Inébranlable: Unflappable in French (A Mother-Daughter story)
Thursday, January 23, 2025
Jackie and Ricci ordering tea and a Galette des Rois at Le Nageur café on the old port in La Ciotat. For more photos and to stay connected, follow me on Instagram @kristinespinasse
TODAY'S WORD: INÉBRANLABLE
: unshakeable, unflappable
A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse
Hej! That's bonjour in Swedish. Twenty-five years ago, before taking the leap into writing, I worked at a vignoble in France owned by the Swedish State. Fanny, a young mother of two and the secretary there, made me feel welcome as I rejoined the workforce after my own little ones entered school.
As sweet as Fanny was, she was firm, and her sense of humor softened any blows. Throughout the day workers would come to her with their urgent demands, but Fanny, with her long strawberry blond curls, was never ruffled. One day le caviste arrived, pounding his fists on her desk, having run out of corks. “Mes bouchons! Didn’t you order them? I NEED THEM NOW!”
During such a meltdown, Fanny’s eyes would narrow as she chewed her gum thoughtfully. “Ne me fais pas un caca nerveux, Philippe!” she would answer calmly.
There at my desk facing hers, I nearly spit my coffee out translating Fanny’s words: “Now don’t go having a nervous poop, Philippe!” She sure knew how to de-dramatise the situation.
Fanny was my hero. I can still see that conspiratorial wink she would flash me as she managed such urgencies and the emotions surrounding them. I really could use Fanny’s calme inébranlable, her rock-solid composure when others (or my own) catastrophic imaginings get the best of me, as they did recently...
It began with a late-night call from my 27-year-old daughter. Jackie was at the airport in Palm Springs, on her way home to France when the ticketing agent warned her she risked being stopped at customs. The one-way ticket she purchased required her French passport when entering the Schengen zone and not the alternative American passport our little bi-national has had the option of using since birth. Though her brother, Max, assured her her American passport was stamped in the back, certifying she was a French national, Jackie feared she would be deported the moment she landed in Amsterdam. “They could send me back to California!”
“Jackie, that’s not going to happen!” I promised my daughter, having been through similar panics with her in the past. No! This time I was not going to drop everything and go searching high and low for the documents she was asking for. Not when I was finally warm in my bed after a day too challenging to write about or explain.
Never explain, never complain, ideally speaking, but reality is often different from our best intentions. Suddenly the phone line was jumping as mother and daughter tossed a proverbial hot potato:
“Mom! Quit shouting!”
“Jackie, I am not shouting!”
“Mom, if you will calm down I….”
“I am calm! Now just tell me where those papers are!”
“Why are you so upset?”
“I am not upset. I am tired!” What I didn’t tell Jackie was that earlier, when I had gone to bed, my only prayer was that she would make it home safely. And now this administrative glitch might prolong that dreaded 3-flight journey back.
Our argument amounted to both of us releasing that stress. Round and round we went until finally, down the cold stairwell I hurried, to go rifling through Jackie’s room. This restless impatience isn’t limited to moments like these—it spills into my writing, where I second-guess every word and wonder if I’ll ever relax enough to simply tell the story. If only I wouldn’t get so worked up before completing the task at hand… It’s as if I need so much built-up tension for the goods to come spilling out. Is there an art to such pressure? Shouldn’t creation simply flow? Is this essay getting off-track?
Finally, to my surprise, Jackie’s documents were easy to find when I followed her simple directions. I quickly snapped photos of her French passport and her French national identity card and sent them on, wishing I’d done so immediately—and so avoided a long drawn-out drama! Talk about a caca nerveux!
In the end, our little globe-trotter passed la douane (no need for the extra documents, the stamp on the back of her passport was, as her bro said, sufficient) and Jackie arrived safely home. There she stood on our front steps, wearing a stylish, modern cowboy hat, and all black, her valises on either side of her. Our enguelade instantly forgotten, we hugged each other tightly. Thank God she had a safe journey. I could now release any remaining tension.
“I’m so glad you’re home. I love you,” I said, tugging the brim of her hat.
“Me too, I love you,” Reaching down to calm an overexcited Ricci, Jackie murmured, “Et oui. Je t’aime aussi!”
The next day we set out with Ricci on a mother-daughter hike up to le sémaphore, to help with jet lag and to clear the air between us. It was also the chance to talk about Jackie’s plans. The marketing program she began last semester was not what she thought it would be. Recently, she’s developed an interest in Pilates….
“You know, I can really see you as a physical trainer!” I said, huffing and puffing my way up the hill. “Can I be your first student when you get your certificate?”
“Oh, Mom. I’m so relieved you are not disappointed in me for leaving school!”
“I think you are one smart cookie and you are finding your way. You have the emotional intelligence, caring heart, and the experience to work in the health and fitness industry. I never did see you behind a computer all day long.”
We paused along the jagged trail to contemplate a new beginning. Below us, the deep blue bay of La Ciotat hugged the rocky coastline. The hills rising up to le sémaphore glowed with faded blossoms, reflecting the auburn highlights in my daughter’s hair. In the quiet, several tiny birds flitted back and forth between the bushes, like colorful strokes on a brand new canvas. The picture was bright.
Jackie’s next words stirred the paint, before the universe added an unexpected brushstroke to our horizon…
“Max called from le chantier. He wanted to know if he and Jacques could come over for dinner tonight. And maybe Ana will be here. Oh, and let’s invite Aunt Cécile!”
Just like that, I began panicking over what to cook for a growing party of last-minute guests. With Jean-Marc away in South America, I’d lost my boussole—my compass in times of family gatherings. Who’ll serve the wine? Who’ll grill? Who’ll make bananes flambées? My internal chatter was spiraling again. Let’s see… Max will serve the wine…we don’t have to barbecue…and everyone loves ice cream—especially Grandma. But how would we get Jules to join us—oh, yes, ice cream!
“Mom relax, I’ll take care of it!” Jackie said, sounding very much like her father. Her growing smile won me over. Pourquoi pas? Why not have a dinner party? My youngest was home safe, with a new, exciting plan. This was a cause to celebrate!
Somewhere, I like to think Fanny is smiling too. I see her winking at me as she snaps her chewing gum with a playful pop. “Now, stay cool, ma belle. Enjoy your family, and continue to write about this beautiful life. It is worth sharing.
I also see several little birds flitting back and forth along the path, prepping the canvas for the next chapter…
***
COMMENTS
Your comments are encouraging and your correction are so helpful. Thanks in advance! To leave a message, click here.
Our Provençal Christmas tree moved to the patio, where our doves enjoy hanging out.
FRENCH VOCABULARY
Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the following French words
inébranlable = unflappable
le vignoble = vineyard
le caviste = cellar worker
les bouchons = corks
le caca nerveux = nervous poop, meltdown
Ne me fais pas un caca nerveux = Don’t freak out
la douane = customs
la valise = suitcase
l’enguelade = argument, row
et oui = and yes
Je t’aime aussi = I love you too
le sémaphore = signal station (a hilltop building used historically for maritime communication, offering stunning views)
le chantier = the renovation site
la boussole = compass
la banane flambée = Bananas Foster, carmelized banana with rum
pourquoi pas? = why not?
ma belle, mon beau = darling (an elegant way to say my dear)
Jackie at the Living Desert Zoo and Gardens in Palm Desert. She had an inspiring visit with her grandparents in California.
I left my job at the Swedish vineyard to begin French Word-A-Day in October of 2002. I would drop the kids at school, write all day, and pick them up in time for le goûter (after school snack). Life, then, in the medieval village of Les Arcs-sur-Argens, offered a lot of "grist for the mill"--plenty to write about. Those stories are collected in the book Words in a French Life: Lessons in Love and Language from the South of France
REMERCIEMENTS
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!
Vicki B.
Joan S.
Jane R.
Patty C.
Dixie M.
Cathy D.
Susan H.
Stacey C.
Michèle C.
Pamela C.
Andrew K.
Kristina W.
Catherine L.
Parlez-Vous Provence
Mom, on her wedding day in Sedona, Arizona. Her marriage license was never filed. Don't miss the story of how Jules came to France, in the post "Le Collier" (The Necklace)
A Message from Kristi: Ongoing 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