A blog full of memories
We’re laying in bed one morning. I stroke his back with one hand and my fingertips. I think it must feel nice. He gets goosebumps. I try to say that in French. “Oooh–les poils du poulet.” With my Canadian accent, it comes out: “Oohh–la poêle du poulet.” Oh…a pan of chicken. How romantic. Snort.
Now that the nice weather is here, we are looking for a table to put on the balcony–so we can eat outside when it’s warm. And, if we have friends over, we can entertain outside. I haven’t found anything I like enough to buy. I thought in the meantime, in between time, I could just …
…and sometimes in September.” I am sitting in the kitchen, chatting away rather comfortably (I think) in French to Ludo’s parents. And I see the quizzical looks on their faces. Just fleetingly, but enough that I question my choice of the word “culotte”. I was telling them that the Yukon is quite warm in June, …
When I was a nanny in France, I had to spend the first few weeks adjusting to the new language. My French was very, very basic when I arrived. However, I discovered that with many words, I could say them in English with a bit of a French accent–and they meant the same thing. For …
One day, my colleague (who speaks French) came by my desk to make sure my server was running correctly. He also mentioned that he wouldn’t be able to addresss the last few bugs I raised for the next software release. He doesn’t have any hardware to test software changes. In order to get any, he …
I spent most of 1991 and 1992 in France. For the first bit, I was a nanny. This is Florence. She was a handful. I was 18 and didn’t have the skills to take care of a precocious three-year-old in my own language, let alone another language. One day, Florence and I were disagreeing. She …