French Word-A-Day

How to say "it's a no-no" in French?

"If these chairs could talk" Photo taken after last year's wine harvest... when we stole away to the restful southern coast of Corsica. When Chief Grape isn't picking grapes... he's busy looking for wine importers and distributors. Check out his Danish distributor, here!

 ça ne se fait pas (saah-neuh-seuh-fay-pah)

    : it's a no-no

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Audio File & Example Sentence
Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce this sentence: Download MP3 or Wav file

Hé toutou! Faire pipi dans le bac à fleurs chez le fleuriste ça ne se fait pas! Hey dog! Tinkling in the florist's flower box is a no-no! 

 

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

Little Acts of Mischief

I sometimes think of her when I find myself trying to control my surroundings, every other instant of the day. 

I remember the seeming command she had over herself, if not her immediate environment. Beautiful in a flowy sundress and high-heeled sandals, her caramel-colored hair was twisted up off her delicate épaules, which were level despite the bumpy ground beneath her. 

She had a funny dog. I think it was a Jack Russell. I watched it trot along the cobbled trottoir there in the seaside town, perched high over the Mediterranean. As the woman and the dog advanced, so did a gaggle of eyes....

The looks the woman garnered were a mixture of admiration and amusement (l'amusement, for the dog did its best to temper the woman's graceful presence as she floated down the sidewalk unaware of her sidekick's antics).

Whether sniffing the policeman's socks or lifting its short leg beside a florist's flower box!... the terrier's little acts of mischief went entirely unnoticed by its mistress, sparing her from la comédie in which she was unwittingly starring.

The three wrinkled men on the municipal bench watched, as did the stylish dress shop owner, whose head was craned so far out of the shop... she might have dropped. The British family at the café lowered their menus for wee look-see—as did I, yes-sir-ee!

What a lovely serene smile the woman had, one the dog mirrored... as it whizzed on the boulanger's Welcome mat. 

Hidden behind a rack of cartes postales, I watched the perfectly-put-together lady and her take-it-all-apart cohort. Each enjoyed a leisurely stroll thanks to what the pretty one did not know....

 

***

This story is dedicated to my dear friend Stacy, at Sweet Life Farm, in Applegate Oregon—in loving memory of Sweet Pea—who had nothing in common with the mischievous protagonist in today's story, aside from her terrier lineage.

Comments Corner
Corrections, comments, and stories of your own are welcome here, in the comments box. Thanks in advance!

 

French Vocabulary

une épaule = shoulder

le trottoir = sidewalk

la comédie = comedy, act

le boulanger = baker

la carte postale = postcard

 

Postcard rack in the town of Bonifacio, Corsica.

One of our favorite vineyard visitors, Rohan, with Smokey (left) and Mama Braise.

Rohan and his family have participated in a couple of our winetastings 

Rohan's dad, Jens, his mom, Vanita, and your hosts, Kristin and Jean-Marc. (These photos were taken a year or two ago.)

Let's meet! Come on over... but please reserve first :-)
The next meet up here at our vineyard is on Thursday April 26th... and we have a some special guests coming... can you guess who they might be?

Leave me a message in the comments box to reserve your seat beneath the Mulberry tree. We hope to see you at the next... or a future... wine-tasting!

Meet-ups Calendar:

April 26th at 4pm
May 1st at 4pm
May 8th at 4pm
May 16th... more dates to come! 

***

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impudeur

Just a goofy tale at the beach (in Bandol!) for you today... and a little rush, which happens while trying to write on a deadline! Thanks for overlooking some of the "missing things" in this edition, not the least of which my husband's pants!!!

New: Find our wines in the Netherlands ! 

impudeur (im-poo-der)

    : immodesty

(Sound file and example sentence will return on Wednesday. Sorry!)

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

Lying face down on the beach, on top of my raincoat, I am wearing jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, sunglasses, a hat, and a thick layer of sunscreen for protection. The woman down the way may be sporting a bikini, but that is no reason, I decide, for me to feel awkward or self conscious. Après tout, it is mid April and most of the people on the beach are fully dressed, enjoying a midday picnic.

Because I can no longer tolerate the sun, I decide to enjoy the pebbly view in front of me, beneath my shadow. In addition to the smooth cailloux, the beach is host to a zillion other fascinating sea remnants including little "brushy" bits (one could make a darling broom for a doll), beer caps (not so darling), pearly-bottomed shells, dried seaweed, tiny crab claws, sea glass, and driftwood, or bois flotté. 

My eyes lock on a small piece of bleached bois, one that is smooth and shapely. A collection of the wooden sticks would look neat in a tall glass vase, wouldn't it? I begin hunting for another baton de bois, using the first one as a model. It turns out that this particular size (smaller than a french fry, with a nob here or there) is rare... and it becomes a challenge to locate another. I give up, returning two sticks to the ground.

Next, I see a beautiful green pebble with spots! The color seems rare... I begin hunting for another, to test the theory. It takes some searching, but soon my efforts pay off and there, in the palm of my hand is a modest collection of 7 jade-colored pebbles ranging in size from "split-pea" to "no bigger than a dried navy bean". I picture that tall glass vase, only this time it is filled with the precious pebbles. It will take many trips to the beach to fill it!

As I stare admiringly into my green palm, a moral dilemma presents itself. I begin to wonder: what if everyone on the beach has the same inkling... to gather bits of pretty things? Suddenly, in my mind's eye, there are no more shapely sticks of driftwood, no more verre de mer, or jade-colored cailloux...

Would my 7-pebbled pillage disrupt this natural setting?  

Before I can feel any more criminal—or any more suspicious (no wonder I couldn't find any more of those lovely sticks—someone else beat me to it!) my husband appears, putting an end to the current philosophical conundrum.... and in so doing, introducing another one! 

How, I wonder, did Jean-Marc manage to change into his bathing suit? Last I knew he was fully dressed (his swim trunks were in the sack beside me).... Because we were sitting on coats (no towels to use for the "wrap-and-switch", in which one can manage to pull on one's swimsuit whilst wearing a "modesty towel" around the waist), there was no explanation.

The mystery quickly solves itself when, oblivious to the crowd, my husband begins to change out of his swim trunks en plein air!  (Actually, he is doing this seated, as if altitude has anything to do with discretion!)

"Jean-Marc! You can't do that here! Oh-my-gosh. Oh-my-gosh!"

"Oh my gauche? or oh my droit?" my husband laughs. I almost miss his joke, so busy am I dying of embarrassment. 

I don't dare look left or right, for fear that all eyes are on us! When there is nothing left to do but laisser faire, I squeeze my own eyes shut and endure the "cultural" moment. Yes, that is all it is after all, isn't it? A matter of culture. 

Regarding the feared or imagined gawkers (was the beach crowd watching?), The Paris Metro Rule swiftly came to mind. The Paris Metro Rule that states Thou shalt not stare at a fellow passenger!

Granted, these were not passengers, but beach bums... who were hopefully more rule-abiding than you or I when riding the subway—hopefully they weren't peeking!

 

Le Coin Commentaires
Comments, corrections, and stories of your own are welcome here, in the comments box. You might also share your observations of those "immodest French moments"... or answer the question: how many treasure can one take home from the beach (are 7 pebbles too many? Your thoughts here, in the comments box.

 

French Vocabulary 

après tout = after all

le caillou = stone, pebble

le bois flotté = driftwood

le bâton de bois = stick of wood

le verre de mer = sea glass

en plein air = outside (in nature)

le gauche = left

le droit = right

laisser faire = to let be

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Chief Grape. The only one to swim in the sea yesterday... at a Calanque in Bandol. Also, congrats Jean-Marc for your new wine distributors in the Netherlands ! 

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le frisson

A black-and-white photo for a change and some frissons in today's edition. (Picture taken five years ago in Brignoles, during a moody balade with Mama Jules, who was trying to wean herself off cigarettes (or Nicorette, or both...). Me: Look, Mom! A bookstore. Mom: Grrrrh! The bookworm could not be distracted, not even by books or art supplies!) 

le frisson (frih-sohn)

    : shiver; shudder, thrill

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Audio File: Listen to Jean-Marc: Download MP3 or Wav file

Je me demande si, comme moi, elle ressent des frissons en écoutant cette chanson?
I wonder if, like me, she has chills listening to this song. 

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

As I drive my daughter to her friend's to stay the week, I try to put aside any feelings of sadness or annoyance or frustration. Just what am I feeling as she sits beside me--dans un monde à elle?

At once plugged in and tuned out, she is hearing the music but not hearing me. Not that I am talking.

No, I don't want to start nagging or manipulating. I don't want to say "Why do you put on earphones when you get into the car?" (nag) or "If only you would make an effort..."

Je prends sur moi. I cannot control my daughter but I can control my feelings. As I let go, I look over to the young lady beside me.

Her wheat-colored hair is now shoulder-length. I notice how the new cut, a "carré", makes her look 18... four years older. She is not wearing too much make-up. She does look lovely. She is a lovely young lady—even with earphones and wires sticking out of her ears.

I look past Jackie to the fluorescent yellow field that is speeding beside her, beyond the window. The colza is in bloom! 

"Look!" I say, unable to control excitement. 

"Quoi?" comes the deadpan response.

Too late. We've driven past the magnificent blooming field. Tant pis.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

"Nothing..."

I feel my daughter's irritation and my own prickly feelings are back.

It is a two-hour drive from our house in the Vaucluse to the friend's house in the Le Gard. I am borrowing my husband's car so that I can "profiter" from the GPS... only the onboard navigator does not seem to be working. Instead of a bold line indicating the chemin, there are many bold lines indicating many chemins. I begin to voice my frustration.

"Follow the road signs," Jackie suggests.

I know her down-to-earth suggestion is a reasonable one, but I've suddenly lost faith in non-technology. 

My daughter takes off her earphones and connects her iPod to the stereo unit (how she's found the connection is beyond me. I still can't figure out where the station dial is—make that the button. Everything seems to have a button in this pushy new world).

"Ça t'embête?" Jackie asks. No, it doesn't bother me that she wants to connect her mp to the dashboard. At least we can listen to the music together—the added advantage being that I now have a live navigator:

"Follow that sign..." Jackie says.

"Thanks..."

"Straight on now..."

"Merci, ma fille!"I say, in my best impression of John Wayne-comes-to-France: May-YER-see-maah-FEE-YUH!

My girl laughs and the life inside of her is my joy... for a precious second. She returns to her technical world, lavishing all of her attention to one of two metal-and-wire devices: her iPod or her mobile phone, where she is busy texting friends.

When the song "One Cup of Coffee" comes on, I enjoy belting it out:

One cup of coffee, then I'll go...
One cup of coffee, then I'll go...

My daughter perks up. "Do you like Reggae?" 

"It's not my favorite, but I don't mind a little of it."

Jackie laughs, only, once again our connection short-circuits... one of us is back to texting, the other is looking out the window wondering what this world is coming to? And where, amidst all of these wires and wireless connections will we meet again, my daughter and I?

 "Tiens, you'll like this one," Jackie offers, unexpectedly.

As I hear the familiar lyrics, goosebumps begin to rise... Suddenly my skin is electrified. The first four words are delivered so slowly—yet my emotions burst open:

If—I—should—stay...
I would only be in your way
So I'll go, but I know
I'll think of you every step of the way

I begin to wonder what the French word is for these goosebumps and if my daughter is feeling them too? Does she understand the words, wishes that I wish for her?

I hope life treats you kind
And I hope you have all you've dreamed of
And I wish to you joy and happiness
But above all this I wish you love

"Là, elle va se gaver." Jackie warns me that Whitney is about to drive it home...

And I will always love you
I will always love you 

Jackie and I listen to eternal truth as delivered by the late Whitney Houston, whose words transcend the virtual or technical world, they are on our skin and somewhere beneath, or within.

I have an urge to know whether or not my daughter is feeling these truths, as I am feeling them (I've got to know: does she feel goosebumps too?), only I do not want to bore her with sentimentality. I've got to let go, to live and let live—to let the generation gap do its thing as it did for the generations before me. We are just an ordinary mother and daughter facing an ordinary gap...

...and yet, something extraordinary is about to bridge that gap.... a universal truth—one that it is encapsulated inside each and every goosebump, or frisson. Only in order for her to know that truth—she's got to feel it.

And just as grace would have it, I am spared of questioning my daughter... for her next remark is proof that Love is the universal truth governing every lively cell in her body:

"Maman," Jackie looks over at me."Est-ce que tu as des frissons aussi?"

 ***
 Comments Corner
Comments, corrections, and stories of your own are welcome here, in the comments box.
. 

 

                         When she was little... and I was big in her eyes.

dans un monde à elle = in a world of her own

je prends sur moi = I'll get a grip on myself

un carré = blunt cut, a bob

quoi? = what?

tant pis = too bad

qu'est-ce que c'est = what's is it

profiter = to take advantage of

le chemin = road, way

ça t'embête? = does this bother you?

merci ma fille = thanks my girl

tiens = here

là, elle va se gaver = there she's going to give it her all

Est-ce que tu as des frissons aussi? = Mom, do you have goosebumps too?

 

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If you would like to visit us here at our vineyard, simply reserve your seat beneath the Mulberry tree! Leave a message in the comments box and I'll get back to you. Here are the next meet-ups:

April Meet-ups

Tuesday, 17th at 4 pm

Tuesday, 24th at 4 pm

Thursday, 26th, at 4 pm (with special guests Gus Ellison and the lovely Paulette)

 

May Tastings:

Tuesday the 1st at 4pm

 (more meet-ups to come. Stay tuned!)

Meantime, you might enjoy this reader-submitted guide:

What to do in Aix-en-Provence? Click here to read or add suggestions.

You'll also enjoy Lynne Alderson's blog - Aixcentric. 

 

• Follow these French language updates on Twitter
• Learn French easily in context: read Kristin's vocabulary-rich memoirs: Words in a French Life and Blossoming in Provence 

Please forward this edition to a friend.