French Word-A-Day

gateau

The "Gâteau Savane" from today's story. Those are the pine cones that Christiane helped me to collect. And that, there, is a very old roof tile. The cursive reads "fait" and "30 juin".

The next Meet-up is in Marseilles, for a wine-tasting/Jazz event. If you are in or near Marseilles on February 12th, please join us! More info here.

gâteau (gah-toh) noun, masculine

    : cake

Plus la part de gâteau est belle, plus elle a de chance de tomber de travers dans l'assiette au moment de la servir. The prettier the slice of cake, the greater are its chances of falling sideways onto the plate at the moment of serving. (Murphy's Law)

AUDIO FILE: Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French word "gâteau" and read today's example sentence: Download Gateau Download Gateau

(Of Cake... and Conflicting Feelings)

When Jean-Marc asked me to make a cake for the Loto des Commerçants,* I reminded myself, after the initial panic, not to complicate things: just make a simple gâteau au yaourt!*

Stirring together the familiar yogurt-flour-egg-baking soda-sugar ingredients,* I glanced down at the package of flour and noticed an astuce* marked "Gâteau Marbré": for a marbleized cake, simply add two teaspoons of cocoa powder to the mix....

Turns out marbleizing a cake is as easy as dividing the finished mix into two bowls, then stirring two teaspoons of cocoa powder into one of the bowls before pouring the mixes, by turn, into the cake pan.

What had been panic quickly turned to pride, as I watched the marbled cake rise, taking on a tortoise-colored appearance. The cake rivaled any store bought "savannah,"* I decided, on the surface at least. (Fingers crossed that the cake tasted as good.)

Watching Jean-Marc walk off with the "prize," its sweet aroma carrying me to the door in time to wave the cake goodbye (forever!), it occured to me to make another gâteau marbré at the next chance.

That occasion came only four days later. Out came the ingredients and, thankfully, there were just enough eggs left to make the cake. Before long, the scent of savannah sweetened the room. I looked at the clock and calculated that there would be just enough time to pick up the kids from school and make it back in time to collect the goûter,* hot from the oven.

In the school parking lot, my son approached the car. I noticed the tall blond by his side. She must be two grades older than Max, I figured, feeling an alert go off inside of me. Turns out the two were, giggle, giggle, the same age.

As the couple approached the car, I quickly ran my hands through my unkempt hair. He might've prepared me to meet his girlfriend! Given me some advanced notice! I thought.

"Can you take her home?" Max asked, in his "cool," almost 14-year-old voice. "She needs a ride."

The two got into the car. When the giggles continued, with me interrupting now and again for directions, I realized that we were getting farther and farther away from the village--and from the cake, which was still cooking!

"Is this where I turn?" I asked the girl, impatiently.
"Euh, je ne sais pas," she answered, and was that "husky" in her voice?
"You don't know?" I questioned.
(Giggles).

"Is this your street?" I repeated, activating the turn signal.
"Euh...."

"You know where you live, don't you?" I questioned, and was that "condescending" in my voice?

"We don't usually go this way," the girl admitted.
"Well, which way do you 'usually' go?" I snipped.

When the girl indicated that the way was several kilometers back, via another road leading from the village, I swung the car around with an audible, irritable sigh, but not before commenting "Why would you tell me to go this way, when it's the other way?!"
"She didn't tell you to go that way," Max pointed out, in gallant defense of the demoiselle.

That's when the car fell silent and I was jolted back some 25 years. I could now remember that awkward, confusing feeling: the way that an unfriendly adult could make you feel after some sort of vague accusation--this, followed by the feeling of inadequacy, or inability to defend oneself--due to lack of experience.

Through softened lenses, I now peered into the rearview mirror, to the young (if tall and blond) passenger in the backseat.

"What did I do wrong?" The girl was probably wondering. As for my unfriendliness, I guessed it had something to do with the soon-to-be overcooked cake and... perhaps... a lot to do with the not-so-little girl. Then and there, I noticed some sort of prejudice going on within me. Prejudice, I wondered, against what--puberty?

Immediately, I regretted my behavior. But the guilt would stay with me until I reached home.

Opening the front door, Fate greeted me, with fervor--and with her holy plan for redemption....

Max and I floated toward the kitchen, hooked by the sweet scent which carried us forth. "The cake!" I remembered. All that guilt had erased my memory of having ever made the cake! And now, I realized with relief, it was just what the doctor ordered: comfort food!

That's when Fate's plan went into action. Salivating now, I opened the oven door. On my mind was the perfect cup of tea to accommodate the cake. I'd have two slices, and set aside a few for Jean-Marc. The kids would eat theirs with me at the table.

That's when Max remembered something very important.

"Mom," he said, with his usual nonchalance.
"Just a minute," I replied, getting out some plates and some honey for my tea.
"Mom," Max insisted. "I volunteered to bring a cake to school tomorrow."

 

With that, shoulders slumped, I returned the plates to the cupboard and wrapped up the cake.

*     *     *
Third time around at making the cake (one I hope I'll finally have the chance to taste), I glance down at the package, to the instructions for marbling: simply add two teaspoons of cocoa powder to the mix.... If only the instructions for living--and for loving others--were as simple to comprehend.


***
Corrections, comments--and stories of your own!--are always welcome in the comments box.

100 more lessons in love, in the book "Words in a French Life"

The Yogurt Cake recipe is here (for Marbled Yogurt Cake, or "Gâteau Savane" just add those two spoonfuls of cocoa!).


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
le loto des commerçants = local merchants' lottery; le gâteau (m) au yaourt; recipe for yogurt cake =
this link; une astuce (f) (du métier) = a trick (of the trade); savannah = savane (type of marbled yogurt cake; le goûter (m) = snack (tea time)


~~~~~~~~~~~~~Shopping~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mere Poulard, traditional butter "galettes", packaged in a colorful tin box


Cartes Postales: A Delightful Album for Postcards

Jolee's Boutique Paris Stickers : good for notebooks, art boards...

vélo

My mom, Jules, in 2003 (one month after her first mastectomy). She found her bike at the French flea market for 15 euros.

vélo (vay-loh) noun, masculine
     1. bike, bicycle

[from vélocipède]

La vie, c'est comme un vélo, il faut avancer pour ne pas perdre l'équilibre.
Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving. --Albert Einstein

AUDIO FILE: Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French word vélo and read the French sentence, above. Download Velo Download Velo

(The following story was written in September 2007)

My mom and I are standing in the sports shop looking at a wall of locomotion.
"That's the one!" she says, pointing to the retro model with the wide seat.

I recognize the bright turquoise vélo* with the caramel leather seat and wide longhorn handle-bars. We'd seen the bike last week at the neighbor's, where it rested on its kick stand and all but swung its haunch in hipness.

"If you want, we can ride bikes together," my neighbor, Danielle, had said. My eyes left the bright blue bonbon on wheels.
"I don't have a bike," I had answered.
"Can she try it out?" my mom asked, and I could have dissolved into a puddle of grease right there on the garage floor!

                                    *     *     *
Back at the sports shop my mom is stoked.
"You're going to have endorphins soon!" she chirps. "It'll be good for you to ride again."

The last time I rode a bike of my own I was headed home from Mesa Community College, only it was an ambulance that finished the trip for me. My mom received the $500 ER bill, and I sold my bike soon after. That was twenty years ago.

"Beats grinding your teeth!" my mom continued, praising the virtues of velocity. I can feel my teeth set as I approach that bike. I can't get the same vélo as my neighbor! That would make me a copycat! Besides, how would she feel to no longer own the coolest bike on the farm? And what about that ride she proposed? How's that going to look--the two of us pedaling to town like twins on our retro turquoise two-wheelers? Dorky if you ask me!

My mom is beyond dork. There she is in a pea-green poncho and a Panama hat. She pats the wide seat, then rings the bike's bell. Ring, ring, ring...RRRRIIIIIIINNNNNG! All customers look over to the bike display.
"Mom!" I hiss.
"Look at this thing! It's a Jimmy Buffet California dreamin' beach bike!" she says, ignoring me. "Do you know that Jimmy Buffet song?"
"No, I don't know the song and I don't want a bike!" I snap back. "What I need is a bench!"

Not one hour earlier we had left a home-deco shop in the town of Orange, where I found a curved wooden banc,* perfect for our front porch. Meanwhile, at the other end of the boutique, my mom found a present for her husband. She was set on buying it until I refused. (She needed my credit card for the transaction.)

"Mom! You just finished telling me that you were fed up with his drinking. You can't go buying him a set of Tequila SHOT glasses from Bavaria!"
"But they're so pretty!" she protested. I watched as she sulked back to the glass armoire and returned the shot glasses to their shelf, taking one last admiring glance at the red baccarat crystal.
"Please gift wrap them," I finally said to the sales lady, relinquishing control over my mother.

Back at the bike shop I am once again trying to control my mom. Only this time she won't have it. To my "I don't want your present!" she responds firmly: "It is not for you to decide whether or not to receive a gift. You simply accept it with grace!"

Just then, I felt all of my rigid, controlling ways melt. I turned to the salesman and asked whether there was another color.

"We have a different model in silver..." he said.

                                           *    *     *
I am reeling down a quiet country road, leaving cares and copycats to the wind. If I let go of the pedals and stretch out my legs, I can almost touch the vine rows on either side of me. I stretch out my arms until the tips of my fingers grace the mountains to the east and the setting sun to the west. I feel the touch of eternity. It must be those endorphins Mom talked about.

***
Comments, corrections--or stories of your own--always welcome in the comments box.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
References: le vélo (m) = bike; le banc (m) = bench

     Read more stories about my mom here.
 A basket for your bike, and some accessories, here.

   
     Streetwise Paris: the best-selling map of PARIS

Terms & Expressions:
  vélo tout-terrain (VTT) = mountain bike
  vélodrome = cycle-racing track
  vélomoteur = moped
  faire du vélo = to cycle, to go bike riding

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shopping:
Aromatic lavender honey
Rosetta Stone French (CD-ROM) -- "an award-winning method used by NASA and the Peace Corps"
In music: Putumayo Presents: Paris

grimpette

I forgot to charge my camera's batteries, so Jean-Marc took this photo (and more, below) with his telephone. Can you make out which monkey is my daughter, which singe is my son, and which one is Braise-the-Dog? More about our walk up Sainte-Victoire in today's story column.


une grimpette

     : a steep little climb


Example:
C'est là que dans sa grimpette la rue du repos s'étire jusqu'au lavoir.
It is there, in this steep climb, that the retreat street stretches up to the washing place.
             --from "Brins de houx, bugade en chansons," Var Matin (newspaper)

Audio File: Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French word "grimpette" and the example sentence: Download Grimpette (mp3). Download Grimpette (wave file)



On Sunday, Jean-Marc, Max, Jackie, Braise-the-Dog, and I were treated to a picnic at Sainte-Victoire, both a mountain and a muse to more than one artist, including Cézanne, who there would paint his heart out time and again.

We had spent Saturday night with cousins Christiane & Charles, in Aix-en-Provence. The Gallic globetrotters once took their children on a 5-year voyage around the world, navigating from behind the helm of their own sailboat! And, just last November, together with their children--and grandchildren--they traversed the sands of southern Moroccan desert, sleeping in tents at night and getting by on one liter of water per day with which to "shower". The 20 kilometer daily walks strengthened family ties, not to mention hearts and thighs!

Given their athletic nature, I admit to not hesitating one instant when, at the base of the great Sainte-Victoire, cousin Christiane lugged the heavy picnic pack up and over her back.

"You sure you don't want me to carry it?" I offered, my eyes fixed on the French heavens where le Pic des Mouches* (the mountain's highest point) loomed. "It's not heavy," Christiane answered, fastening the straps.

Soon, the scent of pine and wild herbs surrounded us. I reached down to pick up a pomme de pin.* One of the things that I had noticed chez Christiane, was her knack for gathering natural objects (exotic seeds, husks, cones, branches...) and creating harmonious arrangements with them. Hungry for the same harmony here at home, I began to fill my pockets with the cones until Christiane offered the empty poche* of her backpack. "Tiens,* you can put them here, inside."

(more photos at the end of this post...)

We had been talking about friendship when Christiane spoke about the people in her life and, without her having to say it, I understood that the friends with whom she shares it have as much inner-harmony as those compositions in her home: like good art, good friends are pure at heart.

"You know," Christiane said, offering me an imperfect pine cone (one that I had overlooked), "I prefer these to diamonds." For an instant, I was lost in a daydream in which I stood at the entrance of my Secret "Sisters" Club. On entering, each and every "true blue" friend had to hand me one pine cone and repeat: I prefer this to diamonds.

An hour into our hike, we were knee-deep in an aromatic odyssey. Do you call this hors-piste*? I joked with my husband, as we searched for the foot path that we had wandered off of. I let my hands brush over the blooming rosemary and resisted the temptation to snap off several twigs of thyme (add the branches to a mug of piping hot water, for the most soothing wintertime tea!) after Christiane explained that certain herbs, in this area, were protected and should be left alone.

During the last, grueling grimpette,* Charles, Christiane's husband, kept our group light on our feet with his joyful whistling ballads and thoughtful blagues.* Max, Jackie, and Braise-The-Dog were stoic "sangliers"* according to Charles and, between darting up and down the hilly terrain, they answered to their calling with proud snorts (to which Charles snorted back, respectfully so).

Toward the end of our ascent, I noticed the saturated skyline and marveled at true "sky blue" set off by bright limestone white as we reached the top of the mountain ridge. This must be the color of blue immortalized in the famous Provençal textiles.

On the way down the path, I felt that brilliance--that balance--that only an afternoon basking in the herbal countryside can bring on. The trick will be in recreating it, whether with pine cones--or with pure hearts--in the home and beyond.


***
Corrections, comments, and stories of your own--always welcome here, in the comments box.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

le Pic des Mouches = Peak of the Flies; une pomme (f) de pin = pine cone; la poche (f) = pocket; tiens (tenir) = here; le hors-piste (m) = off-piste, off-trail; la grimpette (f) = steep climb; la blague (f) = joke; le sanglier (m) = wild boar


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Shopping~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
French Wooden Alphabet Blocks

My French Coach by Nintendo. Playing My French Coach for 15 to 20 minutes a day is all you need to become fluent in French, no matter your age. The simple touch screen interface lets you spend less time learning the game and more time learning French.

"Fluenz French": Next-Generation French Language Learning Software

Words in a French Life: Lessons in Love...

non-voyant

Photo (© Kristin Espinasse, taken in Visan, land of a million cats! Whether slightly color-blind, like this black and white cat, or completely non-voyant, Louis Braille believed that the gift of literacy belonged to everyone. Read more about this remarkable Frenchman who, as a child, would change the world.

non-voyant (nohn-voy-ahn) noun, masculine*

    : visually handicapped person

* the feminine is "non-voyante" (nohn-voy-ahnt)

French definition:
  "une personne qui ne voit pas; aveugle"
  (a person who does not see; blind)

AUDIO FILE: My son, Max, offered this example sentence. Click on the link to hear it:
  Les non-voyants utilisent le braille pour lire.
  (The blind use Braille to read.) Download Non-voyant . Download Non-voyant



We were at the breakfast table when the usual "ça--c'est ma place!"* and "Quit hogging the jam!" conversation turned into a thoughtful hymn... on blindness.

"Did you know," I began, "that the person who invented Braille was not much older than you when he created the system that would allow the blind to read?" I said to my son, who balanced a near-empty jar of jam over a slice of brioche--this, while glaring at his soeur cadette.*

"What is "braille?" Jackie wanted to know, repeating the word as she had heard her Anglophone mother pronounce it (BREL).

Jean-Marc, who had caught the tail-end of the conversation, piped in.
"Brel est un chanteur."*
"No! I'm not talking about Jacques Brel!" I felt my feathers ruffling, and only two minutes into a rare history lesson.

"She means 'Braille'," Max explained, clearing up any confusion by offering the French pronunciation of "Braille" (which, to my surprise, was "BR-EYE"!). Next, my son popped up, and hurried over to the cupboard to fish out a box of sugar.

"NO MORE SUGAR!" I cried, "and will you please listen! I am trying to..."

Just then, Max turned the box of sugar to its side, and pointed out the raised dots. "I had never noticed that before!" I said, running my finger down the side of the box, over the "lettered" relief. Are you sure that's Braille--and not some kind of bar code?"

On second thought, why wouldn't it be Braille, and why, by the way, weren't the jam jar and the milk carton sporting raised dots, too? With that, I ran my finger across all of the packages along our table top. That is when I realized that the box of sugar, only, could be read by a non-voyant.* (The other items were, as yet, "unreadable" and, like that, unknowable too!)

"Well, like I was saying... it was a child who created this extraordinary system."
"Sometimes adults create things too," Jackie pointed out, and I wasn't sure whether or not to ruffle my feathers this time around.

***
If we were talking about blindness at the breakfast table this morning, it is thanks to Kathi Koegle, who had written me a few weeks ago, inquiring about "off-the-beaten-track villages" that one might visit in France. In the email exchange that ensued, I learned that Kathi, who works for the Wisconsin Council of the Blind & Visually Impaired, had just been in charge of a bicentennial birthday party for Louis Braille.

It occured to me that she might write an article for us all to enjoy and, when I asked, Kathi kindly obliged. Here, now, is her mini-biography on Louis Braille.

L o u i s  B r a i l l e
January 4, 1809 - January 6, 1852

This year marks the 200th birthday of Louis Braille, the man who invented literacy for blind people.

Braille was born in Coupvray, a tiny village about 25 miles east of Paris. The youngest of four children, he lived with his parents in a modest stone cottage in the village.

Braille's father was the local harness-maker. One day when he was three years old, Louis was at play in his father's workshop. A fateful accident and subsequent infection rendered him totally aveugle.*

At the age of 10, Braille earned a scholarship to the Royal Institution for Blind Youth in Paris. It was the world's first school for blind children. Louis was an outstanding élève,* and he excelled in every subject. He also became a fine pianist and an accomplished organist.

photo from Wikipedia

While attending the Institution and yearning for more books to lire,* Braille experimented with ways to create an alphabet that would be facile* to read with one's fingertips. The system of raised dots that he devised--at age 15--evolved from the tactile "Ecriture Nocturne"* code (invented by Charles Barbier, an artillery captain in the army of Louis XVIII) for sending military messages that could be read on the battle field at night sans* light. Two years later, Braille adapted his method to musical notation.

Braille accepted a full-time teaching position at the Royal Institution for Blind Youth when he was 19. He taught grammar, geography, arithmetic, and music.

Sighted teachers and officials were slow to accept Braille's new method. It wasn't until 1844, eight years before he died, that the value of the Braille alphabet was officially recognized. Then, one after another, countries around the monde* recognized the benefits of braille. Braille has now been adapted to more than 200 languages and dialects around the world.

Louis Braille died of Tuberculosis two days after his 43rd birthday. In 1952, his body was moved from a cemetery in Coupvray to the Pantheon in Paris to lie with other great women and men of France.

The stone house where Braille grew up is now a museum, and the street on which it stands is named Rue Louis Braille.

On the mur* of the maison* is a plaque that reads:

Dans cette maison est né le 4 janvier 1809 Louis Braille inventeur de l'écriture en points saillants pour les aveugles. Il a ouvert a tous ceux qui ne voient pas les portes du savoir.

Translation:
In this house on January 4, 1809 was born Louis Braille, the inventor of the system of writing in raised dots for use by the blind. He opened the doors of knowledge to all those who cannot see.

..................
Author bio: Kathi Koegle is Outreach & Development Manager for the Wisconsin Council of the Blind & Visually Impaired. A former French teacher, Kathi and her husband are making plans for their third trip to Provence in September 2009.

If you enjoyed Kathi's story, please join me in thanking her by letting her know in the comments box.

You may also leave her a personal message, here: kathi [AT] wcblind [DOT] org

Kathi adds: "Enjoy a few pix from the Council's recent Braille Bicentennial Birthday Party. Guests enjoyed baguettes and six different kinds of French cheeses." (View pictures at the end of this post.)

In children's books: "Louis Braille, The Boy Who Invented Books For The Blind" & Louis Braille: A Touch of Genius


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ça--c'est ma place! = that is my seat!; la soeur (f) cadette = little sister; Brel est un chanteur français = Brel is a French singer; non-voyant,e (m/f) = blind; aveugle = blind; l'élève (m/f) = student; lire = to read; facile = easy; Ecriture Nocturne = night writing; sans = without; monde (m) = world; mur (m) = wall; maison (f) = house


~~~~~~~~~~~~~Shopping~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SmartFrench : learn French from real French people!

In French film: The Double Life of Veronique

French music: Jacques Brel

Bonne Maman Strawberry Preserves

Kathi's photos taken at the celebration:
A cheese close-up!

serment

Red, White, and Blue! (And, regarding the sign over the door... we trust this ship is now on course.) Today we are talking about where we were when we witnessed the historic inauguration (see today's story column). Please join in, in the comments box!

le serment (sair-mahn) noun, masculine
    1. oath
    2. pledge

la prestation de serment = taking the oath, the inauguration
prêter serment = to take an oath; to be sworn in

 

Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French word "serment" and read the examples: Download Serment Download Serment

"La Prestation de Serment"

Here in France our family listened, by car radio, to the inauguration of America's 44th president. We were en route to an R&B concert (Chris Brown) in Marseilles, when we heard Senator Barack Obama prêter serment.*

Listening to the oath was a challenge from the start, as every time Obama said a word, the voice of French translation arose... and garbled it! This posed a dilemma: whether to concentrate on the version originale*... or the French echo that quickly obliterated it. Just when I resolved to listen to the version française,* in piped the President again, overriding the French!

Adding to the confusion were the pint-size political commentators in the back seat. (Particularly amusing to our kids, were the seconds in between the Presidential changeover. When the clock struck 6 p.m. here in France (12:00 in Washington, DC), Max announced that the United States was now sans président. "Attention aux coups!" he warned.

"Shhh! Listen, they're about to swear in the vice president, I replied.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est un "vice president" Max wanted to know.
"Un vice president..." Jean-Marc began, thoughtfully....
"Shhh! Let's listen!" I said.

We had reached the outskirts of Avignon when Obama began his pledge:
"Je jure solennellement..."*

...only, the kids queries continued!

"Est-ce que Obama aime la France?" Jackie wanted to know.
"Oui, Obama aime la France," Jean-Marc assured her.
With that, I issued a reminder: "Please! I would like to hear the oath!"

I had just missed the English, but caught the tail end of the French translation, where Obama promised to do "tout ce qui est en mon pouvoir pour préserver, protéger et défendre la Constitution des Etats-Unis".*

With that, cheering could be heard from across the Atlantic, thanks to modern technology (our trusty radio).

"Maman, you now have two presidents!" Max pointed out, referring to (and including) our French President Nicolas Sarkozy.
"Yes, that's right... now please, let's listen!"

Obama's speech had already begun, but I would hear only fragments of it--no thanks to the political babbling, which continued from the backseat.

"Papa, est-ce que t'as jamais voté pour quelqu'un qui n'a pas gagné?"*
Jean-Marc cited the 1988 French presidential election in which Jacques Chirac lost.

"Please! I am trying to understand what the President is saying!" I persisted.

As Jean-Marc, Max, and Jackie, along with Barack--and that motor-mouth French interpreter--competed for attention, I felt myself begin to snap and it only took one more question (this, from my daughter) for my hands to fly up into the air and my mouth to fly open along with them.  "GAAAAHD!" I thundered.

Silence fell over the car, but for the screaming shame emanating from the passenger's seat.

With my family shocked silent, President Obama's words could now, effectively, be heard. Only now, he seemed to talk directly to my family, reminding us of values such as "...the force of our example..." and "the tempering qualities of HUMILITY and RESTRAINT."

The president's words washed over me, turning me around in an abrupt "about face" with my daughter. Now reaching to the backseat of the car, I was about to witness how a child's example of forgiveness would bring to life our President's words about truth and character:

"I am sorry, Jackie," I apologized. To my outreached hand, my daughter offered her own, unreservedly. Her next gesture took me by surprise. She lifted my hand, high up, and kissed it!

Like that, in her generous way, my daughter had offered more than forgiveness: she showed unwavering faith and respect. Even more, her actions underlined an underlying theme in Obama's speech: humility.

***
Mr. President, I missed parts of your message. But I heard it when you said that, by our actions the world will know us, not by our words. So I am no longer worried about the words that I have missed, for I have seen the spirit of your message written across my own humbled hand, delivered there by the sweet lips of a child.

P.S.: Mr. President, Jackie would like you to know that France likes you too!


***
Where were you when you heard Barack Obama take oath? What parts of his speech spoke to you the most? Share your thoughts in the comments box.

 

Comments, corrections, and stories of your own--always welcome in the comments box. Merci!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
prêté serment = took oath; la version (f) originale = original language or version; la version (f) française = French language version; Attention aux coups! = watch out for (any) attacks!; Je jure solennellement... = I solemnly swear"; ...tout ce qui est en mon pouvoir pour préserver, protéger et défendre la Constitution des Etats-Unis = ...to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States; Papa, est-ce que t'as jamais voté pour quelqu'un qui n'a pas gagné? = Dad, have you ever voted for someone who (eventually) did not win?

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~PS~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My daughter has been teaching me from the day she arrived--at the maternity ward in Aix-en-Provence... Read about that, and learn some of those lessons, here in this book:

Words in a French Life: Lessons in Love...