Félicitations to our Max, who begins un stage, or internship, in Reims, for the champagne house Lanson. Go back with me, today, to his very first job at the age of 3: teaching his mom how to correctly pronounce French! Read on in today's story, below.
Today's word: la ceinture de sécurité
: seat belt
Some of you enjoyed viewing the vocabulary list before the story, so we'll use this format once again today! (The audio file follows, below).
complet = full
une place = a spot (parking place)
Elle est complètement dingue! = She is absolutely nuts!
pompes funèbres (fpl) = funeral home
c'est sale = it's dirty
la crotte = droppings
la ceinture = seatbelt
Ah, bon? = Oh, really?
voilà, maman = there you have it, mommy
A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE
by Kristi Espinasse
Go back in time with me now, if you will, to the historic town of St. Maximin, where visitors from all over the world come to see the purported relics of Mary Magdalene (behind a thick glass encasement in the town's basilica).
The year is 1998 and the tree-lined parking lot in front of our centuries-old village home is complet. All fourteen parking spaces have been claimed. I am about to make one Frenchman's day by freeing une place—just as soon as I can wrestle my one- and three-year-olds into their car seats!
While I fasten Jackie's seatbelt, Max hums, pulls at my hair, or points to the pigeons in the dilapidated square. Beneath the campanile, which hasn't announced the hour in years, Madame A is scattering baguette crumbs again. If she keeps this up, there will be more birds in this village than beret-sporting Frenchmen! Maybe that's her plan?
I hear a familiar voice and I look up, past the car seat, to see Monsieur B, my other neighbor, shaking his head. "Elle est complètement dingue!" he mumbles, shaking his head at our neighbor. Perched there on the curb in front of les pompes funèbres, Monsieur looks as old as Mary Magdalene.
Monsieur B hates it when Madame feeds the pigeons. "C'est sale!" he complains, pointing to the crotte-lined curb. I sidestep the pigeon droppings on my way around the car. Time to buckle in Max, now that his sister is secure in her car seat.
"Mommy's going to put YOUR ceinture on now," I explain. Max stops humming and releases another lock of my hair. His eyes leave the pigeons to refocus on my still-pursed lips. Next, his little voice insists, "SEN-tewr, maman! SEN-tewr!"
Ah, bon? It seems I am mispronouncing again. I see my son point to my lips as he opens his own mouth to demonstrate the correct sound.
The car behind me begins to honk. I signal un instant to the impatient driver, who is still waiting for our parking spot. Turning back to my son, I repeat the word as my three-year-old has instructed.
"SEN... SEN-tewr..." Yes! I now hear the difference: SEN—like century, and not SAHN, like sonnet.
"Voilà, maman!" the little voice confirms.
With that, Max resumes his humming, I run around the car (past the other driver, who flails his arms in exasperation), Madame A tosses more breadcrumbs, Monsieur B shakes his head, and the pigeons continue to populate the village square as life goes on in the little French town of St. Maximin.
Audio File: Listen to a then 8-year-old, Jackie, pronounce this sentence:
Maman, j'ai attaché ma ceinture. Mommy, I've attached my seat belt. Download ceinture3.wav
faire ceinture = to have to go without
se serrer la ceinture = to tighten one's belt, to go without
un coup au-dessous de la ceinture = a blow below the belt
la ceinture de sauvetage = life preserver
la ceinture de parachute = parachute harness
la ceinture de sécurité = seat belt
la ceinture marron, noire = brown, black belt (karate)
Picture of our former village house on Rue Kléber in St Maximin. We lived there in 1997, when Jackie was born and Max was two-and-a-half. Above the front door, you see a window. Behind it, a desk where I first logged onto the internet. I happened upon a blog journal, "The Daily Alex," by a woman who chronicled her life with two young children. What a great idea! I thought, admiring the writer's discipline in documenting the moments in her childrens' lives. I wish I'd started blogging then and there, but I waited several more years, and in 2002 this blog was born. Our kids were 5 and 7 at the time, and though I have not gotten every milestone down on blog paper, the entries remind me of colorful moments I might have otherwise forgotten.
The village square in front of our old home. I could see this pastel "brochette" of homes from our window.
One last picture, snapped a minute ago by Jackie, who turns 21 next month. Time to hit publish and send out today's post....
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For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a Sobriety