FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

The world feels upside down when posting a giant ice cream cone in France while California faces devastating fires. Today’s story, written before reading the news, is shared with the hope of offering comfort. Life can feel completely out of our control, but we can keep faith and continue giving—however we’re led to give.

TODAY’S WORD: Doux rêves

    : sweet dreams (noun)

The verb form is faire de bons rêves (to have sweet dreams).

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

The last Sunday of the year, I took a twenty euro bill and set off early for church. Before leaving, I rummaged through a cupboard for un sac fourre-tout…intent on filling it with flowers from the weekend farmers market, where you can get a beautiful bouquet for under 20 euros. My sister Heidi had suggested the gift for Mom and I didn’t want to let her down.

My husband often drives me and picks me up, which is as close to getting to church as he gets. But it’s not about being in church, it’s about serving others, something Jean-Marc enjoys, not that he’s always chipper about it.…

As we motor past the beaches, heading to le centre ville, I squint my eyes. “Up there, after le manège. Er…no. In front of Eden Theatre…Attends… just past La Chapelle des Pénitents,” I signaled to Jean-Marc. A slight grumbling on his part tells me it would be good if I could make up my mind. But, I’m just trying to estimate where, in a long line of market stalls, the flower stand is located. 

You can let me out here! Merci. Je t’aime! I said, offering a quick wave goodbye before cars began piling up behind us. Crossing the street, I searched for the flower vendor. Past la rôtisserie and the clothing stands, past les culottes et soutien gorges, past the kitchen supplies …les fleuristes were nowhere to be seen. With no other options, I dragged my feet to church. That is when I saw the thin, tousled, unshaven man who sat accroupi not far from la savonnerie. An urge came over me to give him something. I thought about the 20 euro bill.

…coins would be better, even a five or ten, but before I could think further, my arm reached out and handed the man the folded bill intended for Mom’s flowers. 

Le mendiant looked up, surprised. Non, he gestured, c’est trop. 

Oui, I gestured back, pushing the bill into his hand. Accepting the money, he suddenly sprang to life, babbling on and on in an incomprehensible jargon.

Oh no, I thought, he’s drunk! He’ll surely lose the bill or, pire, waste it on a six-pack. What good will that twenty do him now? It will only worsen his condition! But you wouldn’t know my thoughts from my gestures. A smile was still frozen on my face as I walked off, waving it’s nothing, you’re welcome! C’est rien. But apparently it was something to me… 

I hurried away, dismayed. Rounding the corner café and its giant ice cream cone mascot I wished my thoughts could be as innocent and sweet, instead of merdique! 

There in the tiny église, amongst all the sourires, câlins, bises, I was tempted to vent about my run-in with the drunk beggar when suddenly I remembered some holy words: “When you give, don’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing.” As my mind chewed on that thought, I settled into a seat near the heater, to learn about the Twelve Tribes of Israel and the Twelve Apostles. For the first time I began to connect (certain) dots between the Old and New Testament, but my mind could not focus further. I was still trying to connect the dots concerning the flowers, the beggar, the booze, my 20 and how it would be used…

Then it hit me! Just as we are not to let our left hand know what our right hand is doing when we give, IT’S NONE OF MY BUSINESS WHAT HAPPENS TO THE MONEY! Just as it’s only between God and me, when giving, it’s between God and the recipient, when receiving. That poor man can do what he wants with the measly twenty!  It’s no longer my responsibility! Ah… What freedom there is, letting go of the outcome. 

After church, I turned my phone back on only to find a text from my husband:

“Hi Beeb, c’est Max qui te récupère. J’ai fait des frites et carottes au four. J’arrive vers 12H45 💋” —“Hi Beeb, Max will pick you up. I’ve made fries and roasted carrots. I’ll be there around 12:45. 💋”

Jean-Marc was off riding his VTT, in preparation for his upcoming biking trek in Chilé (a side trip he’ll take before beginning his next wine mission in Argentina!). I waited at the curb for my son to pick me up, growing slightly aggravated when Max was twenty minutes late. But the blue sky, the sun's warm rays, and all the interesting people walking by made for an agreeable parenthèse. 

Turning toward the cafe with its outdoor terrace, I noticed a tall man walking with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand and a smile on his face. On second glance it was le mendiant! So he hadn’t lost the bill… or used it for beer! Chances are he’d even had a bite to eat before ordering the coffee. I shook my head in appreciation: God’s little plot twist completely one-upped the story I’d drawn in my head.

Looking up at the sign, I noticed the unusual name of the café: ‘Sweet Dreams,’ or Doux Rêves if it were in French. It was a gentle reminder that we can rest easy when we follow a loving hunch and let go of the outcome. And, incidentally, this was just the outcome Mom would have preferred—a million times better than flowers. (Though we’ll get her a beautiful bouquet soon—I promise my sister!)

***

Flower market in Nice. Follow me on Instagram where Ricci and I are posting a daily photo/video this month of January! You'll also see updates from Jean-Marc's bike trek through Chile! Click here and be sure to hit follow.

COMMENTS
See a typo? Have your own story to share or simply want to leave a message? Click here to go to the comments box. Thanks in advance for taking the time to share.

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

Sound File: My husband is now recording these audio clips while on the road in South America. Enjoy.

doux rêves = sweet dreams

un sac fourre-tout = a tote bag

le centre ville = downtown

le manège = the carousel

Eden Théâtre = La Ciotat’s historic movie theater, the oldest in the world 

Attends = wait

La Chapelle des Pénitents = The Chapel of the Penitents

Merci = thank you

Je t’aime = I love you

les culottes et soutien gorges = panties and bras

les fleuristes = florists

la rôtisserie = the rotisserie

accroupi,e = crouching

la savonnerie = the soap shop

le mendiant = the beggar

Non = no

C’est trop = it’s too much

Oui = yes

pire = worse

C’est rien = it’s nothing

merdique = crappy

l’église (f) = the church

les sourires = smiles

les câlins = hugs

les bises = kisses

c’est Max qui te récupère = Max is picking you up

J’ai fait des frites et carottes au four = I made fries and roasted carrots

J’arrive vers 12H45 = I’ll be home around 12:45

le VTT (vélo tout terrain) = the mountain bike

une parenthèse = a pause or interlude

le café = the café

La Chapelle des Pénitents Bleus

REMERCIEMENTS/THANKS

Heartfelt thanks to the readers who contributed after my last post. Your support means so much and helps keep this journal alive and thriving—I couldn’t do it without you! Your notes touch me deeply, especially this one from Gordon:

"Thank you for your charming, long-running improvement of my French from a now 100-year-old follower from Canada."

What an honor that you would read my stories, Gordon!

And my deepest gratitude to all who contributed:

Bob M.
Tara Z.
Mike P.
Joan S.
Carla N.
Laura S.
Karen F.
Patty C.
Nancy S.
Ginny R.
Marcia L.
Donna G.
Denise G.
Bruce StJ
Gordon P.
Patricia F.
Augusta E.
Lee Ann W.
Christine F.
Roseann M.
Colombe M.
Jacqueline F.
Mary and Bill E

Thank you for your newsletter. I love getting your peeks into French life when I can't be there myself. —Joan S.

Un grand merci de nous avoir partagé votre vie ces dernières années. Même si je ne vous ai jamais rencontrée, j'ai l'impression de vous connaître grâce à l'ouverture de votre coeur à vos lecteurs. Que l'année qui vient vous apporte du bonheur! —Ginny R

TODAY'S WORD: LA RECONNAISSANCE

    : acknowledgment, gratefulness

A YEAR IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

And just like that, 2024 has come to an end. As they say here in Provence, Bon bout d’an!—happy end of the year. 

How quickly the months have gone by. Like the gentle breeze sweeping the neighborhood leaves across the seafront, le temps vole! But to where, exactly, does time fly? However boggling this vast endlessness, there’s comfort in knowing these moments live on forever, in our memories, in our stories, and even into the mysterious ever after. 

Looking back over the past four seasons, I’m filled with gratitude and émerveillement—not only for the unexpected people who came into our lives but for those who’ve been there all along, making every little adventure and its built-in lesson more precious, meaningful, and lasting.

The year began with an intention to connect more deeply with the locals. I imagined myself frequenting cafés, supporting local establishments, and finding ways to weave more threads into the vibrant tapestry of life here in La Ciotat. But the universe had other plans. Instead of reaching out to others, it seemed others were sent to me, offering help in ways I couldn’t have anticipated—or even asked for.

The first spark came early in the year, on a sunny day at the farmer’s market. I had tied Ricci’s leash to a table while picking out some fresh vegetables. I turned away for just a moment, and when I looked back, she was gone.

In a panic, I rushed down the boardwalk, calling her name. But before I could begin to lose hope, several locals sprang into action, hurrying ahead to corral Ricci and guide her back to me. One after another, they closed the gaps, gently steering her back into my arms. That day, I realized just how quickly people can step in to help when you least expect it—and how much I relied on the kindness of strangers which appears when we least expect it.

When my husband left for New Zealand, my confidence in steering this boat quickly dwindled with the arrival of the first obstacles. Mom’s health began to require more attention, and with a medical appointment looming, I realized I would have to dust off my driving skills after years of being Jean-Marc’s passenger.

But I wasn’t alone. Ana, Max’s girlfriend, immediately offered to chauffeur us to the ophtalmologue and Jackie chaperoned us to the next appointment. Watching these young women navigate so calmly reminded me how much we all lean on each other, no matter our inner strength. As I slowly regained my confidence behind the wheel, what began as an ordeal opened a path for me to reclaim a bit of independence.

The challenges continued when we discovered Mom’s health card had expired. I braced myself for a bureaucratic nightmare, unsure how we’d navigate the French healthcare system. But once again, help came in the form of angels—nurses, hospital staff, and administrative workers—who quietly and compassionately ensured Mom received the care she needed, regardless of the expired paperwork.

In the end, all her bills were covered, a testament to the grace of a system and the people within it who prioritize compassion over red tape. I was deeply humbled by their quiet bienveillance.

Any challenges this year were punctuated by joys. In February, raising a glass of l’eau pétillante, I toasted to 21 cherished years of sobriety. In July, Jean-Marc and I celebrated our 30th anniversary and in October my dad, sisters, and I reunited on a Mediterranean cruise! You know it’s been a good year when you get to dig out your wedding dress and wear it twice (once for our anniversary dinner and again for the cruise’s White Night party).

In the fall, the tables turned, and I experienced an unexpected health issue. Physical therapy and the support of friends and family got me through. This year, I meant to reach out to others, but instead, they reached out to me. From locals at the market, to loved ones, and the medical angels who showed up when we needed them most, I was reminded again and again of the quiet ways grace flows into our lives.

Recalling everyone who played a part in this period of our lives, I owe so much to my readers. Thank you for helping me realize my goal of writing another year of stories--these essays will soon be published in the book A Year in a French Life. 

To those who followed my blog, commented, emailed, and encouraged me—you may not know it, but your support kept me showing up at the blank page, typing away. Writing isn’t something I can do in isolation.  A weekly deadline in which I report to you here provides just enough pressure to “gather all the butterflies”—or happenings—and settle them into a meaningful story. I'm learning to live with the anxiety, though I sometimes think, Why not just settle down in the garden and let the butterflies be? Wouldn’t that be more relaxing? I do not know what drives me to write, but your presence gives me the strength to keep sharing.

Special thanks to my book angels at TLC Book Design: Tami Dever, for taking on this book project and helping to market it, to Erin Stark, for designing the beautiful interior and for all her detailed work, thoughts, prayers, and valuable time, and to Monica Thomas, for the wonderful series of book covers she created so that readers could pick the winner!

Mille mercis from the heart to my dedicated proofreaders Rajeev Bansal, Liz Caughey, and Sara Rubin—thank you for your invaluable feedback, dedication, and precious time spent correcting this manuscript. To Chief Grape, chief of my heart, Jean-Marc, to Mom, and to my family, near and far, thank you for your 24/7 love and encouragement. And to my longtime bestie, Susan Boehnstedt, a.k.a. Rouge-Bleu, for your timely WhatsApp check-ins—a needed diversion from the daily act of juggling life.

One year ago, I never imagined the quartet of helpers who would come into our home: un grand merci to the nurses, Nathalie, Roland, and Nicolas, and to our fée du logis, Fiona, who is like a daughter. Finally, thanks to my frères et sœurs at Église Évangelique Baptiste. France will always be a foreign land, but this little church feels as familiar as home.

As I sit here, watching the waves roll in along the shore in La Ciotat, I am overwhelmed by reconnaissance. These past twelve months weren’t what I imagined, but they taught me to open my heart and receive the help of others.

The phrase I mentioned earlier, bon bout d’an, is often followed by another: et à l’an que ven—“and to the coming year.” I leave you with many cheers and hope the new year finds you open-hearted, and ready to receive countless blessings. When you get the chance, lie in a garden and wait quietly for the butterflies or angels—grace in whichever form it may appear.

***


An end-of-year blessing to share: Mom is painting again! She is working on this scene of our house and garden. That's going to be me and Smokey (lower right), as this painting was begun before our golden retriever passed away.

COMMENTS
Thank you for taking the time to leave a message! To leave a comment or correction, click here. 

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Sound file: Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronouce the French words below

la reconnaissance = acknowledgement, gratefulness
bon bout d'an = happy end of the year
le temps vole = time flies
l’émerveillement (m) = awe 
l'ophtalmologue (nmf) = opthlamologist
la bienveillance = kindness, goodwill
l’eau pétillante (f) = sparkling water
mille mercis = a thousand thanks
un grand merci = a big thank-you
la fée du logis = house helper
mes frères et sœurs = my brothers and sisters
bon bout d'an et à l'an que ven = Provençal for happy end of the year and to the coming year

REMERCIEMENTS/THANKS
Mille mercis for your generous donations and unwavering support, which make it possible to publish this journal and bring my forthcoming book to life. ❤️

Jim S.
Beth M.
Tom D.
Patti S.
Chris A.
Odile G.
Share G.
Ashok S.
Karen M.
Susan B.
Nancy G.
Kathy K.
Laurie F.
Alicia A.
Rajeev B.
Mazzie W.
Douglas R.
Barbara A.
Kathleen C.
Rob & Debbie B.
Mary Catherine L.

"Over many years, you have become the good friend I will never be able to meet. You, your thoughts, your photos, your family are always welcome." --Barbara A.

The following story is a reminder it's the thought that counts, so don't stress over gift-giving this season (easier said than done, I know...)

TODAY'S PHRASE: C'est le geste qui compte

[say-luh zhest kee kohnt]

 : it's the thought that counts

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Entering the studio on the side of our house, I find Mom bundled in bed, laptop propped on a pillow, watching the exciting réouverture de Notre-Dame in Paris. Organ music fills the room, and the iconic église, now rebuilt after the devastating fire five and a half years ago, sparkles brightly from Jules’s side. But no matter how glorious the event on the screen, Mom will shut it off to give her full attention to her visitor.

Since our golden retriever Smokey passed away, and 20-year-old Lili the cat moved back to the neighbor’s (unwilling to share the yard with Ricci), Mom’s ever-present companion has become her laptop. Connected to the speaker Max gave her, for better sound, Jules’s computer has become her portal to limitless adventures. With a single click, she’s back with her neighborhood horses in a barrio in Mexico, tending stray dogs in Greece, or soaring over France’s beloved cathedral for a view far better than even the president's!

Sliding shut the front door, I set down my keys and phone and join Mom in her world, sharing her excitement or concern, depending on the news she’s watching. However different our views on politics and current events may be at times, we try not to get too caught up in these passing emotions. Peu importe, the two of us always seem to find a truce over food.

“I’ve made another pompe à l’huile,” I say, grinning. “Version number three. Want to try it?”

“That sounds good! You go ahead, Honey. I’ll be right over.”

I head back, with Ricci trotting close behind. High up on a branch of our bay laurel tree, resident doves, Mama and Papa, follow our every move. Moments later, Mom arrives with two polished apples, les reines des Reinettes (“queen of queens”). She places them on our coffee table as if part of a still life. When invited over for a snack or a meal, Jules's automatic response is reciprocity: her spontaneous gifts range from canned peppers to sautéed shrimp to ice cream cones. Offer Mom flowers in a tall glass vase, and she’ll divide the bouquet in two, creating an elaborate tableau vivant—a living picture—by arranging the second half artfully in a clay bowl for my coffee table.

It’s a lovely reminder of a timeless custom and a simple truth: il ne faut jamais arriver les mains vides (never arrive empty-handed). While we're here, and before we return to our narrative, here are a few more thoughts in French concerning gift-giving:

--C'est le geste qui compte
--Donner, c’est mieux que recevoir
--Le cadeau n'est rien, c'est l'intention qui compte

“Your tree looks beautiful with the lights,” Mom says, entering through the sliding glass door, taking Ricci into her lap after settling on the couch.
“Do you think I should add ornaments? I’ve got blue stars and reindeer…”
“I would leave it just as it is!”
“I like that idea!”

Presently, les santons—what clay figurines we have left—are crowded at the base of the olive tree. After Jean-Marc borrowed la crèche for his wine shop a few years back, a few characters disappeared. A quick inventory reveals we still have le porteur d’eau, la bergère, les trois mages—and Joseph—but no sign of Mary, and, good lord, Jesus has gone missing! But there’s time to find him (yes, it’s never too late to find Jesus!).

“What do you want for your birthday?” Mom changes the subject.

“You already got me something: I’ve ordered the fluffy wool faux fur coussin for my writing chair.”

“Good! Now let’s get you something else!”

I stop to revel in Mom’s generosity when suddenly she asks, “How old will you be?”

“57.”

“57! You should have a present every day!”

“Aw, Mom. What about you? What would you like for Christmas?”

“Pajamas. I want my whole wardrobe to be pajamas!”

I laugh and hug her, a warm, unspoken understanding passing between us. No matter our ups and downs this past year, Mom will always be the apple of my eye, the queen of queens—just like those polished Reinettes she brought me.

It's these little moments—the laughter, the shared joy—that are the gifts that keep on giving. Whether for Christmas, birthdays, or any day, time with a loved one is the most precious cadeau of all.

*    *     *

And now, from our home to yours, Joyeux Noël! See you in a few weeks for the very last edition of the year....

Photo taken on my birthday, three years ago, after Mom got me matching pajamas.

COMMENTS/CORRECTIONS
Your messages and your eagle eye in spotting typos are encouraging and helpful! Click here to comment. Merci!

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French vocabulary below

c'est le geste qui compte= it’s the thought that counts
la réouverture = the reopening
Notre-Dame (f) = cathedral in Paris
l’église (f) = church
peu importe = no matter what
la pompe à l’huile = traditional olive oil bread
la reine des Reinettes = queen of queens (type of apple)
le tableau vivant = living picture
il ne faut jamais arriver les mains vides = never arrive empty-handed
donner, c’est mieux que recevoir = giving is better than receiving
le cadeau n'est rien, c'est l'intention qui compte = the gift is nothing; it's the intention that counts
le santon = figurine from a Provençal nativity scene
le porteur d’eau = water carrier
la bergère = shepherdess
les trois mages = the three wise men
le coussin = cushion
le cadeau = gift
Joyeux Noël = Merry Christmas

Lili the cat update: 20-year-old Lili, who moved in with Mom after Smokey passed away, has always been an outdoor cat, but for the past year, she has preferred to stay inside, where she is cozy in our neighbor's armoire. Sadly, Lili's 15-year-old daughter recently passed away at our neighbor's, where both cats lived.

Our doves, Mama and Papa, befriended Mom when she moved here 6 years ago. Though Smokey and Lili are gone, this sweet pair of tourterelles are as close to mom as any. "Mama" has a white patch on her left wing, and "Papa" is never far from her, making it easy to identify the two.


Photo taken at les roches plates in La Ciotat. The texture of this rock reminds me of the surface of the pompe à l'huile, or crumbly olive cake I made recently. How did yours turn out?

REMERCIEMENTS/THANKS
I'd like to express my heartfelt appreciation to the following readers for their helpful donations to this blog!

Karen L.
Linda R.
Cerelle B.
Michèle C.
Sue & Charlie JP

Thanks for the weekly smiles and sunshine. —Karen L.

Joyeux Noël to you, Jean-Marc, Jules, and your kids! —Linda R.

Have a Blessed Christmas, Kristin and thanks for the recipes. Hugs. —Cerelle


A mid-December hike with Ricci in the hills above La Ciotat, offering a glimpse of the wintry Mediterranean Sea beyond the crumbling ruins