The Grown-Up World, The Kid World, and Le Monde

Firstly, let me apologize again for the lack of pictures. Sigh. You must continue to be patient with me, as my camera is apparently so special, so unique, so ethereally wonderful that it can only transfer digital information through an equally rare and special cable which can only be found in a gilded box, guarded by a three-headed fire-breathing dragon, lying at the center of the Fountain of Youth.

On August 4th, we celebrated the boys' third birthday. (Worthy of note is the fact that they received Fisher Price digital cameras, so even they can take and transfer pictures, even if it's thirty-five pictures of the floor.)

We took them to the Open Air Sculpture museum, right on the Seine, which is free to the public and allows interaction with the sculptures. One can climb on them, touch them, photograph them (which the boys did adamantly, with varied results) and even (if you are French) put out cigarettes into their recesses. What a mix of man and art! I have a daydream of playing hide-and-go-seek there when Michael (happy now?), Justin and Kat are all here.

Adam particularly loved the sculptures, and he is an avid photographer. He also captured many zoo creatures in the nearby menagerie we visited, part of the [also free] Jardin de Plantes.

The menagerie is the oldest in the world, and is the one featured in Madeline books. This very spot held the tigers in the zoo (to whom Madeline simply said, Pooh-pooh).

As they grow, so does their love of books. I read much Madeline, which is why I always want to start emails with: I am in Paris and feeling fine...

For their birthday, then, I went to the famous English-language bookstore across from Notre Dame called Shakespeare & Company. This spot is a must for any future visitors - an expat eccentric started it about 50 years ago, and it has been host to many writers, visitors and wanderers. One can even stay there for free, in exchange for a couple hours of work a day.

While there, I bought The Wind in the Willows for them, an old favorite of mine, and Hugo's Notre Dame de Paris for me. More on that later. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading WITW to them; so much so that I've decided the main reason to procreate is to read the books you loved to your children. Or, in the case of my friend Mike Hurewitz, to show them Star Wars.

While reading WITW the other day, I came to the part where Toad says to Rat and Mole, "I want to show you the world!" And Meyer, well into his "Why" phase, asked me, "Kelly? What is the world?"

And I, faced with perhaps the most poetic & beautiful opportunity of my life, replied: "Ummm, well....."

And now the blog really starts. Because watching children grow in their comprehension of language, I am struck by how much it mirrors my own comprehension of any new language. In fact, I often say that the best way to learn a language is to do exactly what young children do: Listen. Pick up a few things. Practice them. Master them. Listen more. Ask. And then, of course, employ your grown-up meta-logic & memory to put things in context.

The mistakes Adam and Meyer make when they speak English are the same sorts of mistakes I make in French. Adam says "his" or "him" or "he" for everyone. ("When is he coming?" referring to my mother.) In French, I am constantly confused about which words are masculine and which are feminine. I may have implied that my mother's husband is in some way female.

Poor Mommy. There's really a lot of miscommunication about her these days. I assure you there is nothing alternative about her lifestyle.

But I digress. So I set out to answer Meyer's question. "The world," I said (in that slow, stupefied voice employed by adults to answer these exact sort of questions) "is everything. Everything you can see, and everything you can't. More or less."

Meyer and Adam began pointing to various objects. Windows, sheets, cars, bicycles, people, floors, etc. Asking about each, in turn, "Kelly? Is that the world?" And I would say, "Yes." We even went on a walk, Meyer and I, pointing out things that were the world. Umbrellas. Coffee. Signs. Until Meyer said, "Kelly? I'm tired of pointing out things that are the world. Can we talk about something else?"

I said yes. But you, dear reader, will not be so lucky.

The english "world" comes from the old english woruld, meaning "human existence, the affairs of life," from the literal "Age of Man" ("wer," man + "ald," age). It has, of course, also taken on a geopolitical connotation, but we should try to stick to the basics with a topic like this, else the following conversation occur:

Meyer: "Kelly? What's geopolitical?"
Me: It means physical places and nation-states.
Meyer: Kelly? What's a nation-state?
Me: It's a group of people united under one government, and I think one sort of common identity? I don't know, exactly.
Meyer: Kelly? Why don't you know exactly?
Me: Because I don't know everything, Meyer.
Meyer: Why don't you?

And so forth. Parents, teachers: You know.

In French, the word for world is "le monde." Just as in Spanish (el mundo) it is masculine. It comes from the Latin "mundus," used to indicate "world" and meaning, literally, "clean, elegant." Interesting, non?

"Clean, elegant," came to be used to describe the physical world, expressed by Pythagorus, and was a translation from the Greek "khosmos," meaning "orderly arrangement." In Latin, "mundus" is also used to refer to women's clothing.

So the world is masculine, but clothing is not. But both are clean and elegant, ideally.

Anyway, the Latin languages used an approach to world which came from an inherent sense of order and the germanic languages used an approach which came from the affairs of man.

In the context that I am trying to elucidate for Meyer and Adam, I like the germanic root better; it encompasses the incredible disarray that constitutes so much of le monde. Things like babies, big kids, restaurants, sausage, mothers, fathers, books and nannies - and other things that largely compromise Adam & Meyer's world.

It is gratifying to see Meyer's face light up, when he points to a sewer, and says (with great excitement), "Kelly! Sewers! Those are part of the world, too!"

A world which they are avidly photographing, alas, while I am not.