Celebrating 22 Years with French Word-A-Day: From Trick-or-Treaters to Timeless Tales

Lady with the purple hair"Woman With the Purple Hair in L'isle-sur-la-Sorgue." Her yellow skirt, red-trimmed bag, black tights, and violet highlights--she makes me want to trade my trusty jeans for something electrifying. Indeed, on the eve of the Day of the Dead, this lady is alive! For me, her tenue speaks of creativity, freedom, sweetness, and determination. Notice, also, the jack-o'-lanterns streaming in the sky... Joyeuse Halloween!

TODAY'S WORD: essayer
: to try

PRONUNCIATION: [eh-say-yay]

EXAMPLE SENTENCE:
Joyeux Halloween ! Aujourd’hui, je partage mes premiers essais d'écriture et mes efforts pour essayer encore. Happy Halloween! Today, I share my first writing attempts and my efforts to keep trying.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Twenty-two years ago, on a crisp autumn morning, the scent of candy in the air, this blog was born. In the medieval village of Les Arcs-sur-Argens, preparations were underway for Halloween—a totally new concept in France at the time. A ghoulish parade was about to begin, with local children dressed as witches, ghosts, skeletons, and little devils, going door to door to collect bonbons from village merchants, while des citrouilles d'Halloween flickered on porches, illuminating the festive spirit. There in the municipal parking lot, amidst a crowd of novice trick-or-treaters, my five-year-old Jackie and her seven-year-old frérot were giddy, and so was I…

That Halloween parade was my first cultural event to report on, and I covered the entire subject in one brief entry in this online journal. Here’s an excerpt from October 31, 2002:

Guess what? The French are celebrating Halloween! Today children will se défiler (parade) down the village streets dressed as sorcières (witches), fantômes (ghosts), and citrouilles (pumpkins). In France, the citizens haven’t yet figured out that it’s okay to be Elvis for Halloween… Les enfants (the children) will solliciter local bakeries, butchers, and various shops for candy (bonbons).

Granted, that short billet was more of a headline than a story. But soon, these paragraph-long reports grew into soulful essais—and how fitting that word is, coming from the verb essayer (to try). I soon learned that all you needed to be a writer was the willingness to essayer—the courage to try.

Since that day, I’ve been an essayist—someone who tries to put words down on paper. And, remarkably, it’s no easier today than it was 22 years ago which sometimes baffles me. But then, that’s true of every worthy pursuit, isn’t it? As you progress you build experience, but, just like jumping off a cliff, the fall is never the shorter. You may have better gear, more wisdom, and more muscle, but that doesn’t eliminate the fear, the risk of rejection from publishers and readers, and the looming threat of humiliation. Because once you have got your story down, no matter your intention, interpretation is out of your control. All you can do is try to improve your expression, day after day after day. Then one day, you repost an essay from years ago—only to get this feedback: “Loved today’s story! Your writing has improved so much!”

Maybe we don’t get better. But we get bolder!

Back to the grind… Each day brings the challenge of not knowing what to write about—in this blog post, in that magazine column, in this upcoming chapter—whatever the pen-worthy assignment might be. It can feel as daunting as a skeleton lurking in the closet, a goblin staring you down, or as unnerving as a ghostly whisper of doubt. And that brings us to today: Halloween! Just what is there left to say about that? Should I wax poetic about mums? During Toussaint chrysanthemums are the French flower of choice for cemeteries—precisely why you should never bring them as a hostess gift! Or perhaps I could describe the decorations that've gone up in town, in orange and black--so many pumpkins, spiders, and bats! Or let me tell you about the stash of candy I’ve amassed for the four trick-or-treaters who’ll hopefully ring our doorbell after sundown. Currently, les friandises are hidden from Jean-Marc, though I know our sweets thief will end up with them all tomorrow—when he’ll split le butin with his bewitching belle-mère Jules. Just don’t share with Ricci—chocolate is poisonous for dogs! Instead, we’ll offer her the pumpkin-themed jelly beans.

Voilà, my stab at a Halloween report--or essay--this year. Time, now, to figure out how to close this birthday post disguised as a spooky story…

On this, l’anniversaire of French Word-A-Day, I’d like to express my heartfelt gratitude. Merci beaucoup, dear reader, for lining up outside my door, like the most faithful trick-or-treater, waiting to see what goodies are in store for you today. I wouldn’t be here, all dressed up in my Writer costume, if it weren’t for you showing up on the other side of this portal. And now here we are together, many Halloweens later! Max and Jackie are all grown up and will greet trick-or-treaters chez eux. So many changes in your lives, too. Yet through it all, we continue on—writer and reader—for as long as we can say bêtise ou friandise, Trick or Treat! Ultimately, while writing may be fraught with uncertainty, it is also filled with countless blessings, reminding us that every word penned is a gift shared between writer and reader.//

French Halloween Candy money
Ricci peeks at the candy for our trick-or-treaters: chocolate euro bills, jelly beans, chocolate skeletons, ghosts, bats, and pumpkins. Ricci jette un coup d'œil aux bonbons pour nos petits monstres : billets en chocolat, bonbons gélifiés, squelettes, fantômes, chauves-souris et citrouilles en chocolate.

COMMENTS
A big thank you in advance for your comments and corrections--all so helpful and enjoyed! Click here to leave a message.

Chrysanthemums wine barrels france
REMERCIEMENTS

With sincere thanks to the following readers for their recent donations. Your continued support brings life to this journal and keeps it going. Merci du fond du cœur! — Kristi

Lisa S.
Mike P.

You always brighten up my days, Kristi! Thank you for your nice stories! --Mike

Merci Kristi!! Depuis 11 ans je lis tes récits sincères et partage tes moments de plaisir au sud de la France. merci bcp et un jour j’espère avoir le plaisir de vous rencontrer tous:). --Lisa. De Charlottesville Va


FRENCH VOCABULARY

AUDIO FILE: Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French:

Les Arcs-sur-Argens
= a medieval village in Provence
le bonbon = candy
la citrouille d'Halloween = jack-o-lantern
le frérot = brother
se défiler = to parade
la sorcière = witch
le fantôme = ghost
la citrouille = pumpkin
les enfants = children
solliciter
= to solicit
l’essai
(m) = essay
essayer = to try
la Toussaint = All Saints' Day
la friandise = candy
le butin = loot
la belle-mère = mother-in-law
voilà = so there you have it
l’anniversaire (m) = anniversary
merci beaucoup = thanks so much
chez eux = at their place
bêtise ou friandise = trick or treat

Did you notice anything missing from the above list? Any other errors? Thanks for letting me know here in the comments.

IMG_2237
A then five-year-old Jackie

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IMG_5715-EDIT

Halloween spiders pumpkins and ghosts

Woman with purple hair

A Message from KristiOngoing support from readers like you keeps me writing and publishing this free language journal each week. If you find joy or value in these stories and would like to keep this site going, donating today will help so much. Thank you for being a part of this community and helping me to maintain this site and its newsletter.

Ways to contribute:
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2.Paypal or credit card
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For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a Sobriety


Laquelle? Choices, Drama, & Everyday Life in France

Cassis Bar de la Marine Restaurant on the Port
Colorful buildings along the port of Cassis. Also, below, in the first six lines below, I am trying a new format for the word of the day. How do you like it? Do you have other suggestions for this weekly journal. Thanks for letting me know in the comments box.

TODAY'S WORD: Laquelle, Lequel

Pronunciation: [la-kell, le-kell]
Meaning: Which one? 

Example Sentence:
Je ne sais pas laquelle choisir.
(I don’t know which one to choose.)

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Laquelle? That is the question of the day! With so many things happening each week, picking just one incident to write about can be a real casse-tête.

Should I title this one Grand-mère Chérie and talk about the blessings of our aînés? Especially the French grandmother who warmed to Ricci and me while we were shopping for greens. Entering the maraîcher’s, the only other client in the tiny shop approached. “What a lovely dog!” she began. By the time our conversation was over, I knew exactly which champignons to buy (not those from Haute-Savoie—too gorged with liquid—wait another week, and the local chanterelles will be in stock). “Do you like Nougat?” my new friend continued. “They make it just over the hill from Ceyreste—in Signes...” And there I thought nougat was from Montélimar, only, and that signes was French for monkey (just kidding—that would be singes).

Putting geography and nougat aside for a moment (that last one will take willpower, n'est-ce pas?)... and back to our embarras de choix: I could write instead about Jean-Marc's latest Provence Wine Tour. What a treat to meet Donna, Jim, and Nancy over coffee at Le Rose Thé hotel here in La Ciotat. “We feel like we know you,” Donna shared, having read this blog for years. The feeling was mutual. Whether it was l'alchimie or sudden camaraderie, this encounter felt like reconnecting with old friends. After coffee, Donna’s husband, Jim, agreed to drive us to the world-renowned Château de Pibarnon, in the verdant hills above Bandol, then onto Cassis, to Domaine du Paternel. From Bandol’s hilltops to Cassis’ cliffs (falaises) and the hairpin turns in between, we were glad Jim was behind the wheel. Jean-Marc, our copilot, filled us in on the sights, adding a little history along the way.  It felt good to get our feet back on solid ground as we strolled through colorful Cassis after lunch on the port at Le Bar de La Marine. But not for long, we lifted off, once again, to reach the heights of La Route des Crêtes, where behind us the valley was carpeted with purple heather, and before us, a long way down the cliff, the turquoise blue sea spread out to infinity. I could go on about our picturesque périple, but back to our story-choice dilemma…

Maybe you’re curious to read about the monumental tongue-lashing Ricci and I received while sneaking across the beach, and the ice queen out at sea, hollering at me. During the off-season, their backyard having been battered all summer by tourists, the locals wander out to the empty beaches, often with their dogs. What a pleasure to see all the neighborhood chiens, bouncing and rollicking among the rocks and sand.

Normally, groups of people walk in the cold, shallow waters each morning, even in late fall. It is invigorating, wonderful exercise—and mood-lifting. But not for all….

"Get your dog off this beach!” The goggle-eyed woman thundered, stomping through the water. “It's disgusting. All the crap they leave is full of disease. Allez! Va-t-en! Get out of here!” I don’t know what crap she is referring to as I have rarely seen it on the beach (though there is plenty of  human generated litter…).

"Come on, Ricci!" I tugged at the leash, where a half dozen neon-pink doggie waste bags were tied at the ready (offered by the city—the pink is for Octobre Rose, breast cancer month). In addition to picking up after our dogs, we often pick up litter, giving those free bags extra duty.

During the woman’s tirade, Ricci dug her feet in, intent to do her business then and there…  Oh no! Not here! Just when I began sweating it—the fear, the condemnation, the public humiliation…..Plot twist! A crowd at the café began yelling back at the ice queen, “Ferme ta gueule! Shut up!” Caught in the crossfire, Ricci and I tiptoed off the battlefield... and hurried home to tell Mama Jules everything. "That's why I stay in bed," mom smiled. "Because, this time of day, all the nuts come out!"

Ouf! I’m tired just thinking about which story to expand upon. Wait a minute, there’s one more! I could write about that surreal wait, Monday, chez le gynéco, where everyone behaved like they were on the Paris Metro: not daring to look at each other lest they break some supernatural law. There in the waiting room, I found myself wondering what brought each woman here. Some were obvious—a pregnant belly here, perhaps birth control pills there... and as for we three middle-aged nanas: prolapsus? Incontinence? Menopause? All three? (Yes! But one doesn’t talk about such things! Just like on the Paris Metro, where you mustn't look into a stranger's eyes, certain subjects are best left unexamined

Enfin, voilà! Every week it's the same dilemma: which slice of life to share? So many stories, each has its drama, suspense, and even its own moral. But which one to write about? Laquelle? And therein lies the hitch: whether you’re a writer or a dreamer, you’ve got to choose a path today and ride it out to the end. Vroom! Vroom! After all, the journey is what makes each tale worth telling, each dream worth dreaming, and each day worth living.//

COMMENTS
Comments and corrections to this post are helpful and appreciated. Use the comments box, or simply hit return to this email.

Donna Jim Nany Jean-Marc at Domaine de Paternel in Cassis wine country
A snapshot from our Provence Wine Tour: Donna, Jim, Nancy, and Jean-Marc at Domaine de Paternel.

Mr Lion Boulangerie patisserie in cassis
I love this old typography. Next time it's open, I'm stopping into Mr Lion in Cassis for a treat.

REMERCIEMENTS

With deep appreciation to Jeanne G. and Michele C. for your recent donations. Your kindness, along with the support of all my readers, breathes life into this journal and keeps it going. Merci du fond du cœur! — Kristi

"Thank you for a splendid post that took me right into the heart of your adventures." — Jeanne G.

Kristi reading menu
At Bar de La Marine in Cassis. Borrowing Donna's reading glasses in order to see the menu. 

FRENCH VOCABULARY

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

laquelle = which, which one
le casse-tête = the puzzle
la grand-mère = the grandmother
chéri(e) = dear, sweet
les aînés
= the elders
le maraîcher = the greengrocer
les champignons = the mushrooms
la Haute-Savoie = the Haute-Savoie
le chanterelle = chanterelle (golden wild mushroom, fragrant and tasty.)
le nougat = the nougat
le Montélimar = the
Signes = a small village in the Provençal hinterland
le singe = monkey 
n'est-ce pas = isn't that true?
l'embarras du choix = overwhelming options
l'alchimie = the chemistry
les falaises = the cliffs
le périple = journey
le chien = dog
Allez! Va-t-en! = Go! Get out of here!
Octobre rose = pink October
ferme ta gueule!
= shut your mouth!
ouf! = whew!
chez le gynéco
= at the gynecologists
les nanas = women (informal, slang)
interdit = forbidden
enfin, voilà = so there you have it
merci du fond du coeur = thank you from the bottom of my heart

Did you notice any words missing from the list? Thanks for letting me know.

IMG_5654_Original
Tied to Ricci's leash are those pink sacs à déchets I told you about--for Octobre Rose

Wooden boats and more in the port of Cassis France
Fishing boats in Cassis

Le chateau de cassis on the cliff
Le château de Cassis, high up on the cliff. What would you like to read about next week? Let me know in the comments.

Jules Max and Josephine
I leave you with a story from the 2006 archives. The photo of my mom, Max, and Josephine was taken in 1997, when we lived in St. Maximin. Don't miss the story of Josephine and her famous friend Josephine, here. Given it is Octobre Rose, you might also read my mom's experience with breast cancer here in France, and facing her fears, in the story "Revivre", to live again.

A Message from KristiOngoing support from readers like you keeps me writing and publishing this free language journal each week. If you find joy or value in these stories and would like to keep this site going, donating today will help so much. Thank you for being a part of this community and helping me to maintain this site and its newsletter.

Ways to contribute:
1.Zelle®, The best way to donate and there are no transaction fees. Zelle to [email protected]

2.Paypal or credit card
Or purchase my book for a friend and so help them discover this free weekly journal.
For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a Sobriety


Papa Chéri: Our Father-Daughters’ Reunion at Sea

Papa cheri
Bubbles in Barcelona: Enjoy the story of our father-daughters’ Mediterranean reunion in today's entry “Papa Chéri.”

TODAY’S WORD: PAPA CHÉRI
Sweet Dad, Darling Dad

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

It’s 4:15 a.m., and I’ve just hugged my sister, Heidi, goodbye. She is on her way home to Denver. In another three hours, it will be time to send off our other sister, Kelley, and our dad, who will fly back to Seattle. We have just spent nine days together, laughing, reminiscing, and toasting to this collective effort to be together once again—and the sunny Mediterranean was the ideal backdrop for our family reunion at sea!

After our dad launched the idea of a father-daughter voyage a few years ago, it was our little sister who tracked down the ideal seven-day séjour. Kelley, a flight attendant, learned about Azamara cruises thanks to her colleague Susie, who is experienced in les croisières. Being cruise novices, we weren’t sure what to expect, but since our goal was to spend time together and celebrate Dad’s upcoming 83rd birthday, we didn’t really care about perfection—though that’s exactly what we got!

Our Mediterranean itinerary began in Spain and stopped at ports along the south of France. While it may seem strange to go port-hopping so close to home (Collioure, Marseille, Toulon, Sanary-sur-Mer, Nice, Monaco—and even Ajaccio are familiar spots), I appreciated my family’s willingness to travel in my direction. My Dad was hesitant, but agreed to traverse three international airports, security, customs, and the rest. He was accompanied all the way by a first-class flight attendant—Kelley—which made the deal a little sweeter.

There in Barcelona, before boarding Azamara’s 700-passenger ship, Onward, my sister Heidi and I waited our turn in line to check our bags. Ahead of us stood a tall, beautiful blonde and a distinguished gentleman who could have been her father. That’s because he was her father—only onlookers could easily make the wrong assumption! We needed to have T-shirts printed to clear up any confusion. One would read “That’s my Dad” (with a large arrow) and the other, “That’s my daughter —>.” On second thought, why not have Dad’s T-shirt read “Sugar Daddy” and give those accidental gawkers something to gossip about! Given the range of characters aboard our ship, there was no shortage of misconceptions, and we enjoyed every minute of people-watching—and making our own colorful conclusions.

After checking our bags and going through security, we boarded the cruise ship and headed straight to lunch, poolside. Incidentally, poolside would be the only part of the ship we’d easily recognize, as we never did figure out exactly where we were on the 181-meter-long, multi-storied vessel. To borrow a line from our sister, “Passengers tend to check their brains with their bags…” Kelley means that tenderly, as that’s what vacation is all about: relaxing the mind.

Pool Azamara Onward

With seven days ahead of us, we had plenty of time to orient ourselves. Though I still can’t tell you whether these places were bow, starboard, port, or stern side, here are the spots we frequented most: the Cabaret Room (for evening entertainment, including Disco Night and Bingo), the Den (for the piano bar), the walking/jogging track for daily exercise (and a spectacular early morning view of the latest port), the library, and the various eateries.

Every morning, we began with breakfast at Windows Café. The selection was vast—from le saumon fumé to pancakes—it was, as the French say, l’embarras du choix, overwhelming! Each night we dined at Discoveries Restaurant, and it was as good as the fine dining (five floors up) we experienced the first night. Lobster, filet mignon, crab cakes, lamb… the selection was gastronomique. Everything was cooked to order and delicious. Located near two onboard boutiques, the Mosaic Café was my favorite stop for a twice-daily latté and les gourmandises (cookies, carrot cake, lemon tart). There was even an array of dainty tea sandwiches. Ordering whatever you desire felt like being Charlie in The Chocolate Factory. On this cruise ship, everything is included—even le pourboire! My conscience was rattled at every meal, but the waiters insisted waste was dealt with ecologically (if not geographically. In a perfect world all the untouched food would be packed up at delivered fresh to the ports for immediate redistribution). 

Flower market in Nice
The flower market in Nice

Our room being located above the bow, we were shaken awake that first morning by the lowering of a massive anchor! We dressed, had breakfast, and took a tender off the boat to reach our first destination: Port Vendres. Just in front of the tourist office, we stepped onto Le Petit Train, heading towards Collioure. The weather was so sunny and warm, people were swimming in the sparkling cove—in October!

Cathedral marseilles
Cathedrale de la Major in Marseille

We made it back to the boat for lunch and a little siesta, followed by drinks and dinner. We repeated this agreeable schedule daily (except in Marseille, where we met up with Jackie for a private shopping tour and lunch near Le Vieux Port. Aunt Heidi and Aunt Kelley were delighted to see their nièce, but Grandpa stayed on the boat, nursing a slight cold. He would gladly catch up with his granddaughter later in the week).

Kelley Kristi Heidi
Kelley, me, Heidi at a café in the bustling port of Toulon

As for catching up, on this trip my sisters were on a sentimental mission: to make up for lost time. Heidi and I grew up in the Arizona desert, while Kelley was born and raised in Washington State. Beginning when Kelley was a teenager, we three gathered whenever possible, but a geographical distance made it challenging. Now, in mid-life, here we were, together again and taking enough pictures to crash our dad’s phone. We may not have a family picture or Christmas card from bygone days but, ouistiti! there was no stopping us now.

“Here, let me help you with your hair,” Heidi said one evening, offering me a salon-worthy blowout. She had this amazing brush and, after enough hints, she gifted it to me just to shut me up! Like teenagers, we shared each other’s stuff and savoir-faire, as siblings do. Kelley offered us each a trousse de toilette, filled with lotions and potions and we all giggled when Dad chimed in, telling us how much he enjoyed the eye mask. We had to give Dad credit for managing to participate in all our girly conversations, though he drew the line at window shopping, or “lécher les vitrines” as the French say (literally “licking windows”). We could spend hours in antique stores and boutiques at every port.

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During the cruise, we each reveled in one-on-one time with Dad. While my sisters enjoyed father-daughter conversations on the sundeck, I relished our indoor tête-à-têtes, always tender and amusante. Over coffee with Dad at the Mosaic Café, we were talking about tap water when Dad casually mentioned he was drinking from the bathroom sink in his cabin. “Dad!” I cautioned, “You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can. I drink tap water all the time.”

I called the barista over to explain why this was a bad idea, given how much bleach they use to treat seawater. Dad allowed the young man to elaborate before replying, “Well, it may have some imperfection... but it’s not poisonous imperfection! I’ll stick to the cabin water!”

Speaking of cabins—or “staterooms”—Dad and Kelley shared one with twin beds, while Heidi and I were one floor below in a near-identical layout. Everything was comfortable except the temperature… and so began the thermostat wars. My sisters, with their Antarctic leanings, would’ve been better climate companions for each other. Dad and I prefer heat, so when the girls were sleeping, we turned up the dials!

Bike in Collioure
In the artsy town of Collioure

One night, on our way up to the Atlas Bar on the 10th floor for our evening apéro—“Parisians” (champagne cocktails) for them, Perrier for moi—an elegant couple entered the elevator. Dad, captivated by the woman’s beaded jacket, flashed me a mischievous look before swiping at a string of dangling beads on the back. Unbeknownst to the glamorous fashionista and her civilized companion, the beads swayed innocently. I almost died!

“Dad!!!” was our not-so-indignant response to every mischievous word or deed coming from our papa chéri.

One particularly poignant evening balanced out these daily shenanigans. Over dinner, we asked Dad about his time in the Air Force, when we were with him in the Philippines, after he married Mom and adopted Heidi. He told us very little about the Vietnam War, but his visible sadness spoke volumes. As we quietly contemplated Dad’s words, a passenger from a nearby table appeared. “Thank you, Sir, for your service,” she said, simply. There followed a cosmic lull: time stood still. Next I knew my sisters had tears in their eyes. I felt a ball form in my throat imagining the full impact of war—on those targeted and those sent out to target others. Glancing over at Dad, I saw tears in his eyes for the first time.

In addition to so many tragic losses, there was the fallout among families, too. As Kelley dried her tears, I reminded her of something our Mom (Heidi’s and mine) often says when we feel sadness about the breakup of our family. According to Jules, “If it wasn’t for the divorce, we would have never gotten our precious Kelley!” (who toddled joyfully into this world after Dad remarried and who, all grown up now, became our compass on this trip, handling all the logistics and guiding us through the ports).

That emotional night brought a tender closeness to the rest of our chanceux father-daughter journey. As we disembarked from the ship, we felt a wave of gratitude for the way this time together had fortified our family ties. The sunny ports of the Mediterranean were enchanting, but it was the shared stories, laughter, and meaningful moments with Dad that made our trip shine. We raise our glasses to those memories, now, Tchin! Tchin!—and to our papa chéri.

***

Post Note: Papa chéri in French translates to "sweet dad." You might say our would-be Sugar Daddy T-shirts are fitting after all! :-)

Kristi Kelley Dad Heidi
Me, Kelley, Dad, and Heidi. Thanks again, Susie, for recommending this outstanding cruise company. We toasted to you every night--including White Night, which is a tradition onboard. (It was the chance to wear my wedding dress once again!)

COMMENTS
Thank you very much for taking the time to read this post. Your comments are a joy to read and your edits and suggestions help so much. Click here to leave a message.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: Click here to listen to the French terms below 

la croisière = cruise
le séjour = stay
gastronomique = gourmet
la gourmandise = treats
le pourboire = tip
le saumon fumé = smoked salmon
la pâtisserie = pastry, cake
Le Petit Train = the Little Train
le Vieux Port = the Old Port
la nièce = niece
ouistiti! = say cheese!
la trousse de toilette = toiletry kit
le tête-à-tête = one-on-one conversation
amusante = funny
le barista = a person who serves coffee in a coffee bar
lécher les vitrines = window shopping (literally "lick the windows")
chanceux = lucky
l’apéro (m) = pre-dinner drink
moi = me
papa chéri= sweet Dad, darling Dad
chanceux
= lucky
tchin! tchin! = cheers

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REMERCIEMENTS
With sincere thanks to the following readers for their recent donations. Your continued support brings life to this journal and keeps it going. Merci du fond du cœur! — Kristi

Susan G.
Holly R.-J.
Carol Lynn S.

My son picked up "Words in a French Life" at one of our Little Free Libraries here in Shorewood, Wisconsin. I treat myself to a chapter every morning and dream of being transported! Thank you! --Carol Lynn

Collioure
You can see our ship in the distance, off the shore of Collioure 

Kelley Heidi Dad Kristi (If a photo isn't showing, simply click on the link beside it.) 

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To comment on this post, click here.

A Message from KristiOngoing support from readers like you keeps me writing and publishing this free language journal each week. If you find joy or value in these stories and would like to keep this site going, donating today will help so much. Thank you for being a part of this community and helping me to maintain this site and its newsletter.

Ways to contribute:
1.Zelle®, The best way to donate and there are no transaction fees. Zelle to [email protected]

2.Paypal or credit card
Or purchase my book for a friend and so help them discover this free weekly journal.
For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a Sobriety