FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

A story of old friends and the necklace that connects them--and all of us. 

TODAY'S WORD: LE COLLIER

    : necklace

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

When our friends Charles and Martha arrived from Florida, they came bearing gifts: bottles of wine for Jean-Marc, Worcestershire Sauce and giant jars of beurre de cacahuète for the family, and a whimsical necklace for Jules. “Hopefully we’ll see her tomorrow …” our friends hinted.

“Oh,” I stammered, “I hope so too!”

I pictured my mom, next door, hiding beneath a pile of covers. Ever since she came to live with us, nearly seven years ago, she’s enjoyed the comfort and privacy of her little studio. Thinking of Mom’s quiet life now, it’s hard to believe how many challenges she’s faced in the past...

At 16, living in Utah, she was kicked off the cheerleading team and out of school for getting pregnant. There followed divorce and years as a single mom (in which she briefly remarried in time to have me, in the Philippines). In Phoenix, where she brought us up, things didn’t slow down when Heidi and I flew the coop. Mom left her job at the ski shop to work herself to the ground in real estate, where she became a top seller. Burnout came after she married her fourth husband who was as in dire straits as she once was. Mom lost everything when they moved to Mexico and her husband sold sandwiches on the street. John (author of “Barefoot in Yelapa”...) went on to sell time shares, managing to build a nest egg before he passed on. 

No sooner had her husband died than the landlord raised the rent, forcing Mom out of the condo they had shared for years. Next, she learned her marriage license was not filed after the ceremony, therefore she was not legally married and would not benefit from her “husband’s” social security.

How did Jules react to all of this? Même pas peur! Not even scared as the French say—Mom’s cup of faith always runneth over. Fearless (and probably in shock), she immediately rented a shack with a corrugated steel roof in her housekeeper’s neighborhood on the outskirts of Puerto Vallarta—the slum to some, a heavenly jungle to Jules. In no time, the neighbors became her fifth husband: the support and love she needed--if not the complete protection...

No matter how strong Jules was, she was vulnerable. After the roof fell in she moved up the dirt road, dotted with pigs and chickens, only to be robbed while building her new nest. After that, troublemakers camped outside her door, blaring music all night. Finally, it was all too much. Mom agreed to move in with us here in France. 

Initially, just like back in Mexico, Mom enjoyed the occasional ”people spree”—brisk outings in which she met a few locals—but she always looked forward to returning to her quiet refuge, a former garage around the corner of our house. (We converted it beautifully before her arrival, but she jokingly tells everyone she lives in a garage–even though she considers it paradise.) For years Jules has embraced this tranquil space, preferring only to see close family members. While we all respect Mom’s wishes, we try to encourage her to sortir. Back now to our story....

After delivering Charles and Martha’s gift to Mom, I added, “They’d love to see you…” With that, I left Jules to open her present, fancifully wrapped from the Galeries Lafayette in Paris. The next evening we gathered with Charles and Martha for dinner and lively conversation. As we listened to our guests recount their trip to Paris and St. Remy de Provence, I enjoyed the contrast in the couple’s accents: it’s “north meets south” with Charles’s Boston brogue and Martha’s Alabama drawl. Charles, especially, has a way with words; his colorful speech includes the playful use of terms like “folksies”…you folksies, we folksies, which I find amusing, though when he says “brain fart” it makes every hair on my neck stand up. I guess that makes me a word prude. I was about to admit to as much... when all eyes suddenly darted to la baie vitrée.

There stood Mom with her dazzling sourire, waving for me to hurry and let her in. She was dressed in her silver All-Star high tops, black slacks, and a black cashmere turtleneck. Worn by Jules, a plain woolen cap took on the elegance of an exotic turban. Around her neck, an eclectic string of…wine corks… It was the wonderful necklace our friends had offered her.

If Mom had come this far out of her comfort zone this was serious business. “Charles,” Jules began, “I am here to tell you what an important role you have played in Jean-Marc’s  life…you are like a big brother to him!”

As Mom addressed Charles, I thought back to our first meeting via email: Charles was a reader of my French Word-A-Day newsletter, having found it through Adrian Leed’s Nouvellettre. He signed up to my journal thinking a few extra French words wouldn’t hurt as he was headed to France to explore more vineyards. 

Back in 2007, Charles, retired from the IRS, was studying to be a sommelier when he contacted me. Did I know anyone with a wine connection to the Rhône? Did I? We were on the verge of moving to Sainte Cécile-les-Vignes, where Jean-Marc had found a vineyard. I put the two men in contact and before you could say vendange! Charles became our first partner. (We needed several to secure le prêt bancaire.)

Only, months before our first harvest, which he was dying to attend, Charles had an unexpected quadruple bypass surgery! This did not stop him from boarding a plane, soon after, in time to begin harvesting. That’s when Charles became Jean-Marc’s right-hand man, Jean-Marc became “Chief Grape” and Mom, who flew out from Puerto Vallarta, became our resident cheerleader in what was one of the most intensive harvests of our lives as grape dwellers.

When Charles returned from la vendange, still kicking after all he put his post-op heart through, he proposed to Martha, his sweetheart. Soon we had the chance to meet Martha, and happily adopted her into our hearts, too!

Back in our living room, gathered around the fire, I sat admiring my beautiful mom who had settled beside me on the couch. “I couldn’t find my earrings,” she smiled. No problem—the avant-garde collier de bouchons tied her outfit together nicely, just as it had pulled us together for a long overdue toast to our friends.  Seeing Jules wear that whimsical necklace with such flair was a reminder of the love and effort it takes to show up—for each other and for the moments that matter.

Having thanked Charles and Martha and, after several hugs and kisses, Mom slipped away, returning to her cozy studio to be surrounded by her books and her paintings. She carefully hung her new necklace on the lamp near her bed, where she could remember all the folksies out there who care so deeply for her.

That necklace will always be a precious souvenir of our eternal connection. Like Jules, we all need our space and privacy, a buffer zone represented by the corks strung between the shiny perles. Those shiny beads, like Charles and Martha, are the lovely people we encounter in life. And the string is the mysterious force–l’amour–that ties us all together. We can rest assured that whether we stay in or venture out, we are never truly alone; even more we are loved and remembered.

***

COMMENTS
Your edits and your messages mean a lot and help so much. Thanks in advance. To comment, click here.

Related stories:
"My beau-père passed away" 

A La Recherche du Temps Perdu 

The wine cork necklace, strung over a lamp Mom brought in her suitcase all the way from Mexico. You should have seen what else she managed to pack! 

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Sound File: Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French and English words below

le collier =  necklace
le beurre de cacahuète = peanut butter
sortir = go out
même pas peur = not even scared
la baie vitrée = sliding glass door
le sourire = smile
le sommelier, la sommelière = wine steward
la vendange = grape harvest
le prêt bancaire = bank loan
le collier de bouchons = wine cork necklace
le souvenir = reminder
la perle = bead
l’amour = love

Mom, in her cozy studio, with Ricci.

Jean-Marc, Ricci, and Charles in La Ciotat, after lunch at the delicious Molto Mucho restaurant in the little square Sadi Carnot.

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!

John M.
Judy W.
Charla C.
Marcy W.
Gwen Y-S
Ophelia P.
Cynthia R.
Michael H.
Marilyn W.
Roberta M.
Kathleen L.

The ORIGINAL CORK NECKLACE
Do not miss the story of another cork necklace, a veritable work of art given to us by Charles and Martha's dear friend, Nan, years ago. Click here to see it!

In the opening photo, from years ago, notice Mom's fish purse on the table. Here it is again. She got it in Mexico a long time ago. Recently, we took it to the cobbler, to replace the zipper. Good as new.

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
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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.
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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
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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. ❤️

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"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.