Merci Madame, Gracias Too

Living every day in a cocoon of French can get old. It is tempting to remove yourself, to be tired and frustrated by it. But that only creates a downward spiral into no French, no communication, loneliness and isolation.

Grocery store French just doesn't cut it anymore; isn't enough of a connection to people. And when you get out of practice, like on school holidays, it can seem even more difficult to break through and say what you want to say. As Michele always said, 'the more you know, the less you think you know'. And that's a good thing. Really. Because it makes you want to learn more, keep going, express yourself more fully.

It is also frustrating as hell.

I could carry on all day long with the basics. And I would sound like a five year-old. Something like, 'I like there....Sorry, I have tired today.....Too far away words in my head....It makes cold and I like not it.' You get the idea. I joke, but I wonder how I must sound to someone who really does speak French and how on earth they keep from laughing. Which they don't ever do.
They always happily encourage and nod and move me along the path of conversation, holding my hand.

It's usually just when you're feeling like closing your ears and mind to the language that someone helps you open them again.

And so it was for me last week at the Middlest's football practice. I felt closed off and stood at the fence watching and daydreaming, thinking how much I missed hearing English and how hard this is sometimes.

Just then an older woman walked by and caught my eye. She smiled at me and started talking. And as she spoke she touched me; on the arm, hand, patting her words into me. It made me feel warm. After a few sentences of somewhat understanding her, my brain did a flip...I realized she was not speaking just French, but Spanish too. I heard the Spanish lisp and the familiar d for r sound of 'mira'.
So, we carried on that way. Her doing most of the talking; moving effortlessly between French and Spanish, patting, smiling, warming me.

As she continued on her exercise circuit around the football pitch she hugged me, 'a bien tot', 'hasta luego'. Kindness emanating from her regardless of language.

It is times like this when I am thankful that I am open. I would miss out on so many gifts if I tunneled down and buried my head in self-pitying English.

Once at a meeting with Ma Fille's teacher she said something that struck a nerve, 'It can be like a prison for you not to understand or communicate.' And she is right. It can. Only I don't want to be imprisoned by my ignorance so I force myself out. Open. Bumbling and stumbling. No matter what.

One Word.....Cheese

I have to say it, shout it out, sing it to the heavens.....I LOVE RACLETTE! Oh yea, it's terribly stinky and probably not that good for you but boy is it fun to make and delicious too. We've had it the previous two Friday nights chez canadiene and I am hooked. So hooked that me and mon Mari bought our very own raclette grill yesterday afternoon. And now the raclette Friday night is on. There's no stopping us now!

To explain what it is and why I am waxing rhapsodical: raclette is cheese. Cheese that is very melty and stinky and that you can only find during the winter months. Mon Mari thinks it's akin to Velveeta because of all the melting but I'm not so sure. First of all, you have to keep it refrigerated. Second, it's a light white true cheese color rather than the garish seen-from-space yellow of our national melter. And that smell can't be man-made. It's cheese all the way....a savoyard cheese to be exact and it's called raclette because they used to heat it and then 'scrape' it onto the plate. When you type 'raclette' into google translate you get 'squeegee'. Makes sense. Squeeze cheese; but not from a can.

re-enacted raclette & grill photo; we were too greedy last night to bother with photos

How it works is this....it comes in square slices and what you do is get your special raclette grill with its little individual cheese melting pans bought for this season and this purpose alone. You know how the French do fondue and crepes, well it's the same thing. Another gadget to buy for the sole purpose of eating a meal. Tres French.

It's cozily communal because the grill sits in the middle of the table, a pot of cooked potatoes warming on the top, along with sauteed mushrooms and green peppers, onions if you like. You serve various meats alongside too, like salami and parma ham. And of course cornichons. I also like to add grainy mustard. Then you melt the cheese in the square pans and pour it on top of the potatoes, meat, pickles--whatever tickles your fancy. It slides out of the pan, bubbly like cheese on cheese toast straight from the broiler.

Last night, my family got very creative with it and started piling the little square pan with chopped up potato, pickles and mushrooms so the cheese would melt ON TOP of these things rather than waiting to pour the cheese all on its own onto the plate full of goodies. I prefer waiting and pouring but to each his own.

And now I'm craving it again. If you live here and have never tried it (like me until two weeks ago) you definitely should. And if you don't live here I'm real sorry. Maybe you can find something like it. Or come visit. And if not, you've always got nachos and queso with melty Velveeta. I do love that too.

Ewww, les Poux!

This afternoon when I collected the Littlest from the creche, this notice greeted  me:

Les POUX ATTAQUER les PAPILLIONS

Of course the Littlest is a butterfly so I paid attention. At first I thought it meant chicken pox....'poux' could be pox, right? And so I asked. 'What is les poux?' The answer still has my head twitching. Les poux is les lice. 'The lice attack the butterflies', so read the sign. 

Oh, dear. I rushed home and checked the soft blond hair of my own personal butterfly. He seems to be clean but I still can't stop itching. And examining his little head. I doused him with tea tree oil and gave him a good fine tooth comb-through. All's well here but oh, those other little butterflies! I think I'd prefer chicken pox.