rlbourges

Courses

In Current reading, Drafts, En français dans le texte, Hautvoir, Local projects on April 3, 2014 at 9:16 am

The things I learn at the bakery, next door?

The Légion d’Honneur, for example. Before this morning’s instructive mini-class by the baker, did I have a clue about the benefits that go with the little medal on a strip of ribbon? None. The baker knows because, at one time, his papa was foolish enough to put principle before family considerations. His papa refused the medal because, he argued,  he did what soldiers do, so why should he get a medal and the others, none – whether in memoriam or hobbling along on a remaining limb?

The baker wasn’t arguing against the value of principles but, damn, those benefits passed on to the children… Damn. Free schooling in the finest institutions,  personalized health care, not to mention all the other advantages I’ll have to look up online because the baker had to go pull more bread out of his oven.

Why this prompts me to look up a quote out of Shakespeare instead, I don’t know. But ’tis true, aye, ’tis, the course of true love never did run smooth.

How did we get on the topic of the Légion d’Honneur? From the topic of medals in general… ah yes, I mentioned I doubted any of my pupils would receive Les Palmes Académiques, some day. Now I’ll have to look up what benefits accrue to that meritorious Order.

I might be better advised to get back on course, work and draft-wise. But do self or other-directed pep talks ever work? Hm. I must think on these things.

In the meantime, I’ve started reading Ian McEwan’s Atonement in French translation because I rushed through the ordering process and forgot to switch my brain back from French to English before clicking on the Order button. Such are the inherent risks of the bilingual brain when it fails to notice which language program it has activated.

I haven’t gotten far in the book yet. Enjoyed the description of Briony’s orderly room with all the miniature farm animals angled toward her, and the miniature hens  lined up like soldiers on parade.

Allez?

Allez.

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