Thirst-quenching in the village of Sainte Cécile-les-Vignes. To better view the trompe l'oeil on the back wall, click on this photo.
Please don't miss Evelyn's very thoughtful article, over at Musings from Red Bell Farm, on our Domaine Rouge-Bleu wine! (The first post is here. The second, here). Mille mercis, Evelyn!
désaltérant,e (day-zahl-tehr-ahn, day-zahl-ter-ahnt) adj
désaltérer (day-zahl-tehr-ay) verb
Audio File and Example sentence
Listen to my son, Max, pronounce these French words:
Download MP3 file for "Desalterant"
Ce thé-glacé m'a bien désaltéré.
This iced-tea really quenched my thirst.
A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse
A statement I often hear, on meeting, for the first time, readers of this online journal is: I feel like I know you already!
My reaction to this warm reception is (to use a freckle-faced expression from my southwest American childhood) this: far from feeling creeped out, I feel a sudden urge to pinch my arm: for this is the surreality of a writing dream come true.
Another thing I hear, from people who do not (necessarily...) read online journals, but who are just now discovering blogging, is "I just don't understand how someone can put their whole life out there for others to read..." This reflection is sometimes followed by a shiver of distaste.
Though the first assumption has me giddy with gratitude (thank you for regularly reading my journal!), this second assumption makes me want to roll my eyes, not that I am a roller-of-the-eyes kind of person. (Come to think of it, via so many words strung together in a line, I can be any kind of person, what with the luxury of fiction! Hélas,* I still haven't figured out how to tell a tall story... or one with all those "story arcs," plots, subplots... protagonists, antagonists, or acrobatics. I never did understand the vocabulary of professional writing.)
What you are reading here is, hopefully, the ordinary happenings of day-to-day life. Only, since this word journal went "thrice-weekly," in 2005, there is the need to sort and select, so that la plupart* (oh, now there's a fun French word!) yes, la plupart of this French life, once lived, goes poof--into the Provençal air--to forever be forgotten. I hate that part of plupart.
Case in point: having spent so much time today writing this behind-the-scenes billet,* I have failed to tell you about the day (last Thursday, in fact) that my son taught me to skip rocks (no small revelation: it was the day that I learned how to learn: via a combination of trust (believing my son when he said "Maman, c'est fastoche!"*) and absolute, unfaltering attention (while studying the precise back-n-forth whiplash movement of his 14-year-old wrist); these two learning ingredients would produce instant perception (I skipped a rock across the river on my first try!). One instant of attention--plus faith--and I would not have to read a 561 page manual on the dynamics, the physics, the logistics--or the black magic--involved in stone skipping. What freedom! What joy! Just listen to your growing boy.
There are so many more instances, innumerable, that I would like to record here and share with you. Only, like waves, they rush in, as life lived, only to quickly spread out along the shore, seeming to disappear... before easing back into the ocean of memory. I vow, now, to quit lamenting all that is left unrecorded--and the misunderstandings that sometime ensue--and trust that such souvenirs have found a fertile place to roam, outside this public journal, in the privacy of home, sweet home.
Postnote: "So what's with the word "désaltérant?" you might ask. "It doesn't seem to have anything to do with this story!"
Hmmm. You have a point there. Then again, it has everything to do with this story! It is an example of one of those "stories that got away". I had hoped to tell you about learning the word "désaltérant" (from my brother-in-law, who declared my home-brewed iced-tea a great thirst-quencher!), this, while lunching at our picnic table, where we chatted about sports (my being polite to him) and flowers (his being polite to me), and wine (our being polite to Jean-Marc). Voilà!
Comments, corrections--and stories of your own--are always welcome and appreciated in the comments box.
la plupart (des gens, des choses) (f) = most (people, things); le billet (m) = post, column, letter; Maman, c'est fastoche! = Mom, it's so easy!
Speaking about stories that got away... I also didn't get the chance to tell you about this guy. By the looks of its wing, you can tell there's quite a tale behind this picture (the result of my prying the poor proie out of the many arms of a very unhappy house spider. Click on image to enlarge it.
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