FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

Enjoy today's story about my appointment at the neighborhood salon as I get ready for an upcoming Mediterranean cruise with my dad and my two sisters. Leaving for a mini family reunion soon…See you in a few weeks! 

TODAY’S WORD: RAPLAPLA

  : flat, lifeless; tired-looking

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

This fall, my dog and I are in a competition to see who can lose the most hair. “I think you’re winning,” my hairdresser says, shaking more of my hair out of his hands.

“You should see my house,” I laugh, “it’s carpeted with fur! Maybe Ricci’s winning?”

After some initial plaisanteries, I begin to close my eyes. I’ve finally made it to the salon, where I’ll spend two hours trying to avoid eye contact with the woman in the mirror. I don’t like la cicatrice on her forehead, and her cheeks have tiny red veins I know are there, even if I’ve covered them with fond de teint. And though I carefully washed it a day before (my hairdresser doesn’t like a greasy scalp) my hair is limp and stringy. There’s an amusing French word for this not-so-amusing condition of flat and lifeless locks: raplapla.

Too bad raplapla is wasted on lifeless locks because it would make a fine interjection—as it always takes a bit of oomph to drag me out of my nest and into this swivel chair, especially during l’heure de la sieste. Why is it that hair appointments and Amazon deliveries always seem to fall during these most delectable hours?

“Les mèches et une coupe, s’il vous plaît”… The last time I phoned the salon for these was three months ago for a wedding. Three months before that, a trip with my best friend was my motivation to aller chez le coiffeur. And before that, it was my 56th birthday. A grand total of four trips a year—and if it weren’t for these social occasions, it would be even fewer, and I’d go around with my hair tied back and covered in a hat for as long as I could get away with it.

I hear door chimes and look up from my swivel chair. A couple walks in. Bonjour, messieurs dames, they say, greeting a room full of clients in various stages of transformation. With no more available chairs in this tiny salon, the man settles in at l’espace shampoing. How lovely to come to the salon together! I think, studying the sweethearts, each in shoes with Velcro closures. I make a mental note to bring my surefooted husband next time—but there’s no way Jean-Marc would wait two hours in a room full of fancy lotions and potions. Give him a field of musky grapes and some sécateurs, and he’d cut his own hair if he could—and dye it purple with le jus de raisin.

My eyes water from the toxic fumes of peroxide as Cyril begins the technique known as le balayage, painting thick white cream onto another lock of my hair and wrapping each section in plastic. I look away from the thinning mop he’s working on and ask about his recent trip to Corsica.

C’était merveilleux! Le fromage Corse, les saucissons, les cascades, les piscines naturelles—and you can take your dog with you everywhere!

I think about my upcoming trip with Dad and my sisters. We’ll meet in Barcelona for a Mediterranean cruise…including a stop in Corsica. Imagine being able to take my dog—that would be heaven! Just as Le Paradis is paved in gold, our ship would be paved in platinum—tufts and tufts of it, both Ricci’s and mine!

I smile at the thought and glance around the salon. More customers have arrived with thinning hair and graying roots. The creases and scars on our faces reflect experiences, adventure, and a quiet confidence that, in spite of our collective raplapla—our limp and lifeless locks—life is full! I look back at the woman in the mirror. This time, she has a pleasant smile. The critical gaze is gone. We’re all the same, really. In our day-to-day lives, we’re all just trying to keep our hair on.

***

Note to French readers: the above idiom, to keep your hair on, can mean a few things, including ne pas s'en faire, or to not worry too much about a situation. You could say to a friend: Ne t'en fais pas (calm down or take it easy). Picture taken several years ago at another neighborhood salon. I liked the piggybank, or tirelire.

COMMENTS
Thank you for taking the time to leave a comment or a correction. Your notes are enjoyed and so appreciated! Click here to comment.

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

Click here to listen  to Jean-Marc pronounce the French

les plaisanteries = jokes, lighthearted remarks

la cicatrice = scar

le fond de teint = foundation (makeup)

raplapla = limp or lifeless

l’heure de la sieste = nap time

les mèches = highlights

s’il vous plaît = please

une coupe = cut

aller chez le coiffeur = to go to the hairdresser

bonjour, messieurs dames = hello, ladies and gentlemen

l’espace shampoing (m) = shampoo station

le sécateur (m) = pruning shears 

le jus de raisin = grape juice

le balayage = a hair coloring technique where dye is painted onto hair in a sweeping motion

C’était merveilleux = It was wonderful 

le fromage corse = Corsican cheese

le saucisson = dried sausage 

les piscines naturelles = natural swimming pools

le paradis = paradise 

With Ricci, last month, enjoying a few last swims before fall. 

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

Chuck V.
Ophelia P.
Michèle C.
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Caroline & Marshall M.


My mom's solution to raplapla--or lifelessness--may be to weave flowers in your hair, especially beautiful fleurs sèches from a lovely autumn walk. I hope you enjoy today's introspective stroll through our neighborhood salon. Take care, prenez soin de vous, and see you in a few weeks.

There's a sailing theme in today's essay as well as a nod to our 30th wedding anniversary. The term "voile" neatly captures both…so let’s begin!

TODAY'S WORD: VOILE

    : sail (la voile)
    : veil (le voile)

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

It’s the start of a new work week, and Jean-Marc, Ricci, and I have overslept. Perhaps Sunday’s long luncheon at our new table, along with all the fantastic desserts our guests brought, weighed us down so much that we couldn’t wake up on time.

“Quelle heure est-il?” my husband mumbles in the dark.

Below my feet, I can feel Ricci stretch as I reach for my phone. It’s 6:51 a.m.

“Je suis en retard!” Jean-Marc gasps. I hurry downstairs to let our dog out and quickly make some chicorée-café, our new morning cup o’ Joe as it is gentler on the nerves. Jean-Marc’s phone is already ringing—harvesters at Domaine Antiane, the Bandol vineyard where he’s in charge of la vendange this season, are arriving in the fields at sunrise. But which field? They want to know. It’s amusing to imagine how my husband will give the precise coordinates to locate a specific block of Mourvèdre grapes. Will he say, “Just past the old windmill and over the creek? Turn left after the olive orchard…”? I can picture it now, having stumbled onto dozens of isolated parcels in the years we lived in the vineyards. Reaching to caress Ricci, I’m so grateful to be back in my warm bed, with my warm mug!

I leave Jean-Marc to deal with his vineyard dilemmas while I face my own: Which story should I write for this week’s deadline? Doubts swirl around the drafts forming in my mind. There’s the one about my mom, tentatively titled “LaLa Land”—a place I suggest we all start dwelling more often, instead of taking everything so seriously. “These are the best days of our lives,” I remind both Mom and myself, genuinely believing we should stop worrying about the who, what, where, and why—and once and for all step into this storybook life!

On the other hand, given this is Jackie’s birth week (she’s turning 27!), there’s a funny anecdote about my daughter that I could write instead. She recently got me all worked up with her nearly impossible birthday plans: As she’s beginning her Master’s program this week and would be away all day, she suggested we celebrate at 6:30 a.m. with pancakes, bacon, eggs, a fully decorated house, and the whole family in attendance. Just when I was about to unravel from all the detailed planning (and the pressure of trying to make it all perfect), she snickered. “Mom, I’m fine with a bowl of cereal. Relax!”

While I like both stories, I’m suddenly overwhelmed with doubt as I sip my coffee. Not only am I indecisive, but I'm starting to worry that readers will tire of these same old anecdotes. After all, c’est du pareil au même—more of the same! Maybe I should be writing about sports, cryptocurrency, or les actualités instead…

As I sit there, panicking over my coffee, Jean-Marc calls up from the bottom of the stairwell, “Bonne chance avec ton édition!” He says that every time, and for a moment, I forget my fears. I think instead about the progress we’ve made and continue to make individually and as a couple. It’s just a matter of staying the course…steady as she goes!

So far, this boat is sailing, even if, week after week, we get hit with our fair share of flotsam here on deck: a family crisis, a social conundrum, a traffic ticket, a plague of mites (thank God they finally disappeared). But when I stop and let the wind wash over me, I realize how freeing it is to face the gales head-on—avec la foi.

As one of my favorite French thinkers, François Fénelon, tutor to the Duke of Burgundy, once said, “Le vent de Dieu souffle toujours; il vous faut seulement hisser la voile.” The wind of God is always blowing…but you must hoist your sail.

Though I didn’t follow through with either story plan today, I managed to write—thanks in part to a certain Frenchman. Before rushing out into the vine fields, Jean-Marc took a moment to share a few uplifting words. What if, finally, that was the most important order of the day? Not to pick the right path, but to help hoist one another’s sails?

As Ricci comes trotting back in from the yard, her nose wet from the morning dew, Jean-Marc’s voice drifts in from the distance, where he’s already absorbed in the vineyard’s daily rhythm. I glance out the window and smile. The day is young, and with each other's support, we’ll weather it—just as we’ve weathered all the others.

***

Update: We all got up early yesterday to make pancakes, bacon, and eggs and celebrate Jackie's birthday. See the video at the end of this post.

September 24th, 1994, at the dinner reception following our church wedding. 

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FRENCH VOCABULARY 

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

Patti C.
Carla N.
Marji E.
Linda R.
Pattie M.
Susan B.
Robert H.
Karyna W.-S.

I have followed you for many years, and am never disappointed. Thank you for persevering in your beautiful snapshots of your life! —Pattie M.

Merci pour les récits sincères et charmants de votre vie quotidienne à La Ciotat. Bon automne à vous et à vos proches, y compris Ricci. Bien amicalement, —Patti C.

Il y a trente ans - thirty years ago

In this week of birthdays and anniversaries, here's a very special Joyeux Anniversaire to Jules. Thank you, Mom, for teaching us the value of sharing uplifting thoughts, to always think positive, and to keep your eyes on the horizon. The seeds you planted early on have blossomed into this storybook life. The only thing that could make it better is an ice cream truck circling our neighborhood, as it did when we were little. XOXO

Photo taken at Le Couvent des Minimes last spring, during a road trip with my best friend, Susan--alias Rouge-Bleu. Perhaps I was dreaming of this ethereal place when something suddenly jolted me awake…

TODAY'S WORD: UNE NUIT BLANCHE

    : sleepless night; all-nighter

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

The first week of fall had me tossing and turning like a leaf spiraling from a tree. It began Saturday night when I woke with a start. But it wasn’t un cauchemar that jolted me awake. No, it was my husband’s phone. Specifically—it was that annoying PING! of instant messaging.

I felt a low, deep groan rising from somewhere in my being. Pouah! he forgot to turn off his phone--again! Resisting the urge to react further, I lay there quietly in the dark as my husband fumbled for his téléphone portable, putting it in airplane mode.

Ouaf! Ouaf! Ouaf! Now our dog was awake and excited at the chance to go outside after midnight.

"Dodo, Ricci! Dodo!" Jean-Marc ordered our little shepherd to go back to sleep, as if it were that easy. Well, apparently it was for the man who’d woken us all up!

Within minutes, Jean-Marc’s steady breathing told me he was fast asleep again. Meanwhile, I was wide awake—and more than a little annoyed to have been pulled from such a satisfying sommeil. 

Even if I decided right away to let this little resentment go and get on with the business of trying to fall back to sleep, the universe seemed to have other plans...such as resolving a long-standing cultural divide. You see, there was a time—before coming to France—when I would have rallied in the face of challenges. But after 30 years in the Hexagon, I grumble--je râle--at the slightest inconvenience! Along with winning the Olympic gold in complaining, the French are seasoned doubters. Their tout est impossible attitude stands in stark contrast to my where there’s a will there’s a way American upbringing.

Lying there, eyes wide open, I began to wonder if anything was possible tonight. Could I manage to fall back asleep? My mind quickly shifted, though, as another thought took over: What time is it? I resisted the urge to check the clock, knowing it would only make things worse...

I started wondering if Jackie had made it home safely. She’d left for Cassis in the late afternoon to pick up her final paycheck at the hotel. "I’m meeting a friend for a drink after," she said, before driving off. It was so quiet outside that the eerie call of the owl echoed through the streets of our neighborhood. It must be past three… Suddenly, all I could think of was the dark, winding road between Cassis and home. Tossing and turning, I debated getting up to check if my daughter's car was in the driveway. But if it wasn’t … I'd go into full panic mode. So I lay there frozen.

Grrh! She could have texted me! I grumbled (not that I would've heard the ping on MY phone, which was in airplane mode). After 30 minutes of inner back-and-forth, I finally reached for my phone to check the time. 3:30 a.m.! Mais ou-est-elle?! A quick call revealed she was fine—enjoying the lively port of Cassis, one last summer night with friends.

Bon, I thought, now I’ll be able to sleep. But just as I patted my pillow and settled in, I remembered Mom’s upcoming doctors appointments in Marseille. The thought of driving to the city, dealing with the hospital, and then driving back after dark began to weigh on me as I have difficulty seeing beyond the windshield at night. Why is that doctor always en retard? If she wasn't so very late each time I wouldn't have to worry about driving after sundown! Worse than complaining I was now blaming. This was no way to begin to find peace in the middle of the night--or anywhere in life!

Still wide awake, I decided to rally…instead of râler, or complain. If I was going to lie there and think a lot, I’d think pleasant thoughts! I remembered an amusing phone call I’d had earlier with my son. Max was driving with his girlfriend when he rang me here at home:

“Hey Mom, I’ll pick you up at 11 tomorrow for Pilates,” he said.
Max had a guest pass and invited me to join him at his gym in Saint Cyr-sur-Mer, but I was skeptical. “Will I need to fill out any forms? What do I bring? How long is the class?” I asked, picturing a room full of perfect Pilates people.
“You’ll just need a towel and a bottle of water.”
“That’s it? There won’t be any papers to fill out—some kind of satisfaction survey?”
“No, Mom. But you will go through security.”

At that, I imagined a TSA-style line with X-ray machines. A familiar panic started to rise in me, as I braced myself to not râler. Just as I was mustering the courage to stay calm, I heard a giggle—it was Ana, chiming in from the passenger seat. “Oh, Max, stop teasing your mom!” And just like that, I realized Max had been pulling my leg again.

Lying there in bed, two hours into my nuit blanche, I found myself chuckling. What began as a night of frustration and worry had turned into one of laughter and perspective. Even my husband, sound asleep, snorted—a gentle reminder that, despite it all, life doesn’t take itself too seriously.

“Chéri, tu ronfles,” I whispered, nudging him gently. He shifted, and I snuggled in closer, feeling the weight of the night slowly lift.

As my eyes began to close, a verse came to mind, etching tonight’s lesson a little deeper into my heart: Faites tout sans vous plaindre et sans discuter... et brillez comme des flambeaux dans le monde. Do everything without complaining or arguing... and shine like beacons in the world.

A new day

COMMENTS
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Mom, at our Mas des Brun vineyard, years ago. She had good news at the doctor's: her uveitis--or eye inflammation--is under control. Now it is a matter of slowly reducing her medications. Hopefully, she will be back to painting again soon!

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Sound file: click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French terms

le cauchemar = nightmare
pouah! = ugh!
le téléphone portable = cell phone
Ouaf! Ouaf! = Woof! Woof!
le dodo = sleep (informal)
le sommeil = sleep
je râle = I complain
tout est impossible = everything is impossible
mais où est-elle = but where is she
bon = well
en retard = late
la nuit blanche = sleepless night
chéri = darling (informal)
tu ronfles = you’re snoring
Faites tout sans vous plaindre et sans discuter* = Do everything without complaining or arguing
et brillez comme des flambeaux dans le monde* = and shine like beacons in the world

*(Philippians 2:14-15)

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

Mike P.
Jane R.
Linda H.
Ginny R.
Robyn M.
Michele C.
Suzanne D.

Ice cream for Grandma. -- Michèle

Merci de nous partager votre vie en France chaque semaine . Ça me donne toujours envie de vous rejoindre là-bas! --Ginny R.

Jean-Marc, Max, Ricci, and Izzy

Jules at Mas des Brun