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January 31, 2008

Parenting 101


SO who knew!? After our 100th box of kleenex and our umpteenth purchase of handkerchiefs, we thought perhaps it was time to see a doctor about Oscar's alleged "allergies". While we knew it wasn't a cold any more, and he has gotten quite used to carrying three kerchiefs in his various pockets, we thought medical intervention was a long shot. The local doc said something akin to "mon-dieu" and sent us packing to an "allergeologe". He did the skin test and diagnosed our poor boy to a fleet of allergies; Dust, Dog & Cat it seems. I tried to pay him to include World War two movies, but he didn't understand, perhaps you don't either (Oscar can't get enough of YouTube war videos these days). Anyhow, the doctor also did a lung test and determined that he was getting about 75% of the oxygen he should be getting! *&!$!!#

He's on the mend now, the doctor gave him three perscriptions (because they always give three), and starting next month we begin a 3 year desensitization process which will involve a sublingual spray every morning, a Binaca Blast for the soon-to-be-ten set. He's incouraged that he might get to have a cat someday, and we got to use this as an excuse to wash his blankie and stuffed animals!

No one told us we had to be watching for this sort of thing! We make certain he wears a jacket when it's cold and eats vegetables with dinner. He knows what a napkin is for and brushes his teeth....by himself!.
So much for getting any parenting award this year!...
Maybe next year???
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January 20, 2008

Madame McBain




Madame McBain, as she is known here, has transformed herself into an ESL ambassador!

Oscar’s school finally took Pat up on her offer to volunteer at the school and asked her to do more than accompany the kids to the gym. This is her second year as one of two English teachers. She has two classes, 2nd and 3rd graders, and once a week she tries to cajole them into learning the names of fruits, the numbers, how to say hello and a few other English survival skills (“take me to your leader” and “keep your hands off my cheese”). She is enjoying the opportunity, perhaps more for the window into little French minds, than for the professorial calling. Not to mention the view into Oscar’s daily life outside our stone walls.

But the more interesting facet of Madame McBain is the continuing education. She has a following! There are 5 different students she is tutoring. From a 12 year old girl who reads English quite well but won’t speak in English class (Pat is working hard to make her less timid) a 40 year old stone mason, a local walnut farmer with global aspirations, a music producer representing Keren Ann and others, a real estate agent trying to expand her client base, and the occasional drop by student looking for practice. It’s impressive!

Pat has comfortably grown into her French language skills. She continues to study regularly, and has a habit of speaking French and English at the same time. At first I would point this out and remind her that she needed to speak French as she was speaking to a French person. But I have realized how well this roasted blend works; most French people have had something like 12 years of English instruction and understand the language very well. To the point where speaking English correctly communicates the point better than speaking French incorrectly, even if it is blended between the two, chances are they know the word. I am trying to emulate her franglish ways, it’s better than remaining silent all the time out of fear of French skills.

It’s fear that forms here, fear of misspeaking. Fear of telling a joke and having the punch line make no sense whatsoever. So, naturally I save my bad jokes for an English speaking audience or Pat, but she’s perhaps tiring of them and I need for that reason alone to continue to work on my French. It’s the fear that motivates the varied friends to drop in for their English classes as well. They can for the most part speak well enough, but afraid of embarrassing themselves they let us stumble along in French, embarrassing ourselves! We can speak French, and our friends can speak French to us , but they know that sometimes they have clients that will only speak English, so they come to gain confidence, to chat in English about recording contracts, or real estate transactions, or walnut sales….

At least Pat is doing our part to give back!

We have nothing to fear but fear itself…..right?
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January 9, 2008

Réveillon



Beginnings and Endings




New Years Eve is all about beginnings and endings…consequently…the French, if I can make such broad stereotypes, aren’t very good at either. They ended a monarchy by installing another, they gave away Louisiana and it’s adjoining 524 million acres, they (or their new president at least) supported GW at the dawn and the twilight of his reign, and in our new found experience they simply aren’t good at starting or stopping a party such as News Years Eve!

New Years Eve in France is just like everything else, the same and different. Same night, similar parties, more food oriented, and without a clear ending.

The idea seems to be “to party”, like at home, at a restaurant or at a friend’s house. The menus however, are as extravagant as possible. The more courses the better and the food as exotic as the local markets can supply. One course designed to outshine the previous and like an American Thanksgiving too many desserts to possibly be consumed, if even sampled. We arrived at a friend’s home to find a very fancy dining room table immaculately set with menus printed and place cards laid. In another corner was a prepared bar with multicolored bottles and a bucket of ice. But before any drinks were proffered, the ice had melted and we were parched. We have always been the type of hosts who lubricate their guests quickly. At our wedding back in 1995 (wow!) we put the bar by the front door and had served welcome cocktails that, by the time the bride appeared, led to raucous rancor, but I digress. For some reason at a French event the drinks wait….and wait…I need to ask about this. Perhaps the idea is to wait for the last guest to arrive before starting the party, or for 20 minutes to pass before you can go back into the pool, or perhaps to let your tongue warm to room temperature before it finds the wine? There is probably a reason, but to us impatient fast-food Americans it seems simply like awkward moments, waiting until the hosts remember they are supposed to offer a glass.






Finally, we have a glass and voila the fete has begun. The glass from here on out is never empty, bottles are seamlessly opened and poured, wines are never mixed and are seldom the same as we move across France from Pomerol to Bourgogne, back to Cahors and ending up somewhere sweet in a Sauterne. Lobsters, snails, cheeses, délices from all corners. There is no doubt that the French do the middles well. Once you are ensconced in a French meal there is seldom want for anything. The options abound, the flavors are precise and varied, and the quantities, unlike the myth, are copious indeed!

Once begun, the only thing ever lacking at a French meal is the end of the French meal.
Our New Years Eve began at 8pm, we got our first glimpse of the meal around 10, and it proceeded at an escargots pace from there on. Strangely and graciously, after one of the courses, we all moved back to the living room for a quick game of cards! We followed not really understanding what was happening, but were reassured by the printed menus and extra silverware that there would eventually be more food. Pat won the first hand, and then the cards were collected and put away and we returned to the table with something that resembled an appetite. I’m not certain if the evening flowed so much as the wine flowed and we followed. Eventually we made it through the menu like a checklist, nothing remained but the dessert. We had been asked to make a tiramisu, but to my surprise everyone else had been asked to make a dessert as well. So after samples of 4 desserts then out came the ice cream in case you still had a little bit of room, and of course the chocolates. By now it was well into 2008 and the kids were sugar-coated-zombies well into their third desserts.



The conflicts between the 3, 5 and 9 year olds were arriving ever more frequently, doors were being slammed, then locked, and we had played a few more card games. There was a confounding moment where everyone pulled out there cell phones and started calling and texting their absent friends and family, leaving Pat and I to chat amongst ourselves till all the missives had been sent (we couldn’t play as our phone had been left at home). This led to a heated debate about the merits of the i-phone and consumerism in this new year. Then there was a moment where all the men were huddled around the computer trying to select the best internet radio station while the women started threatening to start a dance party. This is where we finally started to make noises about leaving. Not certain how to make our exit, not wanting to be the first, not wanting to break up a party or insult the French in these first few hours of the newest year, but it was almost 3:30 in the morning. Somehow we managed to migrate towards the door, after another 15 minutes of kisses and wishes, we were sent into the cold with bottles of warm water to take the frost off of the windshields, and 7 minutes later we were fast asleep in our own beds dreaming of the distant memories of 2007.






Réveillon is very important to the French. Everyone has plans and the idea is to “party like it’s 1999”. The more elaborate the plans, the longer the menu, the later the hour, the greater the homage to the previous 364 days. The following weeks continue to reinforce the passing of the year with every greeting. In addition to the daily handshaking and kissing, there is a vigorous “bonne année” followed by “meilleurs voeux” and a “bonne santé” and something I still haven’t figured out but it sounds like ‘pair-o-maim’. The funny part is that you need to go through this special discourse once with absolutely everyone you know. If you don’t see them until mid January, then you need to have kept track and remember it then. If you make the mistake and say “best wishes” to someone twice, you’ll be reminded of the first time in a ‘don’t you remember?’ kind of way.

Who says they aren’t good at starting and stopping!? With the clarity of a pause to reflect, and the conversation about the importance of starting the year with a look deep into your eyes and an offered blessing of “good health, may your wishes for the new year be true and good” and two kisses!… I take it all back, it makes a deliberate transition, yet another thing the French are good at!


In case you want to read "Tongue and Cheek", another blog about French life, it is a splendidly written daily blog with excellent photos and acute observations about food, France, love and flea markets. I have corresponded with the American author and wish I could write as well as she does, or take pictures, or find the drive to blog as proficiently. But you must promise to always read ours first.
Click here for "Tongue and Cheek"

Click here for a little song and dance number from Pod and Sarkozy


SO, Happy new year, good health, and may your wishes for the new year be true and good.

POD


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