very merry 19th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year B) to you.

It's been quite an eventful week, especially for us. On Monday I updated my CV with the details from Intrawelt and phoned the Student Loans Company to check whether I had to declare the one off payment - apparently I don't. Then we e-mailed it out to the addresses that Monica had been collecting over the previous week. It was a pretty good response. I had a phone call from another translation agency in Bagnacavallo (Bathehorse? Horsebath?). First they asked me to interview as a Project Manager and then they changed their minds and said that they'd like some translations from me first, which I haven't received yet. I also had an e-mail back from another agency asking for me to do some test translations, which I did, and bloody hard they were too. Another e-mail said there weren't any internal positions but, subject to some test translations, they'd consider me as a freelance translator. I had to reply saying that I wasn't sure I could because I don't have a P.IVA, which I would need if I were to be self-employed. Last but not least I had a call for an interview in Rimini for teaching work, so that's where I'm going on Tuesday, for an interview plus a language test that I'm told should take around 2 hours in all.

Rather remarkably, I've managed to see three concerts, all free, in the space of a week, one in Osimo and the other two in Offagna. It's very true that generally speaking there's not a lot to do round here, but on the plus side, the summer is packed with free events of good quality. We went to Osimo with Gio(vanna), Marghe's sister who's another friend of Monica's, to listen to some pieces for organ accompanied by an orchestra by Handel. It was very good. The organist had a tough time. I think it was a period instrument. In any case it was an upright affair that you have to play standing up. To add insult to injury, the multiple pages of sheet music, which the organist was attempting to manage on his own until this became untenable, didn't really fit on the music holder and the wind (it was in a courtyard) kept blowing the sheets around. Well done him. The concerts in Offagna were both jazz, part of a series of "Jazz and Wine" (not Jazz e Vino, because English is more cool, you see...) On Friday we went down to the, um, villa(?) where we buy our wine from and listened to bebop in the garden. That was my favourite; sax, piano, double bass and drums. The sax was very good, the pianist was mental - possibly a little too much, the percussion was outstanding - we weren't so keen on the double bass though. The acoustic was excellent, especially the drums. Monica said she liked it, but it didn't grab her so much. I thought it was great, but I was perhaps too tired to take it all in. I'm not good at listening to music at night. Then yesterday it was another quartet, led by a famous Italian jazz guitarist (Franco Cerri), backed up by a Hammond organ, double bass and drums. I didn't like it so much - there was considerably less swing and I'm never really convinced by jazz guitar anyway. The drumming was good, but without any reall swing, as I say, and he kind of ruined it by relentlessly using the cymbals so it was difficult to hear the percussion underneath. We did like the man on the double bass though. I think I quite like the Hammond organ - in small doses. I coulcn't imagine playing it every day though...

What with us living with Monica's Mum and Dad, we're always keen on the idea of getting away to get some time to ourselves, but without work this seems like something we probably shouldn't splash out on. However, as I just worked for a month we decided to go away into the mountains (everyone's at the beach at the moment you see, but if we're both still unemployed we can go when it's quieter) for a bit of relaxation. So we're off to Spoleto at the end of the month, staying here, which looks lovely. Looking forward to it.

As I said, everyone's at the beach at the moment. This is because in Italy, the whole of August is basically holiday time. Lots of offices shut down for at least a few weeks. This means that the roads are horribly congested just now. Imagine that all English bank holidays happened back to back and you'd have some idea of how lousy it is on the roads right now. It's linked with Ferragosto, a celebration that dates from Roman times, but which is now linked with the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, dogmatically defined in 1950, if I've understood it correctly.

You may remember I translated an article on Italian party politics a little while ago. I decided I'd try and do a few more translations, a little inspired by my time at Intrawelt. I'm using a free, very basic, translation programme called OmegaT, and what I thought I'd do was translate some songs for you, because I've been enjoying some Italian music, and I thought you could enjoy it too.

So this is a song by Fabrizio de André that I like, but which is a bit scandalous. Fabrizio de André is very famous here. He died young and is very highly regarded. There are things like memorial concerts for him and his work receives scholarly attention. I asked Monica if that meant he was a bit like an Italian Bob Dylan in that regard, and she seemed to think that you could say that.

The titular Tito you may or may not know as St. Dismas, that is the 'Good Thief'. Apparently in the apocryphal Arabic infancy gospel he's called Tito/Titus instead. Like I say, it's a bit scandalous. You might make something of the turnaround at the end (he is the Good thief after all) but this is essentially his attack on the Ten Commandments.

Just to preempt any comments to the effect that the commandments have been altered in a Catholic direction, I know. I suppose Fabrizio's ten came from some kind of catechetical source where Sabbath observance is linked to feast days and adultery is linked to self-gratification et cetera. And anyone who says the numbers are wrong will want pointing out to them that the Bible doesn't give numbers to the commandments - that's tradition, which varies from denomination to denomination.

The Italian used for the commandments isn't really thee-thouish, but it is traditional, so I started from the 10 in the Baltimore Catechism, which follows the Douay-Rheims in any case.

Il testamento di Tito Fabrizio De André Non avrai altro Dio, all'infuori di me, spesso mi ha fatto pensare: genti diverse, venute dall'est dicevan che in fondo era uguale. Credevano a un altro diverso da te, e non mi hanno fatto del male. Credevano a un altro diverso da te e non mi hanno fatto del male. Non nominare il nome di Dio, non nominarlo invano. Con un coltello piantato nel fianco gridai la mia pena e il suo nome: ma forse era stanco, forse troppo occupato e non ascoltò il mio dolore. Ma forse era stanco, forse troppo lontano davvero, lo nominai invano. Onora il padre. Onora la madre e onora anche il loro bastone, bacia la mano che ruppe il tuo naso perché le chiedevi un boccone: quando a mio padre si fermò il cuore non ho provato dolore. Quando a mio padre si fermò il cuore non ho provato dolore. Ricorda di santificare le feste. Facile per noi ladroni entrare nei templi che rigurgitan salmi di schiavi e dei loro padroni senza finire legati agli altari sgozzati come animali. Senza finire legati agli altari sgozzati come animali. Il quinto dice "non devi rubare" e forse io l'ho rispettato vuotando in silenzio, le tasche già gonfie di quelli che avevan rubato. Ma io, senza legge, rubai in nome mio, quegli altri, nel nome di Dio. Ma io, senza legge, rubai in nome mio, quegli altri, nel nome di Dio. Non commettere atti che non siano puri cioè non disperdere il seme. Feconda una donna ogni volta che l'ami, così sarai uomo di fede: poi la voglia svanisce ed il figlio rimane e tanti ne uccide la fame. Io, forse, ho confuso il piacere e l'amore, ma non ho creato dolore. Il settimo dice "non ammazzare" se del cielo vuoi essere degno. guardatela oggi, questa legge di Dio, tre volte inchiodata nel legno. guardate la fine di quel nazareno, e un ladro non muore di meno. Guardate la fine di quel nazareno, e un ladro non muore di meno. Non dire falsa testimonianza e aiutali a uccidere un uomo. Lo sanno a memoria il diritto divino e scordano sempre il perdono. Ho spergiurato su Dio e sul mio onore e no, non ne provo dolore. Ho spergiurato su Dio e sul mio onore e no, non ne provo dolore. Non desiderare la roba degli altri, non desiderarne la sposa. Ditelo a quelli, chiedetelo ai pochi che hanno una donna e qualcosa: nei letti degli altri, già caldi d'amore non ho provato dolore. L'invidia di ieri non è già finita: stasera vi invidio la vita. Ma adesso che viene la sera ed il buio mi toglie il dolore dagli occhi e scivola il sole al di là delle dune a violentare altre notti: io nel vedere quest'uomo che muore, madre, io provo dolore. Nella pietà che non cede al rancore, madre, ho imparato l'amore.

The Testament of Titus Fabrizio De André “Thou shalt not have strange gods before me”; it's often made me think: other peoples, from the East said that it was really all the same. They believed in a strange god, a different god from yours, and they didn't do me any harm. They believed in a strange god, a different god from yours, and they didn't do me any harm. “Thou shalt not take the name of God, thou shalt not take it in vain.” With a knife planted in my side I cried out my pain and his name: but perhaps he was tired, perhaps he was too busy and didn't listen to my pain. But perhaps he was tired, perhaps he was too far away. I certainly took his name in vain. “Honour thy father. Honour thy mother” and honour their cane as well, kiss the hand that broke your nose because you asked for a bite to eat: when my father's heart stopped I felt no pain. When my father's heart stopped I felt no pain. “Remember that thou hallow the holy days.” Easy for us thieves to enter the temples, flooded with the psalms of slaves and their masters, without ending up bound to the altars, throats cut like animals! Without ending up bound to the altars, throats cut like animals! The fifth says "thou shalt not steal" and perhaps I've obeyed it, emptying in silence, the swollen pockets of thieves. But I, lawless, stole in my own name, those thieves, in the name of God. But I, lawless, stole in my own name, those thieves, in the name of God. “Thou shalt not commit impure acts”; that is, don't spill your seed. Impregnate a woman every time you love her, and you'll be a man of faith: then the desire vanishes, the child remains and hunger kills many sons. Perhaps I've confused pleasure with love, but I haven't begotten pain. The seventh says "thou shalt not kill" If you want to be worthy of heaven. Look today at this law of God, nailed three times into wood. Look what's become of that Nazarene, and not one less thief dies. Look what's become of that Nazarene, and not one less thief dies. “Thou shalt not bear false witness” and help to kill a man. They know the divine law by heart but always forget to forgive. I've sworn falsely by God and on my honour and no, it doesn't give me any pain. I've sworn falsely by God and on my honour and no, it doesn't give me any pain. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's goods, thou shalt not covet his wife.” Tell it to those, ask it of the few that have a woman and something else: in my neighbour's bed, already warm with love I felt no pain. Yesterday's envy isn't finished yet: now I envy your lives. But now that evening comes and the darkness takes the pain from my eyes and the sun slips beyond the dunes to violate other nights: I, seeing this man as he dies, mother, I feel pain. In compassion that refuses to hate, mother, I've learnt what love means.

I've got a week left of the trial, but I already know how it's turned out. When I had the interview, Alessandro talked about a particular contract for the trial period. Being English, I thought I would have something to sign on the first day, and probably some things, like bank details, to pass on. Nothing doing.

With a week to go, I thought it'd make sense to check what was going on so I asked to talk to Alessandro. We only talked about the contract in passing, because he told me his decision about the trial, which is that I haven't got the job. He said that there was no problem with me personally or with my level of English (as if), but that my level of Italian was too low, based on feedback from other people. This, apparently, wouldn't be a problem in other circumstances, because after a year I'd probably be fine, but they're looking for someone with the right qualities from the off. He did, on the other hand, say that some freelance work could be possible.

So there you are. Those of you who know me (and who else, I wonder, is reading?) will know that I'm not the over-confident type - I'm probably more aware of my limitations than is helpful - but I must say it seems like a mistake. Of the mistakes that I'm aware I made, one was major. Almost every day, I proofread translations which were clearly much, much worse than the translations I was doing, in terms of English, and which contained objective errors that I could easily spot. In fact, it was quite an ego trip, seeing that real-life translators were getting paid real money for what I could see was trash, and I could turn them into something better with relative ease.

There's another 'English' there called Paul, who I worked quite closely with at the start and who does the job most similar to what mine is/was. He said he was surprised and said kind things about my level of Italian and said much what I said above about the quality of "professional" translators. He also said that Alessandro had been looking for a mother tongue proofreader for ages, which makes the fact that he hasn't taken me on seem doubly peculiar. Consequently I entertain vague hopes that he'll change his mind, though I'm obviously not counting on it.

In other news, controversy in the village. The Medieval Festival (my word, that's an unexpectedly swish site - why didn't they get it translated? I would have done it for free...) started last Saturday and finishes tomorrow. Anyway, one of the features is a 'disfida in arme' ('weapon challenge') between Offagna's 'Rioni' ('Districts'). Our district (Torrione) won it, but S. Benardino weren't happy with the result and asked for an appeal. Torrione said they would withdraw their participation from the Festival and proceeded to take all their flags down (there are a lot of them about). In the end Torrione still won, but one thing led to another and there was fighting in the streets. Monica's Dad, Carlo, and Don Luca, the young priest, had to keep trying to separate them. Apparently one guy might have needed an ambulance. So that's village life for you.