M, the woman who owns the goat farm was standing in Barbara’s store with our Thanksgiving Capon in her hand. The poor bird met his end on Sunday. Yes, I know it is past Thanksgiving, but it is the idea and Barbara waited until I got back to Argelès to do a meal for me and Rosalie, another American.
I offered to take it upstairs so I could say hello to Gérade who was doing major reconstruction work. He was the same man that perfected my nest.
The floor that holds Barbara’s frigo (fridge) is one large room half kitchen, half office. Gérade had all the furniture against the frigo.
We did the double-cheek kiss, and I didn’t go for the third that I usually do after coming from Switzerland. We caught up on news.
Rather than ask him to move everything, I asked him to put “Le Capon” on the ledge.
He pointed to the bag. “Tu as Al, dedans?” He pretended to shoot up the room with a machine gun.
“It isn’t capon?”
“Chapon,” he said stressing the ch sound.
Ah well, another word mispronounced.
One of my friends has suggested I shadow talk to the TV or radio, which means saying the words behind them. Maybe that will improve my accent so when I use my more than adequate vocabulary, the words are recognizable. Now that would be something to give thanks for.
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