" I just got out of a bad friendship, I'm not sure I'm ready for anything serious yet..." This was the sentiment pounding through my brain at my son's hockey game the other day as a few of the other moms struck up a conversation, and later invited me for dinner next week. I accepted, of course. But now I'm panicking. Did I mention that these lovely ladies are all french and only one can speak english. On the other hand, maybe I'd be a better friend in french, anyway. Maybe they will excuse my oftentimes outspoken opinions as a quaint anglo-ism, my booming voice will show me to be passionate rather than rambunctious, and my thousands of seemingly inane questions, refreshing....on the the hand, I may clam up and remain mute, staring desperately at the front door, and smiling impishly inappropriately at their children all night long.
Dwelling over a lost friendship has prevented me from enjoying new experiences. Who knew a friendship gone awry would be so time-consuming? Maybe it's because there are so few people willing to put up with my idiosyncrasies and neurosis and I'm just so darn grateful to those who do? Or more likely, I've managed to use the demise of this friendship as yet another excuse to avoid taking some chances, mainly continuing this blog and learning french. Heck, if you ask my husband he may even remember the times I used my sour mood as a way to get out of dishes and laundry too!
But that (throat-clearing sound to appear here, drawing attention to the french word being thrown around, oh so casually) cliche about doors closing allowing others to open may well apply here, and I welcome the chance to explore all things french (such as new friendships), rather than the french baguette and french fries I have been drowning my sorrows in lately. I have been here for 9 years now (though I have been known to cowardly round this down to a few months) and am ready to ouvrez une nouvelle porte!
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Faking it.
Meg Ryan rocked it. 32% of Cosmo Readers admit to it. Interestingly, 12% of Esquire readers are doing it. And so do I . Just not in french, I've discovered.
Faking it is convincing your teacher, (preferably male) that you must be excused from class because of some vague physical condition. If possible, use the word vagina. This will always work.
I fake that I like thunderstorms, my phony giggles as frantic as the thunder crashing overhead, so great is my fear of passing this weird phobia onto my children.
I know parents who fake-"bathroom-break", just to have a few quiet moments to themselves. I've tried it, it really is precious.
I also know my fake-ness limitations. These are things I absolutely cannot fake. They include (but are not limited to): driving stickshift, my repulsion of stew, sewing, and any interest/abilities in all things sporty. Case in point: I once, very earnestly, referred to the people who come out to watch a sporting event as the audience ( the correct term, my fellow coach potatoes, is spectators, or fans. Never ever audience). Btw, this conversation was between me and my sister-in-law, an Olympic athlete.
Since I am so honest with myself about the things I can fake (yes, I too, am troubled with this statement), I was surprised to discover that you can't (well, I can't), fake my way french.
Pretending to understand what the hairdresser would like to do with my hair was an embarrassing lesson of this:
Me: Um, patatre (btw, correct pronunciation would have been peut-etre) juste une petite coupe de cheveaux aujourd-hui, juste comme ca (holding onto maybe a 1/4 inch of hair).
Hairdresser, gently lifting hair up and away from face: oui, oui, .......garble garble, garble
Me (nervously flattening hair back down again): pas de beacoup coup, juste une petit, petit petit (said three times for clarity) coup s'il vous plait, Madame).
This continues for a while, with a few other stylists coming over to help the consultation. They all look so earnest, so contemplative. I hear words (I think) like pretty, face, cute, layers, flattering being thrown around, and I slowly begin to nod, agreeing enthusiastically with them, caught up with all the attention. Finally:
Hairdresser: ok, we begin ( I am now, I imagine, understanding french)
At this point, I am handed a glass of wine, pinot noir I am guessing, to celebrate. I relax, picturing the nouvelle moi. I try not to get nervous with all the hair gently falling into my wine. I try to blink away the tears as my forehead becomes increasingly exposed.
Hairdresser: ok, C'est fini (and back to reality where I acknowledge that I really don't understand french at all)
Let's just say that baby bangs and a round freckled face do not ever belong in the same sentence or image, regardless of the language they are spoken of in.
Faking it is convincing your teacher, (preferably male) that you must be excused from class because of some vague physical condition. If possible, use the word vagina. This will always work.
I fake that I like thunderstorms, my phony giggles as frantic as the thunder crashing overhead, so great is my fear of passing this weird phobia onto my children.
I know parents who fake-"bathroom-break", just to have a few quiet moments to themselves. I've tried it, it really is precious.
I also know my fake-ness limitations. These are things I absolutely cannot fake. They include (but are not limited to): driving stickshift, my repulsion of stew, sewing, and any interest/abilities in all things sporty. Case in point: I once, very earnestly, referred to the people who come out to watch a sporting event as the audience ( the correct term, my fellow coach potatoes, is spectators, or fans. Never ever audience). Btw, this conversation was between me and my sister-in-law, an Olympic athlete.
Since I am so honest with myself about the things I can fake (yes, I too, am troubled with this statement), I was surprised to discover that you can't (well, I can't), fake my way french.
Pretending to understand what the hairdresser would like to do with my hair was an embarrassing lesson of this:
Me: Um, patatre (btw, correct pronunciation would have been peut-etre) juste une petite coupe de cheveaux aujourd-hui, juste comme ca (holding onto maybe a 1/4 inch of hair).
Hairdresser, gently lifting hair up and away from face: oui, oui, .......garble garble, garble
Me (nervously flattening hair back down again): pas de beacoup coup, juste une petit, petit petit (said three times for clarity) coup s'il vous plait, Madame).
This continues for a while, with a few other stylists coming over to help the consultation. They all look so earnest, so contemplative. I hear words (I think) like pretty, face, cute, layers, flattering being thrown around, and I slowly begin to nod, agreeing enthusiastically with them, caught up with all the attention. Finally:
Hairdresser: ok, we begin ( I am now, I imagine, understanding french)
At this point, I am handed a glass of wine, pinot noir I am guessing, to celebrate. I relax, picturing the nouvelle moi. I try not to get nervous with all the hair gently falling into my wine. I try to blink away the tears as my forehead becomes increasingly exposed.
Hairdresser: ok, C'est fini (and back to reality where I acknowledge that I really don't understand french at all)
Let's just say that baby bangs and a round freckled face do not ever belong in the same sentence or image, regardless of the language they are spoken of in.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Talk is cheap....
So today was a good french day for me. A rating is based on whether I avoid having a conversation in french all together (bad) or if I make the effort (good). Talking, especially for someone like me, shouldn't be this complicated. Here's the thing: in english, I talk way too much, way too fast, and according to many, way too loud. In french, I don't talk enough. And when I do, it's whispered, stuttered, sputtered and includes as many hand gestures as possible. I tell people I have rosacea, but really I just blush a whole lot.
It's like I'm "The two voices of CeeCee" (um, this is a reference to the movie, The three faces of Eve).
To be fair, it isn't just the language deficiency that turns me into a schizophrenic speaker. To steal a line from an incredibly cheesy (but wonderfully watchable) film, Somethings Gotta Give, some people make me a better person. I have a few friends, and just being with them, whether in person or on the phone, bring out the most honest, interesting, articulate me. These are the ones that question what I say, are interested enough to engage, and more importantly, have something to offer (teach) me. My oldest ever friend once accused me of being weirdly judgemental. And she was right, I am. So, it's nice to know she cares enough to criticise.
On the other hand, being in the company of a different type of person, and I become different . I fight for words, analyze their intended impact, reject them and am left speechless, frustrated. I wonder what the other person will make of me and all is lost. Sounds maudlin, I know, but there it is....
So, umm, there's no moral here. Just that writing this, with only an imaginary audience, is a whole lot easier than I thought it would be. Wish I could approach my french conversation skills with the same lack of inhibitions too.
It's like I'm "The two voices of CeeCee" (um, this is a reference to the movie, The three faces of Eve).
To be fair, it isn't just the language deficiency that turns me into a schizophrenic speaker. To steal a line from an incredibly cheesy (but wonderfully watchable) film, Somethings Gotta Give, some people make me a better person. I have a few friends, and just being with them, whether in person or on the phone, bring out the most honest, interesting, articulate me. These are the ones that question what I say, are interested enough to engage, and more importantly, have something to offer (teach) me. My oldest ever friend once accused me of being weirdly judgemental. And she was right, I am. So, it's nice to know she cares enough to criticise.
On the other hand, being in the company of a different type of person, and I become different . I fight for words, analyze their intended impact, reject them and am left speechless, frustrated. I wonder what the other person will make of me and all is lost. Sounds maudlin, I know, but there it is....
So, umm, there's no moral here. Just that writing this, with only an imaginary audience, is a whole lot easier than I thought it would be. Wish I could approach my french conversation skills with the same lack of inhibitions too.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
"Is Billy Idol just doing a bad Elvis pout, or was he born that way?" Freddy Mercury
The french with their pouts. Wow.
Nothing can transform a look, an expression, the tone of a conversation more. The same way that the British accent makes everything sound so correct and official, nothing says sex appeal like a french pout. And I want one.
(Un)luckily for me, I have this irritating chameleon-like habit of (poorly!) imitating the person I am speaking too. 3 hours into my last NYC trip and I was telling the barrista dat even da cawfee tastes betta in New Yauk. There go my out & abouts. So, when I moved to Quebec I just assumed now that I have a french address, I would purchase a tube of Russian Red MAC lipstick, walk out of the department store, and Voila!, I would have the pout. Not so much....one source tells me it is a developed pout, that the better my pronouciation, the better the pout and that in the meantime, she not unkindly suggested, I may want to avoid faking it, at least in public. I've considerd botox injections but I don't really get what happens to your lipskin (is that a word) once the effects wear off. I have enough sagging elsewhere.....well, I'm stuck on this creepy lipskin word now, thanks to my adult ADD, and need to google it....a bientot!
Nothing can transform a look, an expression, the tone of a conversation more. The same way that the British accent makes everything sound so correct and official, nothing says sex appeal like a french pout. And I want one.
(Un)luckily for me, I have this irritating chameleon-like habit of (poorly!) imitating the person I am speaking too. 3 hours into my last NYC trip and I was telling the barrista dat even da cawfee tastes betta in New Yauk. There go my out & abouts. So, when I moved to Quebec I just assumed now that I have a french address, I would purchase a tube of Russian Red MAC lipstick, walk out of the department store, and Voila!, I would have the pout. Not so much....one source tells me it is a developed pout, that the better my pronouciation, the better the pout and that in the meantime, she not unkindly suggested, I may want to avoid faking it, at least in public. I've considerd botox injections but I don't really get what happens to your lipskin (is that a word) once the effects wear off. I have enough sagging elsewhere.....well, I'm stuck on this creepy lipskin word now, thanks to my adult ADD, and need to google it....a bientot!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
menage a trois and other fun stuff....
Mother Nature has no intention of allowing me to learn french. For now. It's just another beautiful day, the sun shining bright, the pool beckoning with its tempting slide and perfect-acqua reflection. Feeling torn, I realized (or rationalized, whatever) that I am already ahead of the learning curve. I already know soooooo, sooooo, soooo much french and I didn't even know it. So, for today, I will compile a working list of words, phrases even(!) that I've been using all along:
escargot: started eating at age 9, just ask my mom, it's one of her favorite look-how-cultured-my-children-are- stories.....the story ended with me refusing to eat it as an adult, but still...
excuse-moi: a polite french phrase used to say excuse me, and more importantly, one easy to pronounce, I haven't been able to use it with a shred of sincerity. This one was never, ever used without a heavy dripping of sarcasm. I've been known to turn my cart around in the grocery store and come back down the other way to avoid using this phrase to pass by.
chauffeur: wishing I had one.
enfant terrible: glad not to have one.
poseur: Me in the '80's. And half of the '90's. Picture Siouxsie and the banshees meets Sylvia Plath meets Sixteen Candles. Not a great mix.
saute: Word I frequently use to describe any food I prepare, I find it gives the impression of something worthwhile (aka: french) being made.
soupe de jour: What said dish above normally turns into, with a healthy heaping of butter, parmesan and salt to disguise aroma of any charred remains.
a la mode: anything with ice cream, preferably vanilla....um, not sure this is accurate but one of most used french phrases.
menage a trois: Ok. I've never actually used this expression and sadly, no one has ever used it on me. But it is probably the most sought-after french expression (or experience). Combine it (sincerly) with above phrase (a la mode), and you've got yourself one truly french encounter, I'm guessing.
au revoir!
escargot: started eating at age 9, just ask my mom, it's one of her favorite look-how-cultured-my-children-are- stories.....the story ended with me refusing to eat it as an adult, but still...
excuse-moi: a polite french phrase used to say excuse me, and more importantly, one easy to pronounce, I haven't been able to use it with a shred of sincerity. This one was never, ever used without a heavy dripping of sarcasm. I've been known to turn my cart around in the grocery store and come back down the other way to avoid using this phrase to pass by.
chauffeur: wishing I had one.
enfant terrible: glad not to have one.
poseur: Me in the '80's. And half of the '90's. Picture Siouxsie and the banshees meets Sylvia Plath meets Sixteen Candles. Not a great mix.
saute: Word I frequently use to describe any food I prepare, I find it gives the impression of something worthwhile (aka: french) being made.
soupe de jour: What said dish above normally turns into, with a healthy heaping of butter, parmesan and salt to disguise aroma of any charred remains.
a la mode: anything with ice cream, preferably vanilla....um, not sure this is accurate but one of most used french phrases.
menage a trois: Ok. I've never actually used this expression and sadly, no one has ever used it on me. But it is probably the most sought-after french expression (or experience). Combine it (sincerly) with above phrase (a la mode), and you've got yourself one truly french encounter, I'm guessing.
au revoir!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Procrastinateur
Day One went fine. It was hot and sunny and we went swimming and I did some gardening. So, ok, I forgot about the learning french stuff but that's what today is for. I'v decided to make a list of ideas about the best way to learn french and then try some of these strategies out:
Take a course, preferably immersion
Listen to french radio (Radio-Canada)
watch childrens programming in french
shop in french
Eat at a french restaurant and not order the token chicken dish
Spend the day in Montreal
Some pretty good, useful sounding options here. I will finish with my morning latte, hereafter referred to as a cafe au lait, and continue this blog later. Bonne matin!!
btw, I was hoping the french word for procrastinator would sound less procrastinator-y. New challenge: find french words that don't at all resemble their english counterpart.
Take a course, preferably immersion
Listen to french radio (Radio-Canada)
watch childrens programming in french
shop in french
Eat at a french restaurant and not order the token chicken dish
Spend the day in Montreal
Some pretty good, useful sounding options here. I will finish with my morning latte, hereafter referred to as a cafe au lait, and continue this blog later. Bonne matin!!
btw, I was hoping the french word for procrastinator would sound less procrastinator-y. New challenge: find french words that don't at all resemble their english counterpart.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
your derriere...
I can't really call this post Day One because it is more like Year Nine, Day One. That's how long ago I moved to a beautiful french-speaking town in the monteregie, Quebec. Did I mention I'm from Toronto where we don't speak french? People here know it, I make sure they do. It's less embarrassing and I use it as an excuse for not speaking french. Or at least I did the first 8-12 months of my arrival. And it was acceptable, to both me and the storeclerks and the hairdressers and the teachers. But somehow, nine years has crept up and I've barely mastered my merci and ca va. So the challenge of this blog, more on this later, is to FINALLY learn french, or at least, learn enough of it to keep up with my children.
So, that's partially where the name of this blog came from. If I am going to keep a blog about learning french, I have to figure out where the french characters on this keyboard are. That will be my challenge for Year Nine, Day One. The other one will be to convince myself that I can do this. My husband refuses my explanation that I just don't have an ear for the language. I will leave you with this example and let you decide for yourself:
Since I've been here, I do try to throw around my limited (and garbled) french whenever I can and it's appropriate. I am great at my merci but less great at your welcome. I always used bienvenue but noticed most others used a word, though I've heard a million times now, I wasn't familiar with. So, one day at the hairdressers, I tried it out. She thanked me for my payment, I turned and said (with a smile) derriere! Note to self: study hard the differences (most notably the pronunciation) between following two words:
you're welcome: de rien
buttocks: derriere
So, that's partially where the name of this blog came from. If I am going to keep a blog about learning french, I have to figure out where the french characters on this keyboard are. That will be my challenge for Year Nine, Day One. The other one will be to convince myself that I can do this. My husband refuses my explanation that I just don't have an ear for the language. I will leave you with this example and let you decide for yourself:
Since I've been here, I do try to throw around my limited (and garbled) french whenever I can and it's appropriate. I am great at my merci but less great at your welcome. I always used bienvenue but noticed most others used a word, though I've heard a million times now, I wasn't familiar with. So, one day at the hairdressers, I tried it out. She thanked me for my payment, I turned and said (with a smile) derriere! Note to self: study hard the differences (most notably the pronunciation) between following two words:
you're welcome: de rien
buttocks: derriere
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