French Word-A-Day

apocope + favorite blogs on France

A child care center in Flayosc. Seems like yesterday that my son went to the crèche... read on in today's story column. Sign up a friend or family member to French Word-A-Day -- and enjoy some armchair travel à deux.

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une apocope (ah-poh-cowp)

    : the dropping of one or more syllables (or letters) at the end of a word

Ado, MacDo, frigo, véto, resto... the French seem to love abbreviation. This is not to say that others of us are not guilty of truncating terms: in English, for example, we say fridge... Can you help list more wee words or apocopic terms in French or in English? Click here.

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

Note: the following story was written in 2008, when Max was 13 years old. Our son turned 17 yesterday...
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There is something in the air around here and it smells like Adieu, like goodbye to a time and a place; fleeting and fading... like freckles on a child's face.

It has me dragging my legs to bed while the sun is still shining or putting too much symbolism into the shape of the odd cloud that floats by my bedroom window. The angst, though passagère, is palpable, present as a foreign fragrance in the air.

"Do you smell something rotting here?" I ask the boys while rooting around for the culprit, who I suspect is hiding in these kitchen drawers. I wonder about the strange scent: is it a rat's adieu that I am sensing? And yet...the mouse traps are empty....

Max and his friend, Jack, shake their heads, a bit disappointed to have missed a rotting-rodent sighting.

"No, there's nothing there, Mom." Max confirms. "No mice," Jack seconds.
"Are you sure?" I question, giving the kitchen drawers a good tug while searching for the source of the odor.

The boys insist that they can't smell a thing, and I notice how they slip out of the kitchen lest they catch the foul fever that has seized me.

Surely the smell of something "turning" pervades the air? Oh well. I shut the drawers with a heavy sigh and return to the heap of children's clothing that needs sorting. As the giveaway pile grows, that palpable, perfumed something returns....

I pull one of the little t-shirts close and breathe in the scent of Nine-Years-Old. How long has he had this t-shirt? Four years? It was oversized to begin with and now it is easily too small for my son. Why haven't I given it away yet?

   

I set the shirt aside and curl up into a chair. Staring out the window, I notice the clouds pass even faster than the years have. I get up, turn my back on the clouds, and search the drawers again; this time for sweets. I am going to make a cake and quit staring at Time.

Later that night, my ears perk up when my son calls for me. "Give me a kiss goodnight, Mom?"
"You bet!" I say, wondering whether this might be the next-to-last time he asks.

"You know," I remind my son, pushing a lock of hair out of his face. "You are still a kid."
"Yes, mom... I am still twelve."

Suddenly, the air seems a little lighter, sweeter....
"And you will still be a kid when you turn thirteen...." I remind him. 
Max offers a doubtful look.
"No, Mom," Max argues. "I'll be a teenager."

That sweetness lingers for a moment before the scent molecules rearrange themselves once again, putting a bit of spice into their chemical makeup. I now understand what I have been sensing all along, and while I may have mixed feelings about it, one thing's sure: It smells like teen spirit.*

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:: Le Coin Commentaires & Favorite Blogs on France ::
Comments, corrections, and stories of your own are welcome here, in the comments box. Tip: no need to include a Web Site URL in the sign-up box (only if you would like to share your blog or website).

Speaking of websites, now's the time to share a favorite French-themed blog or website. Lynn at Southern Fried French tells me that  the blog A Small Village in France is hysterical and a favorite read. Check it out and share your favorites here!

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Test your French comprehension with this bilingual story by our daughter Jackie. Have you read her essay on makeup?  You can read it here in French or in English! 

French Vocabulary

adieu = goodbye

passagère = brief, passing;

Smells Like Teen Spirit = song by Nirvana

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Smokey says: it's hard to pose when looking sunward.

   
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formation (warning: faux amis!)

Le Point Rouge, in Marseilles. Nothing to do with today's story, these are photos I took in '92, when I moved to Marseilles to live with this young accountant. Turns out Jean-Marc wasn't cut out for office work (an outdoors type, he is). Today, a story about our son, Max. Just what is he cut out for? P.S. Max turns 17 on May 17th. The next post will go out on Friday. See you then!

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la formation (for-maah-syon)

    : training, education
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Mas la Monaque - 
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Example Sentence (audio file will return later...)

La Formation Militaire Initiale du Réserviste (ou FMIR) est une formation permettant à de jeunes Français volontaires d'acquérir les bases du savoir militaire. Initial military training of the reservist is a training program that permits young French volunteers to acquire basic military know-how.

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

We Want You!: The French air force woos our 16-year-old

(Part 1)

Week before last I picked up our son from military-training camp. Parked at the local base aérienne, I got out of my car to wait with the other families who were standing around the entrance. I was hoping to strike up a conversation with another mom or dad to learn how their son or daughter came to sign up for the FMIR, or la formation militaire initiale de réserviste. Were some of the parents as reluctant as I had been to allow their child's participation?

...and whose idea had it been to sign up for the reserves—the child's or the parent's? Chez nous it was 16-year-old Max's idea. As required by law, he had signed up for his recensement militaire (story & pictures here), or military registration. At that time he was given the information, I believe, for the FMIR training. He was told he could earn 1500 euros this summer should he be strong enough, physically and emotionally, to complete the 4-week training course. Such a challenge was just too tempting for Max, who showed unprecedented patience in putting together his dossier d'inscription: he scheduled his visite médicale, completed all the bureaucratic paperwork and noted in his calendar the various rendez-vous, including the two-week training camp that would take place during vacances de Pâques. 

Still, I had my doubts. And besides, if he wanted to earn cash, surely we could arrange that here at home, where there were vines to care for, a wine cellar to keep clean and orderly, cars to wash, and a lawn that needed mowing. But the truth was, Max wasn't motivated by money, but by a desire to defend his countrymen. Though his impulse was selfless, I thought about his lacking of a larger awareness. He was only 16, what did he know about life and liberty? To be fair, I can't say I know any more than he does, no matter how much more life experience I have had. In fact, the older I get, the less I seem to understand. 

The small crowd outside the air force base seemed relaxed, so I casually walked by with a nod and a smile, wondering where to park myself. I heard singing in the distance and decided to followed the melody.

When a barbed-wire fence prevented my wandering any farther, I settled beside the unfriendly divider. On the other side there were several giant avions de chasse. I recognized them from the affiches in Max's room—the air force, or ALA posters that had recently replaced the skateboard posters, which had, the year before, replaced the basketball posters.  So many passing themes, would this be just another phase, too? Dare one hope? or was such hope anti-patriotic or, worse, would my hoping that Max lose interest in the military be akin to not showing support or confidence in him for having made a first of many big life decisions? It was time to let him spread his wings... in the air force!  Comme c'est ironique!

The singing grew louder and I noticed a bit of movement in the greenery beyond. On closer look, it was a troop dressed in camouflage.  

My heart began to flutter as the realization set in: one of those marchers was my son! I watched neat, orderly rows advancing. I tried to understand the French lyrics to the military cadence they were chanting. Was it the equivalent to Sound Off? How little I know about customs or protocol, how little I know about the military in general!

The would-be airmen marched toward the gate, beyond which we parents waited. The marchers' eyes remained glued to the drill sergeant. Not one neck craned, not one mouth cracked a smile. Did our camouflaged kids see us on the other side of the fence?

There was Max! His face was set like stone but it was hard to miss the confidence which emanated from him. His pride reached right through the barbed-wire fence, embracing me. 

My eyes began to sting. But there was no reason to be emotional! The tears began to rise. But these were not soldiers returning from war! When the larmes threatened to tumble out, I hurried over to my car for a kleenex and dark glasses.

Why get all choked up? The other parents were holding it together just fine! They were confident and knew the obvious: that these were not, after all, young men returning from a battle! 

No, I reasoned, they were not! ...But did they realize they were preparing to go into one? 

***

(Parts 2 and 3 next week)

Comments Corner

Corrections, comments, and stories of your own are welcome here, in the comment box. Thanks, in advance, for your response to this story and for sharing your experiences. Click here to comment.

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A note to our voluntary proofreaders: the next story in the collection is "Pêche" about a couple of peach thieves. Keep this story, improve it, or scrap it? You decide! Click here to begin proofreading.

French Vocabulary

la base aérienne = air force base

FMIR = la formation militaire initiale de réserviste = initial military training for the reservist

chez nous = for us, in our case (literally "at our house")

recensement militaire  = military registration

le dossier d'inscription = registration file

une visite médicale = a medical visit, a physical

 les vacances (f) de Pâques = Easter break

un avion de chasse = fighter plane

une affiche = poster

ALA (l'Armée de l'Air [ALA]) = the French Air Force

comme c'est ironique = how ironic!

une larme = tear

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Mama Braise (upper left) helps me to demonstrate motherhood and the hard-to-face decisions that our children make for themselves. Pictured are Smokey and his 5 sisters. "Mom, I want to live in America!" "Mom, I want to join the army!" "Mom... mom... mom!!!"

Your heart is in the right place. Whatever you do, my son, I will support you! Love, Mom.

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les chiens ne font pas des chats

Hollyhock and Wet Dog. Smokey volunteers his mug to illustrate today's expression "les chiens ne font pas des chats". Does he look disappointed by the news? No worries, Smokelicot, you can still do most anything you set your sweet mind to! Since your ordeal, two years ago, you are a true survivor!
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les chiens ne font pas des chats*

    : the apple doesn't fall far from the tree

*literally "dogs don't make cats". Both the French and the English expression are used to indicate that certain family members look very much alike. See a very personal example at the end of this post!

 Audio File: Listen to today's expression: Download MP3 or Wav file

A Day in a French Life... by Kristin Espinasse

It's a little frustrant to want to chronicle the present... while trying to edit the past! As I watch the would-be stories slip away (I haven't told you about Max's two-week stint at French bootcamp or Jackie's early Mother's Day present or yesterday's visit avec mon papa!... and there's the nest of chirpy baby birds inside the mulberry's trunk...); no time to share these when trying to focus on a current project: the story collection Vignettes from the Var.

To proofread the next chapter, titled "Tiède", click this link: http://french-word-a-day.typepad.com/motdujour/2005/09/tide.html

Thanks in advance for your understanding and encouragement!

Amicalement,

Kristin

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                Photo of le chat blanc taken at le Girocèdre.

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Sylvia, Jean-Marc, and Mary (who saluts friend Penny Leady. Penny, you were missed!)

Mon papa et moi.  Do you think Dad and I look alike? Would you say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, or les chiens ne font pas des chats? Click here to comment.