FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

This post begins and ends with pictures of (or around) our city's historic Cinéma Lumière. Corrections to this journal are helpful and appreciated. 

Today's Word: renifler

    : to sniff, smell, snuffle

French Audio/Listening: Click the link below to hear Jean-Marc pronounce the French words in today's story. Then scroll down to the vocabulary list to check your French comprehension.

Click here for MP3 sound file

 
Improve your French and lose yourself in the local countryside with this classic by Marcel Pagnol. A must read!


A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE... by Kristi Espinasse

Yesterday, en fin d'après-midi, Jean-Marc and I went to the movies. Marcel Pagnol's Le Temps des Secrets was playing at the historic Lumière Cinema here in La Ciotat, so my husband and I made a rare date of it.

Scenes from the nearby Massif du Garlaban relaxed us and the film was a welcome divertissement from various blèmes here at home. While each member of our family is dealing with their own struggles the good news is all three generations are currently getting along ici au bercail. (One new item in my human relations tool belt is a book about relationships and how speaking another's "love language" helps to improve communication and fosters closeness.)

How to speak to me...
After our movie date, we returned home and went for a neighborhood walk with our dog. My husband is not used to walking Smokey but he's making an effort and that really "speaks" to me. But when our golden retriever stopped to sniff the various weeds along le trottoir, Jean-Marc abruptly tugged the leash, "Allez, Smokey!" Move on!

An animal's sense of smell is so keen, so precise, there is a very specific word for it in French: le flair (as in "Le flair des chiens est supérieur au nôtre."). If only my husband understood that le reniflement, or sniffing, is part of the pleasure our dog gets from these outings. On second thought, surely Chief Grape, who's in the business of sniffing, understood...

Speaking my husband's language...
"Chéri," I began, "weeds are like wine to Smokey!" Jean-Marc looked a little confused and maybe I was too: Smokey doesn’t like wine but he loves to sniff weeds. And JM doesn’t care to sniff weeds but he loves wine. Is that clear, Dear Reader?  Are you and I speaking the same language? Now, where was I? Oh yes, trying to get my husband to see things from our dog’s point of view:

“...weeds (to Smokey) are like wine (to you). Other dogs have "visited" those grassy patches and left their scent which is brimming with information that only a furry connoisseur could appreciate!"  

At the next mauvaise herbe (a flowering dent-de-lion, this time), Smokey slammed on the brakes again, sniff, sniff, sniff. "That may be a ‘Chardonnay’," I pointed out. “Think of all the smelling notes or aromas!” Half a block later and our dog screeched to a halt at a patch of blossoming fumaria, "Ah! That must be a ‘Merlot’... with hints of plum? vanilla? cedar?" (And for Smokey, notes of Chihuahua? Bulldog? Beagle?)

Speaking our dog’s language...
By the time we rounded the corner, on our way home, my husband seemed to be catching on. "What's that one?" I quizzed when our twelve-year-old toutou plunged his nose into a bunch of sticky lichwort.

"Un Pommeral!" JM replied. (A Pomeranian! Smokey agreed, in his own dialect.)

"And that one?" I asked, pointing to another group of weeds.

"Ça, c'est un Pouilly-Fuissé!" (and un Bichon-Frisé, according to Smokey's estimates, sniff, sniff). Très bien! Our family members were relating to one another via a common interest: l’odorat. And now there would be no need for further comparisons in order to get my husband to understand my dog's need to renifler or sniff (i.e. no need to tell Chief Grape that the next time he goes to a wine fair, he should wear a clothespin on his nose and hurry on past all his favorite booths)! Man and dog were now speaking the same language (and man's wife happy now!).

"Thanks for the movie and for the walk," I said, when our trio reached our front gate. I'm looking forward to more dog walks with my man, and to turning more weeds into wine.

P.S. My human relations tool belt continues to widen and for once that’s a good thing!

***

Smokey and the fumaria blossoms ("la fumeterre" in French). Here is a fascinating article about a dog's sense of smell.

Post note: The devotional JM and I are reading is based on Gary Chapman's book The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love that Lasts


FRENCH VOCABULARY
fin d'après-midi = late afternoon
le divertissement = entertainment, diversion 
le blème (from "problème") = worry
le bercail = home ("fold")
le trottoir = sidewalk 
Allez! = Go on!
le flair = sense of smell
Le flair des chiens est supérieur au nôtre = Dogs have a better sense of smell than we do (Wordreference.com)
le reniflement = sniffing
Chéri = Dear
la mauvaise herbe = weed
une dent-de-lion = dandelion
le toutou = slang for “dog”
très bien! = very good
l’odorat = sense of smell

Vocabulary not included in the soundfile (added later, during editing)
un bichon-frisé = a popular dog breed in France, photo here


The Cinéma Lumière movie theater. Our city is known as "the birthplace of cinema" after the Lumière Brothers (pictured) came here to create the first motion picture ever made, "L'Arrivée d'un train en Gare à La Ciotat". Also located here in La Ciotat, The Eden Theatre, known as the first cinema in the world.

Jean-Marc, in Briançon. The words on the wall read: L'alpiniste est un homme qui conduit son corps là où, un jour, ses yeux ont regardé... " The mountaineer is a man who leads his body to where, one day, his eyes have looked. --Gaston Rébuffat

Today's Expression: Un Coup de Pouce

    : a helping hand, a boost, a leg up

French Audio/Listening: Click the following link to hear Jean-Marc pronounce the French words in today's story. Then scroll down to the vocabulary list to check your French comprehension.

Click here for the sound file

"F is For France: A Curious Cabinet of French Wonders". If you are a Francophile and love trivia this book's for you! 

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

When our daughter moved home last week after temporary employment in the Alps, she had a lot on her to-do list: unpack, find a new job, renew her French passport, etc... But when she saw her dad and sensed he was a little down, helping him became her priority.

Un Coup de Pouce (A Boost)
"Mom," Jackie said, wheeling her suitcases into the guestroom. "This afternoon, I'm going to go through Dad's garde-robe and get rid of a lot of old clothes. Then, I'm going to help him shop for some basics. And maybe pick out some skincare essentials."

Skincare essentials? I could not see my husband patting l'eau de rose on his rugged face. Mais que sais-je? As Jackie pointed out, "When you take care of yourself, you feel better." 

It's true, Jean-Marc needed un coup de pouce. Since selling our vineyard and starting his wine shop, Chief Grape has been focused on his business. It was now time to focus on his well-being--via un relooking!

Out with the old...
The very afternoon of her arrival back in La Ciotat, Jackie was knee-high in a pile of her father's fringues as the two stood sorting vêtements in front of an old armoire. Right away, a plan of action was put into place...  Step 1: toss or recycle whatever clothes were abîmés, déchirés, troués, délavés, or moldy (this last problem began with a leak in our roof...long story). Step 2: Give away the clothes that are in good condition.

When Jean-Marc had doubts about parting with certain affaires, he remembered the ongoing exodus out of Ukraine and all those displaced families in need. "I'm going to give these to our town's collect, for la Solidarité Ukraine."  Two one-hundred liter bags now filled quickly and when the dusty armoire was empty, Jackie and I wiped it down from top to bottom, using a lavender-scented spray to finish off the job before welcoming back the rest of JM's clothes.

In with the new...
The next day father and daughter headed to Marseilles, to the shopping mall Les Terrasses du Port... where they found chinos, chemises, shorts, and mocassins. And that evening we were treated to un défilé de mode! 

Our family, including Jules and Smokey (covered with his own new "threads" or stitches), gathered on the two couches in front of the fireplace. Next, Jean-Marc appeared on the "catwalk" and strutted forth, wearing a jade green dress shirt, cream-colored slacks, and black loafers. Qu'est-ce qu'il est beau! Canon! we whistled. Reaching the center of our living room our mannequin swung around, shook his hips, and slapped his own behind, before strutting off with a big smile on his face.

I rolled my eyes back and shook my head, sacré Jean-Marc! When they made him they broke the mold!

"You two did a great job!" I said to my daughter, while our menswear model made his way back to the changing room.
"Thanks, but we didn't have time to get the skincare," Jackie regretted.

A moment later my husband returned, strut, strut, strut--SLAP!, wearing another tenue pimpante. From the glow on his rugged face, no l'eau de rose needed. Jackie's mini-makeover was already a helpful boost to her dad's morale.


FRENCH QUOTE & VOCABULARY
L'alpiniste est un homme qui conduit son corps là où, un jour, ses yeux ont regardé. The mountaineer is a man who leads his body to where, one day, his eyes have looked.

un coup de pouce = a little help, a lift, a boost
la garde-robe = wardrobe, clothes, clothing
l'eau de rose = rosewater toner
mais que sais-je? = but what do I know?
le relooking = makeover
les fringues = slang for clothes
les vêtements (m) = clothes, clothing
abîmé = damaged
déchiré = ripped
troué = full of holes
délavé = faded
la chemise = shirt
le mocassin = loafer
un défilé de mode = a fashion show
il était si beau! = He looked so handsome!
canon = gorgeous, hot (read the related post)
la tenue =  outfit
pimpant(e) (fringant(e) = smart, elegant 

Jackie, trying on the trench coat she made in design school. The armoire you see behind her is as old as Mr. Sacks, and has had various lives: as a kitchen pantry, as a duo-closet for JM and me. These days it's his garde-robe.


"Father and daughter," Jean-Marc giving Jackie un coup de pouce when she was little. Photo from the "Desiderata" poem post. Corrections to this letter are always welcome and appreciated. Merci d'avance!

These are our dog’s parents. That’s “Sam” on the left and Breizh, right. They lived life to the fullest and are over the rainbow bridge now. We hope to keep their son, Smokey, on this side of that colorful arc-en-ciel for as long as possible. Read on, in today’s post.

Today's Word: un battant

    : fighter, warrior, survivor

French Audio/Listening: Click the following link to hear Jean-Marc pronounce the French words in the following story. Then scroll down to the vocabulary list to check your French comprehension.

Click here for the sound file

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

“Universal Love”

On the eve of our dog's surgery, we had a whiskers-to-whiskers talk (whiskers, because at 54 I may have a few myself...). "Smokey, tomorrow you're going to have le she-rur-rur-zher-ee," I explained. "But here's the deal: your mission on earth is not over yet. We all need you here with us, and it is not time for you to leave our family. D'accord?

Our golden retriever had une bosse on his chest that had grown to the size of a tennis ball (and was as hard as one). Finally, we made the difficult decision to remove the lump. The doctor said the dangerous part would be the anesthésie, given our dog's advanced age. Therefore, we decided to remove several lumps while Smokey was under anesthesia, as the actual surgery was the “easy” part, according to our veterinarian. 

La Salle D'Attente
In the waiting room with two other patients (an energetic cocker spaniel and un chat de gouttière). Smokey, was uncharacteristically calm as the assistante vétérinaire sat beside me to complete a questionnaire concerning our chien. “Do you want the supplemental blood test for seniors to determine whether Smokey is fit for surgery?”

That’s when tears began to flow.

"Oh, ça va bien se passer!" the vet’s assistant assured me.
"He is twelve-and-a-half years old," I reminded her, wiping away les larmes.
"Ne vous inquiétez pas...."

The stranger's empathy must have opened up a few chambers in my heart because the catharsis that came with it brought more than release, it brought a mysterious energy.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
Lean not on your own understanding
In all your ways acknowledge Him
And He will make your path straight.
                                Proverbs 3:5-9.

Those were the words that escaped as I drove away from the vet’s without our beloved “pet” (à vrai dire, I have never thought of Smokey as a pet). I don't know why my mind recalled these particular Bible verses, there are so many others that would seem more specific to the occasion. But those words coming out of my mouth, in repetition and in various tones and cadences, sustained me until I arrived at the next (unplanned) destination: le supermarché.

In an emotional spree, or frénésie, I selected lots of goodies for Smokey’s No. 1, full-time caregiver (my Mom): a box of almond-covered Magnums  (chocolate-coated ice cream bars), her favorite raspberry jam (aptly named “La Bonne Maman”), an exotic fruit juice (la canneberge this time) and more Greek yogurt—comfort food to dry Mom’s tears (tears I don't ever remember seeing before). I also put three extra big boxes of Kleenex into my cart.

"Smokey is everything to me. He is my whole life," Mom admitted, her face awash with worry when I took him away that morning.

***

Loading the groceries onto the tapis roulant, I paused to inform the cashier, "Those are the green kiwis and not the one-euro-each yellow ones from New Zealand."

"Pas de souci," she smiled, ringing in the fruit at .75 a piece.

"By the way, did you ever find your glasses?" I asked la caissière, remembering how troubled she was last week, asking other employees if they’d seen her lost lunettes. We customers in line promised to jeter un oeil on the way out to our cars.

"Oui!" she said. “Je les ai trouvées.”

“Oh, quel soulagement!” I smiled.

When the cashier finished ringing up my groceries and asked if I had a store fidelity card, I said I hadn't gotten around to it. That's when she left the register, walked around the counter, took out her own wallet, and selected a card inside of it...

"What are you doing?" I asked, but the cashier didn’t answer. 

I did not realize the extent of the cashier’s gesture until I got into my car and looked at the store receipt, which was reduced by 25 euros, thanks to “des remises immédiates salariés.” (She had used her very own employee discount.)

I was blown away. Why she took this risk on me instead of someone in need is a mystery.

Passing other drivers on my way home, I looked beyond our individual windshields and said:

Bless you! To the white-haired lady behind the wheel,
and bless you! to the conductor with the beard,
and bless you!! to the solo driver in the N95 mask— 

That may seem like a strange thing to do, blessing strangers from behind a windshield, but hadn't the cashier done the same from behind her plastic store shield before stepping around the barrier to deliver the blessing?

I remembered the vet’s assistant and how a stranger’s sympathy began this whole domino effect—only instead of pieces falling down, hearts were opening up. And I realize now that the mysterious energy that came when I left my dog in the hands of Fate, was Fate itself or one facet of a complex and universal love—a love we are led to trust.

I hurried home to tell Mom about what happened when I left the vet’s, about all the goodness along the way. But if those first two hours flew on angel's wings, the next three were deep in the pits of hell as we waited and waited for a call from the vet's office. During the long attente my faith à froler le superstition. In a canine version of Step on a crack brake your mama's back, I navigated a host of possibly-fatal actions while waiting for the vet’s call:

...On the way to our mailbox I stalled: Do you really want to check the mail now...or check it later? What if it’s bad news? (reflecting further bad news from the vet!)
...and when lunchtime came there was the question of eating or not eating....then chewing or not chewing...while my dog was under the knife...
...Ditto with nap time.  Could I lie down or might resting be symbolic of eternal rest? A superstitious voice whispered.
...finally, a nagging question: Should I call the vet for an update or would calling irritate the staff (and somehow this would affect the outcome?)....

WHY WEREN’T THEY CALLING!!?! Did Smokey NOT wake up from the anesthesia? 

Finally, 5.5 hours after dropping off our dog for surgery, news came in the form of an SMS from our beloved dog:

“Coucou, Je suis en train de me réveiller. Tout va bien. Smokey” (Hello, I am waking up now. All is well. Smokey). I burst out of bed, flew down the stairs and over to Mom’s to share the good news:

"Smokey sent an SMS...I mean, the vet sent an SMS!" 

We were giddy! Exaltées! A little while later I walked into the vet's and heard my dog barking! “He heard you first,” the receptionist pointed out, letting Smokey into the waiting room. If Smokey was quiet and calm this morning, now he was wagging his whole body, which was covered in stitches. Stitches on his calf, stitches on both his sides, stitches on each side of his chest, stitches on his private parts... While he was asleep, they even burned away the large growth in his mouth!

“C'est un battant!” the vet's assistant said, sharing that two doctors and one anesthesiologist worked on Smokey!

Oh oui! Un vrai battant! Smokey is a true survivor. And when earlier he disappeared into the operating room, his spirit seemed to float back out, blessing everything in its furry wake, reminding us: when facing Fate, abide in trust--and take comfort in Universal Love. As the words of a familiar verse promised, It will set your path straight!

Both Mom and Smokey are doing great. Merci infiniment to Dr. Trapes and the team at La CiotaVet, here in La Ciotat. 💕

FRENCH VOCABULARY

un battant = a survivor
le she-rur-rur-zher-ee = lighthearted rendition of "chirugerie", or surgery. The correct term is "intervention chirurgicale"
d'accord? = ok?
une bosse = a lump
une anesthésie = anesthesia 
la salle d'attente = waiting room
un chat de gouttière = alley cat
le chien = dog
ça va bien se passer! = everything is going to be ok
une larme = tear
ne vous inquiétez pas = don’t worry 
à vrai dire = to tell you the truth
le supermarché = supermarket
la frénésie = frenzy
pas de souci = no worries
la caissière = the cashier 
Bonne Maman = Good Mom
la canneberge = cranberry
le tapis roulant = “the rolling carpet” (conveyor belt)
l’attente (f) = wait
frôler = verge on
jeter un oeil = have a look
je les ai trouvées = I found them
le soulagement = relief
des remises immédiates salariés = immediate employee discounts
exalté = giddy

A dashing Smokey, back in the day (2016?)

Les flamants roses--pink flamingos in the Camargue. More photos from our weekend in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer on my Instagram (please follow for upcoming entries), and all our recommended addresses are at the end of this post.

Today's Word: un hébergement

    : accommodation, lodgings

French Audio/Listening: Click the following link to hear Jean-Marc pronounce the French words in the following story. Then scroll down to the vocabulary list to check your French comprehension.

Click here to access the MP3 file

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

One perk of getting older and traveling sans les gosses is better accommodations! When I think back to some of the doozies my husband has rented--a flea-ridden room in Madrid, a stinky suite in Barcelonnette, or a bunk (yes, just a bunk--shared with strangers) in Queyras --I can't believe how far we've come. The key to this betterment (besides having more flouze than we did as newlyweds) is an agreement Jean-Marc and I came to years ago: he will do the trip planning as long as I do not complain about accommodations or scheduling.

Fair enough, wouldn't you say? Especially if you are like me: not a details person. I would rather do anything than work out so many particulars of a family vacation: what transportation we will take, where we will séjour and eat and sightsee. My husband enjoys organizing trips so why not let him handle our itinerary? I'll take care of the snacks (never travel without un en-cas, my sister Heidi taught me that), the cleaning, and how about the retelling? As Anaïs Nin said, "We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect." So let us briefly relive the past weekend and thank you Jean-Marc for so many great picks...from restaurants to local attractions--tu as tellement bien choisi!

Our dépaysement began with a meal in Arles. A freezing Mistral wind accompanied us up and down the corridors of old Arles as we searched for the restaurant Jean-Marc had reserved, but I did not complain--and was rewarded by a gallant proposition: "Would you like my coat?" Jean-Marc offered. His gesture was enough to warm me through and through. No coat needed, and before long we were tucking into Le Gibolin, its warm and velvety vapors escaping the kitchen, thawing us instantly. 

After a lunch of roasted butternut squash stuffed with pasta and veggies (Jean-Marc loved his main dish), we were on our way to the flattest part of Provence, made up of pools of water: La Camargue! Pulling up to an iron gate behind which two independent cabins with their grass rooftops were set back from the waterfront, I looked over at my driver. Jean-Marc, you really outdid yourself when you found this authentic rancher's cabin! Newly renovated, the white-washed walls, the wooden touches throughout, the seafoam green tiles in the bathroom...this little abode was so thoughtfully decorated and it instantly transported us into its cozy luxury. 


Ours was the hut on the right.... and this side of the water is another narrow strip of land where wildlife filed by....

From the one-room cabane de gardian with its mezzanine (and échelle leading up to the bed--this steep setup is not for everyone, but Jean-Marc insists my  80-year-old father could climb up and down that (unattached!) ladder during the night), we could look out a low-lying window with a panoramic view of the glorious marsh. Note: low-lying because of the low-lying roofline above the window, typical of these Camargue ranch cabins which sport a thatched rooftop measuring well over half of the building's height.

A selfie from the yard looking into the hut. That's a fake heron on my right, but there were many real and exquisite birds--and more....

What a view! Our little cabin was 20 feet from the marsh, or étang (is there a difference?), where pink flamingos, an industrious and very cute castor, and--surprise surprise!--a local jument grazed. That docile horse, which graced our view of the horizon all weekend, was the icing on this Camargue cake. 

La jument. The mare.

Our romantic weekend included two nights dining in (Jean-marc brought a selection of cheeses and a steak from his wineshop-épicerie, and we bought pastries from the local baker in Sainte-Maries-de-la-Mer where we strolled along the seafront each afternoon. 

"This is the best hébergement you have ever found!" I praised my husband, and praise, I am learning, goes a long way! I wish I knew this as a young bride, wish I'd counted the goods instead of the bads. Thankfully, we've made it this far along our marital journey and no looking back except to count our lucky stars!

"Could you live here?" I asked as Jean-Marc drove us the 1.5 hours home the last day, past fields of wheat-colored reeds and cattle feeding. "No, it's too flat for me," Jean-Marc admitted. He's headed back to the Alps this weekend, for his mountain fix and I (une casanière at heart) am happy to be home, though ready to follow my husband when wanderlust hits him next. Bye for now and please share your experiences/recommendations for the Camargue, as we will surely go back...with our grown kids, nos gosses--and Grandma Jules and dear sweet Smokey, too! Papa, get that flouze ready! 

***

The cabane next to ours (I believe the owner lives there, but she was away).


A FEW ADDRESSES FOR THOSE WANDERING  AROUND THE CAMARGUE

Le Gibolin restaurant in Arles--delicious!

Parc Ornithologique Pont de Gau--where you'll see more pink flamingos than you ever thought possible! (Do not miss my Instagram page, where you'll hear the unusual sounds they make)

La Cabane du Pêcheur--Jean-Marc absolutely loved this lively restaurant with three unique seating areas (we chose the indoor "antiques" tent, where statues and various treasures surrounded us). You could also eat at the lively bar: loud music and a saloon-type atmosphere or sit outside by the marsh where the bbq is full of fish: sole, loup, rouget...

Domaine de Méjanes--our last day we visited a park bought and created by Paul Ricard (of the famous pastis), where you can take a charming train around the property to see wild horses, more flamingos and the breathtaking landscape of la Camargue. Not to be missed.

And here's the AirBnB listing for the Cabane de Gardian where we stayed two nights.

FRENCH VOCABULARY
sans les gosses = without kids
le flouze = cash, dough
le séjour = stay
un en-cas = a snack
tu as tellement bien choisi = you did such a good job choosing
le dépaysement = change of scenery
le castor = beaver
un hébergement = accomodation
la cabane de gardian = rancher's hut
la mezzanine = wooden loft
une échelle = ladder 
une jument = mare (horse)
un étang = pond, pool of water
casanier, casanière = home-loving, homebody
Papa = Dad


LES ARCHIVES: Do you have time for another story?
The story Pêle-Mêle features a memorable hotel room in Barcelonnette where we lodged when our kids were little.


Do you see la jument?