A barrique of French flowers for you today... from the wine-making town of Rasteau.
barrique (ba-rheek) noun, feminine
: barrel, cask (wine-making)
Three Tempting Reasons to join Cinéma Vérité today:
1. 15 feel-good photos of Giens, the peninsula & postcard village near Hyères 2. a short, stinging, slice-of-life scene from this morning, here at the wine farm 3. nudity* .
* Then again, if you would rather watch a video on "How to Make a Wine Barrel," suit yourself (one follows, below). But if you would love--LOVE!--to see the movie trailer from the new film with Cécile de France--in French--then don't miss today's Cinéma Vérité edition! You will not regret being a member & recipient of this weekly photo jubilee. Trust me! You will also have access to all 12 photo galleries, a few language videos, two home movies, and more! Click here to sign up.
Cinéma Vérité members: please click on the link in the "Merci Beaucoup" message (sent to you after your sign-up) to view today's movie excerpt and photo gallery.
And now for that va-va-voom video on Wine Barrel Fabrication: .
My fourteen-year-old fiston* on the beach in Giens. He's eating "un sandwich baguette". Learn about another kind of baguette (en bois*), in today's story column. More family photos
and a slew of snapshots from the seaside village of Giens, in
tomorrow's Cinéma Vérité. Don't miss it!
mauvais perdant (moh-vay pair-dahn)
: sore loser
(feminine: une mauvaise perdante [moh-vayz pair-dahnt)
Audio File & Example Sentence: Listen to my daughter, Jackie, pronounce the following French words: Download MP3or Download Mauvais perdant Battu, il fut aussi mauvais perdant que ses adversaires étaient de piètres gagnants. (Help translate this quote? Click here to share your interpretation.)
It
is half-past seven in the evening. My stomach is rumbling, my head is a
basket of butterflies, and I am wondering about what to cook for
dinner... when my son walks into the room.
"On joue?"* Max offers.
A fun French mom might respond "Allez, chiche!"*; instead, a famished mom's eyes drop to the wooden box in her son's hands. Oh, no. C'est unjeu d'adresse*. I do not feel up to a game of skill, given these pre-dinner jitters and this fluttering brain.
That my son seems to find me a worthy opponent has me re-prioritizing. Hunger will have to hang on.
I look at the rectangular box of sticks and wonder what the rules are and will they be complicated? The name* on the box looks Japanese. So much for instructions! My stomach rumbles and my head spins.
"These colored bands," Max explains, pointing to the painted sticks, or baguettes, "correspond to the Samouraï bâton* and are worth ten points, and this one, un Mandarin, is worth 5...."
Oh no--points!--and more foreign terms... "Okay, okay. J'ai compris. Allons-y!"*
I have never liked games, ever since my Bridge*-busting, card-slinging grandmother-on-the-rocks called me a mauvaise perdante.* "Don't be such a poor sport!"
She'd complain, under gin and tonic breath. The satisfaction on her
face from winning another round of Go Fish, Slapjack, or, appropriately, Old Maid, was hard to miss. I gave up cards and
signed up for a real sport: Little League Baseball. Cleats
replaced cards, as I became pitcher for the Yankees, outfield for the
A's -- and, oh! -- if those weren't the good ol' winning days!
"So, what do we do next?" I ask Max. I sit on the floor, facing my opponent, legs tucked into a "pretzel" as I watch my son drop une poignée* of sticks. Dozens of spaghetti-thin batons fall to the floor in one chaotic heap.
Max explains the simple rules: "Tu dois déplacer une de ces baguettes sans déranger les autres."*
I stare at the tangled tas.* Every stick seems "stuck" to another. I am to pick up one of these sticks without disturbing the others?
"But
that's impossible!" I point out, and my stomach growls in accord. "It's
late. Why don't we eat dinner first?" Seeing the disappointed look on
my son's face, it occurs to me that hunger will have to hang on, and
on... just like those baguettes -- all three or four dozen of them.
"Just how does one pick up a stick without disturbing another?"
"With patience," Max encourages. "Patience?"
And
I, the impatient outfielder am awestruck -- by a young Frenchman who
runs circles around me, philosophically, having hit another balle of wisdom out of the ball park. And he didn't even have to change sports, as others have tried, in order to find his stride.
(End)
* * *
(Encore) "Oh, I guess that one moved..." I say, sad to have to give up the newly-seized stick in my hand. "I didn't see anything..." Max assures. "The sticks didn't move?" "Like I said, I didn't see a thing...." "Oh... thanks. Thanks, Max!"
(Like that, I managed to pick-up 18 sticks. Max picked up almost double that, sans déranger le tas.)
* * *
Comment, send a correction--or share your own story here. Merci beaucoup! ~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary & References~~~~~~~~ le fiston (m) = son; en bois = in wood; on joue? = shall we play; allez, chiche! = Alright (Let's go), I'm game!; c'est un jeu d'adresse = it's a game of skill; name (of game) = (Max and I were playing "Mikado"); le bâton (m) = stick; J'ai compris. Allons-y = I've understood. Let's get going!; Bridge = the card game (also called "Bridge" in French => jouer au bridge = to play bridge); une mauvaise perdante = a sore loser; une poignée (f) = a fistful; Tu dois déplacer un de ces baguettes sans déranger les autres = you must move one of these sticks without upsetting the others; un tas (m) = heap, pile; la balle (f) = ball; sans déranger le tas = without upsetting the heap Quote reference: Le Bulletin Des Recherches Historiques By Société des études historiques (Québec, Québec), Archives du Québec
New! Three Random Words: un chasseur de têtes (m) = headhunter un ramasse-crottes (m) = pooper-scooper faisable (adj) = doable
Everyone needs affection. Read on, in today's story column. (photo: taken at Le Salinas (recommended!) restaurant, located along La Plage des Estagnets along the presqu'île (peninsula) of Giens, near Hyères (Var).
Audio File & Verb Conjugation: Download Wav file or Download MP3 je dorlote, tu dorlotes, il dorlote, nous dorlotons, vous dorlotez, ils dorlotent (p.p. = dorloté) .
The babe on the beach two towels down from mine has got it made. Made in the French shade.
"On met le chapeau?" Shall we put on our hat? her mother coos. "Un peu de crème?"* And a bit of sun cream, her grandmother fusses.
I turn to witness the scene: a doting duo dorlotent their darling de dix-huit mois.* In French that's called "le dorlotement".*
"Non!" The little girl protests. "Reste assise,"* the mom corrects. "Quelle chipie!"* grand-mère interjects.
Oh to be pampered, and in French! It is the best of both worlds: language and love.
"Tiens, bois un peu, Chérie,"* I watch as Maman reaches into her wicker panier,* produces a bottle of jus.* "Ahhh, ça fait du bien,"* mamie* sighs. "Après on va mettre les pieds dans l'eau. Allez, on y go!"*
Quelle chance* to be reared in France, fed on its language, fussed over en français... or fussed over, pont barre.* My own skin is burned and I am thirsty. I want to go into the water and feel refreshed--by so much doting, loving tenderness. Words, even in French, cannot convey our ongoing need for affection: for a gentle humanitarian hum, a caring caress. If we need this at the age of forty, how much more will we need this at eighty? And how much less will be available to us... and who will be there to administer it? "It", or "loving tenderness," le dorlotement if you like. And we all like, want, need.
I watch mother and daughter -- unmistakably related in their
fair & freckled skin, curls from heaven and lithe figure oh-so-trim. Between them,
a giggly, jiggly Gaul is handled like a precious china doll.
I
roll over onto my back, not without a creak--Aïe!*--and a grincement*. I'm no china doll, but break I could. I set my straw hat over my face, protectively,
and stare up through a scented wicker dome. Through the loose weave of my own chapeau, the sky is now several hundred blue
dots: it may be an impressionist painting, if I wish it so -- or a thousand doting eyes looking down on me, caringly. And the sounds of the waves clapping over the sand, the sea breeze caressing this skin, that's Mother Nature, there after all--humming, fussing, pampering--all the while holding our hands.
* * *
Thank you, Julie Turner, for responding to today's story with another. Julie writes, "It’s the touching story of a 104-year-old woman (Clarice "Classie" Morant) who was a primary
care-giver for her 92-year-old sister who suffered from Alzheimer’s
Disease." See this narrated story & photo gallery, from the Washington Post. Update: another must-read story, about Classie Morant. Please don't miss it! .
Comments, corrections--and stories of your own--are welcome and appreciated. Thank you sharing in the comments box.
~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ dix-huit mois =eighteen months; le dorlotement (m) = pampering; reste assise = don't move ("stay seated!"); quelle chipie! = what a little devil!; Tiens, bois un peu, Chérie = Here, have a bit to drink, Sweetie; le panier (m) = basket; le jus (m) = juice; ah, ça fait du bien = oh, that feels good; la mamie = granny, grandma; Après on va mettre les pieds dans l'eau. Allez, on y go! (Franglais) = After, we'll put our feet in the water. Come on, let's go!; quelle chance! (f) = what luck!; point barre = period; aïe! = ouch!; le grincement (m) = squeeking, creaking
.
"Ulysse" the Great Dane
Don't miss some photos from our family album (including "The Kiss!"...)
-- and over a dozen images from Giens -- in this Saturday's Cinéma Vérité.
Three Random Words: la panosse (f) = floorcloth => passer la panosse = to mop the floor le monticule (m) = hillock, mound; heap la papille (f) = papilla => les papilles gustatives = taste buds
