"Zig" and "Zag" a couple of gypsy chicks (...or "pintades") that live up the street. I mentioned them in Saturday's Cinéma Vérité, and showed a few other "characters" from my neighborhood including one Don Juan of a swan.
bougeotte (boo-zhowt) noun, feminine
wanderlust; itchy feetavoir la bougeotte = to have ants in one's pants, to be always on the move
French definition : envie de voir le monde - a desire to see the world
Example sentence from French news*:
Aujourd'hui, Robert Piché a toujours la bougeotte mais il voyage en sage aventurier. Today Robert Piché still has wanderlust, but he travels as a wise adventurer.
*"Le tour du monde - Commandant Piché : les racines du ciel," Le Devoir
Audio File: hear the French word "bougeotte" and the example sentence: Download Bougeotte Wave . Download Bougeotte MP3
Speaking Better French: The Key Words and Expressions that You'll Need Every Day
A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse
The enigma surrounding my mother is beginning to dissipate. It began with her response to a question I posed in a recent post: "Tell us your goals". Mom's were to:
Hit the road, whether in a Porche or on a donkey, find out what lies around that next mountain!
There could not have been a truer statement and, in a nutshell, that is my Mom: 99 percent wanderlust, one percent rooted to the ground. As I read my own mother's comment among a dozen others, I think about Mom's husbands.
All four of them, if they read Mom's answer, would surely be shaking their heads at the day a young bride ran away: whether on foot, by car, by plane... or by Mexican ponga. She hasn't stopped "running" since, and she's never caught up with "that next mountain." My mom, I am beginning to realize, is a gypsy at heart... which might explain why my childhood home came with wheels.
There in our single-wide trailer, I observed my mom and her "enigmaties" (so as not to say "eccentricities"); beyond the exotic exterior, deep inside her beautiful heart, basking in the twilight of mystery, was the golden seed. A French gypsy had unwittingly sowed it there, on fertile ten-year-old "soul", setting my Mom and, by design, me on a wayward and wonderful journey.
Today I invite you to enjoy part two of Mom's story. (Read part one here.)
53 years later; as I recline around a lovely French table in the heart of Provence, memories of my first encounter with the French color my thoughts as I inhale the aroma of spring deep in the Rhone Valley.
(note: Jules is missing from this picture... busy taking the photo from afar!)
I am seated with a bunch of Kristi's French relatives by marriage - my mind fading in and out of the scene - unable to follow their lively conversation. I reminisce once again of my first encounter with JOSEPHINE - the first and only Frenchwoman who took up her brush and painted my future on the rainbows of dreams. Of course she was a GYPSY!!!
My ears perked up and they were filled with this strange and melodious sing-song chatter....what on earth was this? At ten years old and in 1956 (pre-t.v. and coming from the mountains of northern Utah) I was ignorant of France and the most beautiful language in the world.
I hope you have enjoyed my Mom's stories. If you would like to respond to them, please do so here, in the comments box. Merci d'avance!
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