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Please excuse the temporary change in format. Your editor is feeling very much like a rebel *without* a cause today. (And, Mom, if you are reading this, don't be too mad about my swiping your unfinished painting (see below). I didn't have any other "hooker" photos on file (after my computer crashed last March, remember?) to illustrate today's journal entry. Note: ALL of my mom's paintings are for sale because of the Swine Flu fiasco in her adopted country of Mexico. (Mom's husband has been out of work for several months now! Pray for him and her). Bon, while I'm on a roll now--writing down things that I shouldn't normally speak of--let's see, what else can I share... How about a brothel story?
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"Le lupanar" is a synonym for bordel French. Another synonym is "maison de tolérance" (house of tolerance) and the humor is not lost on me as I go about putting together this unexpected edition...
Lupanar... loop... loopy... it is how my brain feels after over-thinking the subject of animal procreation--and ethics--this, after an unexpected response to Wednesday's story column ("tryst"). Against (or following?) my own animal instincts, I offer the following "micro missive".
A Day in a French Life...
We are shipping Braise off to a brothel in Marseilles this morning (room, board, and amour in exchange for one case of Côte du Rhône rouge*). That's right, wine for would-be chiots*--evidence that troc* is alive and well in modern France!
I was going to write a story about our dog's unlikely** journey to motherhood... until some unexpected courier arrived in my inbox, this, in response to a recent journal entry.
And now, in a strange reversal of roles, it is *I* who have performance anxiety.
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PS: The economy is bad everywhere. The Madame in Marseilles (who runs the brothel I mentioned) tells me they're down to one client: Sailor Sam (the seven-year-old Golden Retriever who happens to be a perfect match for our Braise). Wish 'em luck.
Note: I realize today's vignette might be more maladroit than funny. Comic relief (if only for myself) was my intention. When writing an on-line journal, sharing one's personal life is often a hit-or-miss operation. What's important is to aim with the heart.
Thanks again for tuning in to life here at the vineyard. It is a dream come true to share it with you. I wish never to offend--or to step on anyone's toes--only to capture and share French life... as it ebbs, as it flows.
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Comments, corrections--and stories of your own are still, and always, welcome!
**Braise's unlikely (journey to motherhood) : Normally, Braise would have been spayed (if I'd have had my way). Note: any further contrarious commentary should be directed to Monsieur Espinasse. (Merci beaucoup! But please go gentle on him... he's still healing from an épaule luxée. Oh, what a week it's been!)
"Stripteaseuse" a painting by my mom, Jules. To inquire about a painting, contact my Mom via Facebook (search for "Jules Greer").
What could be more delightful than a French town named "Orange"? Photos of a French town called Orange. Don't miss at least 15 pictures in tomorrow's Cinéma Vérité.
Three Random Words:
un épulche-légumes (m) = vegetable (potato) peeler
une olivette (f) = plum tomato
un pressoir (m) = wine press
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