French Word-A-Day

tarpin!

Random photo... and nothing to do with the BIG FAVOR I want to ask you--except to butter you up. (Will pastry butter do the trick?) I've just joined Goodreads, a site where bookworms hang out and share what they're reading. I invite you to connect with me there and (here's the favor part) add my books to your "want to read" list--but only if you really want to read them! And thanks if you've done so already, helping to highlight the books' existence in a crowded sea of reads. Mille mercis!

Mas la Monaque - Rent this beautifully restored 17-century farm. Click here for photos

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tarpin   (tar-pahn)

    : very, so, too (i.e. very kind, so kind, too kind)

 Elle est tarpin sympa! She's so nice!

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A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

I'll start this series of mini-anecdotes with  a word learned from my 15-year-old:

Tarpin!
I read somewhere recently that teens are growing weary of Facebook. It looks like my days of gleaning French vocab from my daughter's FB timeline are numbered... meantime, enjoy these:

1. tarpin! It's a regional (southern) word and a synonym for "very"--i.e.  Elle est tarpin a-d-o-r-a-b-l-e! (She's so adorable!)
2. peuchère is defined here
3. mdr = mort de rire (French equivalent of LOL, or laugh out loud) 

Go Like This
For those of you who envy our relationship, you should know that Mom and I do get on each other's nerves. My controlling side grates on her (i.e. "Mom, how many cups of coffee have you had this morning?" and "You can't ask that stranger for a cigarette! Where's your Nicorette? What's that? You've stuck it on the rim of your wineglass so that you could eat your crème brûlée? But you can't do that with your gum at a restaurant!).

As for me, I get flustered by Mom's fussing....

"Go like this!" Mom says, scratching the side of her mouth. I reach up to swipe another crumb off my face.

"Go like this," Mom says, this time pointing to her front tooth. It seems I've got tapenade stuck between mine.

"Go like this," Mom motions, running her fingers through her hair.

"Mom!" I object. "Laisse moi tranquille!" 

"I think it's an ant, Honey. Let me get it for you."

And on I go, slapping my head, swatting my cheeks, and brushing my finger across my teeth. 

(Does your Mom do this? Or your wife?)


Timber!
 After Mom missed her flight to Mexico (Yea! won another precious day together), she gladly volunteered to help Jean-Marc prune a great almond tree in the garden, taking the opportunity to teach him some English (the lively exclamation Timber!) Only, it was another word that flew out of Jean-Marc's mouth as a giant branch came rushing down--sideswiping my husband, who landed--with the branch--on the ground. As he cursed the diable for another dislocated shoulder (his 5th!), it was now our time to learn some French. Putain de MEEEERRRRDDDDDE!

Rushing JM to ER, I steered clear of a sensitive topic (bricolage or DIY hazards). JM seemed grateful for my silence and didn't dare whimper during the bumpy ride to the ER--no matter how painful it is to luxer son épaule!

 
Cruisin'
Max passed his driver's exam and now I'm sharing my car with our 18-year-old!  One kid's freedom is a parent's limitation and I will need to keep a closer eye on my schedule or end up stranded at home when I really need to be at the centre d'équitation, to pick up my daughter from her riding lesson!

Sun-lounger (or "lawnchair," as we say back home)
Here's the photo I forgot to post in the chaise-longue edition, causing some confusion ("Weren't chaises-longues the kind of chairs where you could put up your feet?" you say (and not like the chair featured in the opening photo"?). Yes indeed:



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Join me on Twitter for the latest, such as this morning's update: Sweetpeas for breakfast--plucked straight from vine that climbs dog pen. Hope Smokey didn't have sweet "pees" before I showed up to harvest....

(Now to get a photo of those sugar snap peas, or mangetouts--and quit confusing you with photos that don't match the subject!)

 

"Fascinators" (and I thought they were called "pin hats"). By the way, all those stylish pin hat fascinator-wearers have nothing on Smokey, who managed to balance his trilby on the side of his head, like an English duchess.

In books: Paris-Chien: Adventures of an Ex-Pat Dog 


To leave one of those photo "thought bubbles" for Smokey, click here and share it in the comments box.

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How to say lawn chair in French

 
Has a friend forwarded you this French word journal? Sign yourself up for the free newsletter and never miss a word or photo. Photo of front porch, where Mom and I will soon have coffee. The wind blew off the makeshift curtain (an attempt to shade the area at lunchtime...)

Villa Royale apartment in Monaco. Large studio with beautiful sea views in the residential district of Bea

la chaise-longue (shez- lowng)

    : lawn chair 

Elle est dans le jardin, en train de lire sur sa chaise-longue. She's in the garden, reading on her lawn chair. 

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A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

"I could hear you girls giggling all night long!"  Mom called out.

I looked up from the flower bed, where I had been experimenting with an ice plant (could one really stick a griffe de sorcière in the ground.. and it would grow?). "Good morning Mom!" I chirped, waving the experimental cutting.

A second-story window framed my mom and the morning sun dazzled her eyes, which sparkled with life. She had her silver hair tied back and her olive complexion was as fresh as the morning dew that covered the plants beneath me. I could tell Mom was full of energy today. Perhaps we could do something special to mark this, her second-to-last day in France before returning home to Mexico?

"Come have your tea with me?" I stood up, shook the dirt from my hands and pointed to the picnic table. 

Mom was down in a flash and we were reliving the previous evening, in which I had the pleasure of spending time with Ann and Katia, a writer and a beloved podcaster. I rarely have the occasion to speak in person with people who do similar work to my own, and it was interesting to talk about the highs and lows of creative work.

Mom loved my friends and I assured her that they found her just as endearing. "I'm sorry I talked too much..." Mom apologized, as we took our cups of tea and walked from the front porch to the meadow, below, to have a look at all the plants among the olive trees. 

"Don't worry about it!" I said, feeling a little ashamed for having elbowed Mom the night before. Having realized she was three-quarters of the way through her life story, I wondered: had Mom gotten to the part where she was rescued? Strapped onto a lawn chair and lowered onto a Mexican panga boat to be transferred from the remote fishing village to a city hospital? Ironically, that would be the beginning of her nightmare.).

I was sorry to have been disrespectful to my Mom and regretted my words from the night before (along with a few other things I'd said during her four week visit to France). And now Mom would be leaving soon. Had we said and done all we had wished to say and do?

"I just want to lie here in the garden," Mom said, "here under this olive tree. I'll go get the other lawn chair."

"Stay there! I'll get it for you!" I dashed off, past the wild fennel and the bright red poppies, to the terrain de pétanque--where those "witches fingernails" I'd been transplanting grew--and snatched up the chaise longue.

We arranged the lawn chairs along the slope, until we were looking up at one of the ancient olive trees. "I'd like this one to be mine," Mom suggested. "Could you put my name on it?"

It was a lovely idea. I could then sit by the tree and think of Mom while she was an ocean away....

"Look over there," I said, pointing to a figuier I'd discovered the day before. The little fig tree (really a series of shoots from an ancient trunk) had been completely overrun by an invasive bush. The night before, I'd gotten the long-handled shears and freed it of its leafy invador and could now admire it from where Mom and I were sitting. "OK, I said, this one is Jules! And do you know what I've named the little fig tree?"

Mom's eyes were bright with curiosity. 

"Newton!"

We sat there laughing beneath the olive tree, remembering yesteryear--before one of us moved to Mexico and the other to France. Back when we shared tall glasses of milk and those favorite fig-filled cookies.

"Fig Newtons..." Mom said, reminiscent.

"I'll call him "Newey" for short." I winked at my mom, who smiled as we gazed at our trees, affectionately. 

As the wind blew through the trees' branches, causing the leaves to rustle, our conversation carried on, lackadaisically. I no longer hoped we were making the most of our time, but knew that this cozy moment was the yesteryear of tomorrow--as comforting and sweet as those fig-filled cookies.

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Making memories with Mom. After Mom befriended this guy, she handed me the ball to play.






Don't tell Smokey and Braise... We'll bring them the next time!


Tidying up the house before tidying up ourselves... and heading out to explore another seaside town...


Mom, "la capitaine", at the port in La Ciotat. I think it's time to name Mom's fish purse à la Mr Sacks. Suggestions welcome in the comments box!


At the seaside market in La Ciotat, I bought a jujube tree and a few other natives to plant in our garden, beside the Mediterranean strawberry tree, or arbusier. What are some other local trees and fruit-bearing shrubs that you would suggest? Meantime, Mom and I are busy trying to identify more than trees... but all of the edible weeds and medicinal plants here in the olive field or meadow: plantain, fumeterre, fennel, lucerne, chardon de marie, pissenlit... and heaps of thyme and rosemary.


I'm going to miss you so much, Mom. Come back soon! And thank you for being my sweet maman. While her adoring husband is waiting for her back in Mexico, help me wish Mom bon voyage, here in the comments box.

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bavarder

Hello faithful readers--and a warm bonjour to those who have recently signed up to this free word journal. This blog usually goes out three times a week, but we are on a new schedule since the arrival of my mom. For the past three weeks Mom and I have been digging in the garden, enjoying walks by the seaside... braiding wild rosemary through our hair... and making plans for the future--while reminding each other to "be here now" in the present moment, or l'ici et maintenant. (Photos at the end of this post.)




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Keeping, now, to the theme of this blog--language learning--today's update is to tell you about a wonderful new educational tool brought to you by my friend Lynn, who has written today's column, below. Lynn McBride of the Southern Fried French blog has a new eBook out this week:  How to Learn a New Language with a Used Brain  (at Amazon.com, and available at other Amazon sites). It’s a short eBook for students of any language who want an update on the best techniques for learning, plus reviews of the latest online or traditional resources, and tips from and teachers and other students.  Lynn would like to invite all French-Word-A-Day readers to join the virtual book release party over at Southern Fried French - just after you read her How to Chit-Chat in French tips, below....

France and Monaco Rentals: short-term holiday rental properties throughout France and Monaco. Photos here.

 

bavarder, (bah var day)
 

    :to chat, chatter, blab

Learning to Chit-Chat in French... by Lynn McBride

Here’s a common dilemma for French learners, maybe it’s happened to you. You brush up on your grammar and vocabulary  and you’re feeling pretty good about your spoken French. Then you encounter a real live French person. Oops! They talk BACK! And expect you to understand them!

Typically the hardest part of language study is to find enough opportunities to bavarder with a native. And to do what all students of French at any level need to do over and over in order to learn: get out there and make mistakes!

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We expats know a lot about that. Take, for example, my British friend Pete who meant to ask at the hardware store for 10 meters of chêne (oak), but instead asked for 10 meters of chien (dog). Then there was the time I needed 3 kilos of salmon for a big party (6.6 pounds) and instead asked Monsieur le poissonierfor 3 kilometres of salmon (1.6  MILES). “Madame,” he said, “just what sort of party are you having?”
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Learning to actually converse is the main reason most of us study a language. So what’s an armchair Anglo to do? In researching my book, How to Learn a New Language with a Used Brain, I found lots of new options for talking with NATIVE speakers, which is the very best way to learn.

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My favorite solution is one you may know about: Join the Alliance Française. They have chapters in cities all over the world, and they offer language lessons, conversation groups, and social events with native speakers. Americans can also go to to Meetup.com, where you can look for a French conversation group in your area, or easily start one. The French department at your local university is a great place to find native speaking tutors or conversation groups.

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Remember when you were a kid and had a pen pal? You can now have a French pen pal, in a whole new way.  Same concept, but you use Skype, Facetime, email, live chat, or the phone to bavarder. You will be both teacher and student; the French speakers want to learn English, so you alternate languages. My Language Exchange is an example of a site where you can find partners. View their photos, read their stories, and pick a partner who interests you. I’ve got many more such sites listed in my book, plus reviews of packaged programs that feature all kids of interactive learning on the internet.

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The coolest idea for live talking practice is one that’s taking France and England by a storm, and I hope it will come to the states. It’s called Franglish, and it uses the “speed dating” model for language learning. Franglish events are held regularly at cafés or bars.  You sit down with a French person and chat in French 7 minutes, then in English for 7 minutes, then you rotate to a new partner.  What fun! If you’re traveling to Europe and want to try it, be sure to book in advance.  And I hope you’ll check out my new book, which has MANY more ideas for you on learning French as an adult, from beginners on up to advanced students.  Bon courage, and I hope to see you at the book release party!
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PS  If you have any famous language bloopers, please add them to the COMMENTS today, to make us all feel a little better about our own! Click here to comment.

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Thanks, Lynn, for this fun and helpful post on chatting in French. Reading your book How to Learn a New Language with a Used Brain was a wonderful refreshment for me. After writing about French words for ten years, I sometimes experience the "shoemaker's children syndrome" wherein my own French is lacking while I'm teaching others vocabulary! I would highly recommend your book to anyone wanting to recapture the fun and excitement of language learning. Best wishes to you on this, your book launch day! --Kristin

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A favorite photo of my Mom, who I'll have the chance to spend French Mother's Day with, on Sunday!


Are you noticing a "cape" theme? That's because my Mom yearns to fly....


 Uncle Jacques came over to help clear the olive orchard of its felled branches. It was a massive two-day job. After, Jacques relaxed with Mom, enjoying photos of her home and her animals in Mexico.



Mom, making friends on the beach. To leave a comment, click here.

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peuchère or What Not to Say to a Disabled Person

I'm having the time of my life with my wonderful mom! I love this innocent, serendipitous photo with Mom and her little fish purse. The sign says: "You are at the right place. Look no further." Vous êtes au bon endroit. Ne cherchez plus. 

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peuchère (peuh-sher)

    : poor dear, poor thing

Peuchère is a Provençal expression of sympathy, used to indicate compassion for someone: Peuchère elle doit avoir mal au dos! Poor thing. Her back must ache!

Peuchère may also rank among the top Ten Things Not to Say to A Disabled Person. Can you list some others? Comment... or read on in the following story.

Mas la Monaque - Rent this beautifully restored 17-century farm

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

I was standing in the supermarket checkout line with my daughter when I saw a man approach in a motorized cart. A familiar dilemma returned: did I offer him my place in line--or risk making the man feel pitied?

Over the years I have struggled with the subject--ever since watching a man in a wheelchair open the door of his car (driver's side). A friend and I were across the street when we noticed the wheelchair-to-car transition--only each of us had a completely different reaction.

My instinct was to wait and see how the transition unfolded. If the man needed help, we could then offer it. But my friend fumed. "WHY ISN'T ANYONE HELPING HIM?" She shook her head angrily as she stood watching.

Her outrage made me feel ashamed. Had I not reacted fast enough? Would I have reacted in time? But I hadn't wanted the man to feel pitied. I hadn't been sure how to respond, I only knew I would be there if the man needed help. Meantime, the man managed to hike himself up into his car, taking with him the folded wheelchair. No assistance had been needed after all. But could the man's experience have been smoother had my friend and I intervened? Or might we have slowed or even put a snag in his familiar routine?

Fast forward ten years. Youtube. I happened upon a rant wherein a middle-aged man in a wheelchair complained about how people over-respond to his condition. "Can I get the door for you?" said the man (paralyzed from a bike accident), and the cynicism in his voice as he mimicked the modern-day good Samaritans made me even more uncertain of how to assist--or how NOT to assist--a disabled person. It seemed you were damned if you did, damned if you didn't.  But how to get past the poor them/poor me (all I wanted to do was help) syndrome in time to help out when needed?

Standing there in the checkout line I tried to be discreet while figuring out whether the man-on-wheels needed help. The answer came swiftly and easily when I looked up and noticed the sign depicting a pregnant lady. Aha! This was the caisse prioritaire line. It would be perfectly normal for me to offer my place in line without making the man feel pitied.  But the woman in front of me was about to fall into the same trap I had hoped to avoid.

"Peuchère!" she declared. "Il me fait de la peine!" she said, explaining why she had just given up her place in line, too. I wanted to shush her up so that the man wouldn't hear her "I feel so sorry for him!" remark... but who was I to shush another's expression of compassion? Her sympathy was sincere and mimicked my own sentiments as we watched the hard-of-hearing senior hand over his thread-bare change purse to the cashier so that the latter could fish out the somme due.

That's when we watched the cashier turn the purse upside down and shake it. Oh no! The man was 4 euros 36 cents short! Suddenly the "peuchère" woman went silent, opting to arrange and rearrange her pile of groceries along the tapis roulant. It didn't mean she was indifferent to the man's dilemma; she was probably doing what many do, French or otherwise: allowing the man privacy as he settled his finances.

But, given the purse's upturned state, it didn't seem likely that finances would settle on their own accord! I looked around nervously, and finally whispered to the woman ahead of me. "We ought to be able to rustle up the rest?"

The French weren't stingy, they just didn't seem to have the "pay it forward" reflex. "On doit pouvoir trouver ça," We've got to be able to come up with that," I hinted to the other customers in line. Next, I watched as wallets flew open and French fingers went to work riffling through the contents of their money purses. The collective reaction was so touching that I didn't notice, right off, how the contents of my own purse were as spare as those of the man we were trying to assist....

"Jackie!" I whispered, "do you have any change? I can't believe it," I said, searching through my wallet, "I don't have enough!" And there I'd gone suggesting that "we" pay the difference! Only, as things were, I'd given the job of debt-paying to the others in line! No matter how many times I rooted through the change purse, all I could come up with were pennies. The ten euros I'd been searching for was in my jeans pocket... back at home!

"No worries," the woman in front of me said. "I think I've got it!" I watched as she handed over enough coins to pay off the man's modest debt. I noticed the relief and happiness on her face. Whereas she had initially frozen up allowing the man to deal with his dilemma in privacy, she now had unwittingly experienced the "Pay it Forward" principle--and the good feelings it brings to all involved! The movement was gaining ground in other countries, but I'd yet to see strangers paying for strangers in France.

I watched as the senior-on-wheels gazed up at his lovely benefactor. "You are an angel," he said to the woman. And by the way his face beamed with light you'd think he was the very same.

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To comment, click here. Or answer the question at the opening of this post: What are some things NOT to say to a disabled person? (i.e. "Count your blessings!" or "I know how you feel!")  Click here to leave a message.

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Mother and Son. Max was born 18-years-ago tomorrow in Marseilles! You'll find many stories of his childhood in the book Blossoming in Provence - Half-price when you buy the Kindle digital edition (you can download it on an iPad, too)! 

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bivouaquer

 

a couple of perruches, or parakeets, camped out in Sanary sur Mer

 

Villa Royale apartment in Monaco. Large studio with beautiful sea views in the residential district of Beausoleil overlooking Monte Carlo

 

Today's word is yet another example of how I learn English from the French... 

bivouaquer (bee-vwack-ay)

    : to bivouac

un bivouac = an improvised camp site. An individual sleeping shelter under the stars (or more often rain clouds) made out of natural materials or very rudimentary supplies. (from Wiki Answers)

Question ...but just what does "to bivouac" mean?
Answer: to make a temporary encampment somewhere.


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Audio File: Listen to Jean-Marc: Download MP3 or Wav file
Bivouaquer, c'est s'installer sommairement dans un lieu naturel pour y manger ou dormir.
Bivouaquer... it means to settle oneself simply (in minimalist conditions) into a natural environment and then to eat (picnic) or to sleep there.

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

I thought today's word had nothing to do with the goings on around here at the moment. My plan was to feature the word--overheard yesterday at a picnic--and then post a few unrelated photos from Mom's visit. (I've promised to take some time away from posting and email, in order to spend as much time with Mom as possible).

Only, when I went to look up the word "bivouac", I learned it is the same in English. Zut! That means I have to find another word to share... On the other hand, maybe I am not the only one unfamiliar with this funny word bivouaquer, a verb that is alive and well in France (I must have heard it half a dozen times, yesterday, as the French are already talking about vacation plans, which, for some, will include roughing it, ie, bivouaquer.

Meantime, life's not so rough for Mom at the moment. She is temporarily encamped--or en train de bivouaquer--in the room that was to be my office... (I've grown fond of this cozy corner of my bedroom and continue to write from here). Off to see what she is up to now....

Thank you for reading and for the encouraging and poignant comments you sent in, following last Friday's post. If there are slumps, doubts, victories, embarrassements, yearnings, and hi-falutin' aspirations in a writer's journey--your supportive comments even out the bumpy road, helping me to see the horizon in time to renew my commitment to simply settle down and write my heart out.

Amicalement,

Kristin 

To comment, click here. I leave you now with a few snapshots from Week One with Mom...

She made it--all the way from Mexico! Here is Mom's welcome party fan club. From left to right: 17-year-old Max, 4-year-old Smokey, Mom, Smokey's mom, Braise, and 15-year-old Jackie. I told Mom to get up off the paw-stained floor, but she was so happy to be surrounded by ALL her loved ones that she could have cared less about the dirt.

Some bivouac!  Mom loves her room, where she can see and hear all of the activity in the courtyard. At night she loves to watch the stars that twinkle over the Mediterranean Sea.


Mom's bags arrived 24 hours after she did. We shared my make-up and a chat before heading to Sanary sur Mer for lunch. That's Mama Braise, on the left. (A funny aside: Mom is wearing my red pajama pants. I wouldn't notice this until AFTER we finished lunch at the cafe and a stroll around Sanary. Her baggage arrived later that afternoon :-)

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It's fun to walk along the port in Sanary sur Mer, where all the historic fishing boats "les pointus" are lined up. Many of the wooden boats have signs displaying the historic characteristics of the modest vessels, some nearly 100 years old.


Mom's purse. It looks like Jean-Marc's humble side kick, Mr Sacks, has competition!


Time for a siesta. But first, enjoy the fancy ironwork on this campanile.

Me and Mom. "Just pretend it's my stand." Mom said, after a local artist offered Mom her seat for the photo. 

More photos coming soon. Meantime, I'm making the most of my time with Mom. This newsletter/blog may be a little sporadic in the coming weeks--as we slow down our day and celebrate. 

To comment, click here.

 

When you shop for any item at Amazon, using the following links, you help to support this free French journal. Merci beaucoup!

1. French-themed tote bag "Royale Louis No IV". Click here.
2. Listen to Carla Bruni's Little French Songs.  
3. Blossoming in Provence - a book of stories from this ten-year-old blog.