Friday, March 31, 2006

Malott is French

It used to be Malotte, but I believe the "e" was dropped during the Great Ink Shortage of 1839, which also gave rise to the word "OK," a brief ban on Polish immigrants, and the phrase "brevity is the soul of wit." It was a tough time for pen pals and even prompted a government study involving a bodily function and snow, which manners preclude me from describing here.

You can always tell when it's a slow news week, or when the news is just too depressing to keep knocking around amongst your friends. Finding something interesting to write about is hard, (arduous, as we say in Greentown) especially for a lazy descendant of French immigrants who would rather be rioting or surrendering to someone. By the way, my first American ancestor came over with Lafayette to bravely fight in our Great Revolution. (I know this for a fact because my family hired an ancestry tracing company whose motto was, We'll tell you anything to get your money!)

My heart turns to gardening this time of year. I've already got plenty-o-peas in the ground and just completed the arduous task of planting my potato sets last evening. Am I tired? Oui! But hard work in the garden always causes me to drop a few pounds, which is important after a winter of eating all those crepes in heavy cream sauces.

But I tip my beret to Janice, AICS, Bryan, Peter, Christina, and of course the beloved SkyePuppy, just to mention a few of my haunts, who never seem to be at a loss for an issue and a well-turned phrase. And I must not forget Andrew, whose comments are always much longer than the post he is commenting on, but is always interesting, and a pleasure to read... and read... and read. Andrew displays amazing insight, for an uneducated and unemployed loom technician from Terre Haute.

With spring, I will do less blogging, more gardening, and more reading outside in my hammock. Perhaps I'll watch a Maurice Chevalier film. (pronounced feelm) On humid summer nights I will play my accordion on the patio. And as the sweet haunting melodies fill the night, and I hear the unmistakable sound of windows slamming shut all over the neighborhood... I will smile.

I am French. My name is Malott(e). And obviously, I'll post most anything.

....

4 comments:

Andrew said...

You're of French descent, eh? Well, that provides the answer to a number of nagging questions.

I'd stop there, but because I have a reputation of verbosity to uphold, I will press on...

I assume you have heard the story of the British military officer and the French military officer who encountered one another during the Revolutionary War. If not, allow me to briefly re-tell it. The Frenchman inquired of his British counterpart: "Why do British officers wear red coats?"

The British officer responded: "If we are wounded in battle, our blood mixes with the color of our coats and our men do not know that we are badly wounded and become discouraged."

The French officer responded: "Wow, that's uncanny. That's exactly the reason why French officers wear brown pants!"

Christina said...

The French are a curious breed, quite obviously.

My thanks for your far-too-generous beret-tipping. I too am really struggling with the slow news cycle. It prompts ugly things like the "March Cat Carnage" to occur. Very dire times, indeed.

This time of year, my heart too turns to gardening. This is the time of year when one of two things will most certainly occur. I will either try my hand at gardening yet again, with the insane belief that this year I will not kill everything in sight, despite all prior evidence to the contrary, or I will once again beg that unemployed loom tech-o-mine to let someone add on a front porch where the flower beds currently are. This year, I can already tell, leans toward the porch-begging.

Of course, if I had a front porch, perhaps I could persuade you to regale me with your accordian music. That, coupled with my two cats howling and a temper-tantrum-throwing toddler, should just about make my life complete.

SkyePuppy said...

How can I follow the likes of Andrew and Christine? Alas, they beggar my poor attempts at comraderie.

Although, je suis un trés petit peu française, but without the accordian.

Happily, the Great Ink Shortage of 1839 and its subsequent ban on Polish immigrants ended before 1900, when the Polish side of my family immigrated (legally, I'm sure). Jestem głodna, and all that.

Don't stay away too long. We count on the fact that you'll post most anything.

janice said...

Thanks for the tip-o-the-baret Chris. It must be the french in you that made that premature truce in the "Cat Trash Conflict" and then antagnogistic jab with "further proof" piece. Nice.....
Besides being out of town, I too have been grasping for blogging material. Even the jihadis seem to be taking a break.
But, dare I say, "all blog and no play makes Janice a dull girl!"