Au Cochonnet Marin

Everybody knows that cats have several lives, but few people know the names used by the beasts in their previous lives.

One of my cats went through several name changes in her lifetime. When I found her, she answered to the name of Peter. We lived with this arrangement for about a year or two… until one day, at the veterinarian’s office, the man in charge told me that Peter was not a “he” but a “she”.

Well, a sex change is no big deal nowadays, so I accepted this rather calmly. I renamed her “Bugaloo” for the way she pranced around. Bugaloo didn’t object to her new name; she would come, as in the past, when I called her. I suspect that she responded more to the smell of food than to her new moniker, but why quibble?

After a while, I came to realize that a three syllables name was not practical.  It did not have the punch needed when I called her. So, I renamed her “Boogie”. You must admit that, in an emergency, Boogie can be much more forceful than “Bu-ga-loo”; and it sounded less foolish when I summoned her in public.

The name worked well until I met a woman called Tamara. She started calling the furry beast “Koshka” (a female cat in Russian). Koshka took this new name in stride; she even responded very positively when addressed in Russian. I found this rather vexing since she never seemed to care when I talked to her in French.

A name is one thing, but obedience is another thing. Sometimes when addressed either in French, English, or Russian, Koshka totally ignored me. This was serious stuff, a break in communication you might say. She just stared at me, rapidly swishing her tail back and forth, which in cat language means “get off my back”.

In situations like this, I always take the moral high ground. I acted insulted and refused to even look at her. It was not long though before I felt her tail rubbing against my legs; it was her way of saying “I have been a beast… will you forgive me?”

I always did, because, behind my curmudgeon shield, I really am a softy… especially with cuddly creatures.

Peter, alias Bugaloo, Boogie, and Koshka passed away a few years ago. I still long to feel her body brazenly spreading over my sleeping space when I turn in at night. Thousands of babies can testify that there is nothing like the feel of a cat-warming blanket after a hard working day.

So long beastie… It was extra nice knowing you.

Alain

Last Saturday, I woke up around 7:00 am to the sound of rain hammering my roof. I thought immediately that the scheduled Marin mêlée tournament would be canceled, but I was greatly surprised to learn that it was not. Our Supreme Leader obviously knew better than Little Old Me (they always do) and I accepted her assessment.

But the sky looked sullen, with big gray clouds darkening the horizon, and I didn’t feel like venturing out. I was going to stay put and work on my Russian vocabulary. But curiosity got the best of me, and after a light breakfast and a hot drink, I drove to the field around 10:00 am.

I expected to encounter at most a dozen hardcore aficionados, but saperlipopette, I counted 28 people on the field. You read it correctly TWENTY-EIGHT! Too numerous to mention all of them, but my pictures will confirm my saying.

Armed with Sneaky Pete (my innocuous-looking spying camera), I resolved to snap a few pictures and fly the coop. A cloudy sky, by the way, is ideal for taking pictures… no annoying shades, and no pesky reflections.

So, after about one hour on the court, I packed my gear and returned home around 11:00 am.

In the afternoon though, instead of getting worse, the weather improved and invited me to return to the field.

I was back around 3:00 pm and went to work again. An anemic sun was filtering through the clouds and instead of comforting me, it bothered me. It made taking clear pictures more difficult and forced me to change location more often. When you have a permanently cranky back, you have to take everything into consideration.

I forgot to mention that Christine and Shama expertly ran this mêlée tournament, and that it consisted of 5 games: 2 in the morning and 3 in the afternoon. When I showed up again later that day, most people were finishing their 4^th or started their 5^th game.

By 5:00 pm, it was all over and time to have a hearty drink (I wish), take pictures, and hand out big moola to the victors. I did my job as expected and ran home immediately after where it was warm and cozy.

1^st place: Fabian & Ron Rohlfes                     $64.00 ea
2^nd place: Mark Shirkey & Larry Cragg      $46.00 ea
3^rd place: Noël & Loël 😆                                    $30.00 ea

Happy Superbowl, fellow boulomen!

Alain

Feast your eyes on my pictures… preferably on a large screen!

When you are retired, you absolutely need hobbies, otherwise, you will get bored… and badger your spouse ad nauseam… with deadly consequences.

I have a few hobbies, among them linguistics, and I always have been relatively successful with some foreign languages… if they use Latin characters. But when faced with foreign alphabets (Hebrew, Chinese, Greek, Cyrillic, etc.) I get immediately thrown out of the game.

Since I live in a semi-Slavic environment, my latest project is to be able to read Russian text fluently. No small task my friends… comparable in my mind to Hercules’ 12 Labors.

The Russian language is a mixture of early Phoenician, Greek, and Cyrillic alphabets, with a few Latin-looking characters thrown in the pot for good measure. But these familiar-looking characters turned out to be false friends. A Russian B for example is pronounced like a Latin V, and a Russian P is really an R.

With a Cyrillic chart by my side, I can decipher a few Russian words with the ability of a First grader… But this is not enough. I can and I will do better.

One of the saving (and surprising) graces of Russian is that it has “borrowed” a lot of words from a wide variety of languages. When you can finally read some Russian text, you are surprised by the abundance of foreign words (mainly French). After a little research, I discovered quite a few Dutch, English, German, French, Italian, Polish, Greek, Yiddish, and Arabic words.

So, the key to reading Russian is the ability to remember what each strange character sounds like. It is like a music sheet. But the older you are, the more difficult it is, for the Latin-sounding characters have become so ingrained in your mind that it is difficult to think of any other sound.

There is a Russian saying that goes “An old friend is better than two new friends “and to me, this also applies to any alphabet.

Like in any discipline, you need to start everything young. I envy the little nippers aged 4 or 5 who, without knowing how to read, are totally fluent in 2 or 3 languages. It is not fair, and it ought to be censured.

I will end my little lecture by quoting something I recently learned in Russian. To answer the question “Will I ever be able to read or speak Russian fluently?” a Russian would probably answer:

 Да нет, наверное (Yes no, probably)… probably never.

Da svidaniya druzya…

Alain