FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

"Something good is coming my way." Try saying that and seeing what happens. More in today's story about a small miracle.

TODAY’S WORD: le prédicateur 

: preacher, speaker at a church service

PRONUNCIATION: [luh pray-dee-kah-tuhr]

Le prédicateur a parlé de foi et de résilience pendant le service.
The preacher spoke about faith and resilience during the service.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE… by Kristi Espinasse

When I said it was spring fever that had me feeling lackadaisical, I was hiding the truth. The fact is le printemps is not to blame. There’s a hot-and-cold undercurrent teeming beneath my skin and, these days, all I want to do is go live in a cave.

I don’t want to socialize, plan the next meal, or even think about house repairs (seven years after we completed the rez-de-chaussée it’s high time to attack le premier étage. Considering my emotional short circuiting, this is not the time to commit to a home renovation—even if the electric sockets are hanging out of the walls upstairs (Jean-Marc used his trusty duct tape to fix that. Harrumph! Sometimes it seems our house—indeed our world—is held together by that sticky silver patch-all).

Because this is not the moment to up and drop out of life (is there ever a good time to run away?) I decided to walk off my sparky emotions. Doing brisk circles around our neighborhood, far from la foule along the boardwalk, I made my request to God: Lord, show me that something good is coming my way. Yes, of course, there’s heaven–and that’s already great! But, if it be Your will, make it that something good is coming my way today….

I returned home to face website issues, doctor dilemmas, an empty frigo and les impôts—oh, I’ve got to get to those. Even with an automatic three-month extension, taxes loom in the back of my mind—and aren’t they symbolic of the situation at hand: this treadmill of life. 

Finally, it was time to leave for the Easter church service, and I dragged myself out the door with three caillettes from the butcher and a loaf of homemade bread for the collation.

I don’t remember the message from that evening—my thoughts had an undercurrent of their own. And now everyone was moving over to the picnic table where a large array of food was on display: chips and guacamole, homemade accras, pissaladière (my favorite), quiche lorraine, pâté en croûte, oranges, melon, brioche, navettes, tiny chocolate bunnies, and two standing lambs (which turned out to be a kind of yogurt cake from a clever mold).

Making my way over to the little lambs, I decided to talk with our prédicateur about my recent cave-dwelling aspirations. “My thoughts are so negative lately. I just want to be left alone!” He smiled as I tried to laugh about a grumpiness that’s taken over like some kind of possession (now I understand the vivid Bible terminology—those “possessed” people were probably no more than moody men and women, just like my husband and me).

Speaking of my husband, there he was now, a little flushed from the wine tasting he’d been to at a nearby cave à vin (gosh, even he has a cave to go to for refuge!) No sooner did he walk in the door, to collect me for our walk home, than a church member recognized him. “T’es Jean-Marc?”

Before you could say lost sheep, the two men were patting each other on the back–Salut!

“You know each other?” I was amazed.

“Yes,” Jean-Marc answered. “Laurent and I played tennis when we were 15.”

Laurent nodded.

Giddy, I left the two to catch up and hurried over to the others, “Jean-Marc knows Laurent!” Not only did my husband know a new member of my church, but there was clearly a measure of respect for his childhood acquaintance. (I imagined he must have been a very good tennis player!)

The others at church were as awed as I was. So as soon as he finished talking to Jean-Marc, I hurried over. “Laurent! On compte sur toi!”

Laurent looked confused, having no idea what I was talking about—perhaps you don’t either, dear reader, so let me spell it out: if anyone could convert my husband… it would be a cool contemporary like Laurent!

As soon as I said as much, another member smiled. “It’s not up to Laurent. God works in mysterious ways. Let Him handle it.”

I thought back to my walk earlier. Whether or not my husband begins coming to church with me after all these years is none of my business. My job is to be an example of peace—something I suck at lately…

Enfin, what matters is that something great came my way today: and that great thing was the capacity to still be amazed by life’s so-called coincidences. Honestly, what are the chances that my husband would encounter an old friend from Marseille in a tiny Baptist church in La Ciotat?

I’d better not run off and live in a grotte just yet… or miss more of these miraculous encounters. In the meantime, as I go through this particular passage in life, I’ll try to resist the urge to grumble—or to preach! Better to leave that to les prédicateurs. I’ll focus on watching my own steps, trusting I’m never alone on this walk. With a lamp at my feet, the future is bright.

Jean-Marc and Laurent

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FRENCH VOCABULARY

AUDIO FILE: Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the following words:

le prédicateur = preacher

le printemps = spring

le rez-de-chaussée = ground floor

le premier étage = first floor

la foule = crowd

le frigo = refrigerator

les impôts = taxes

la caillette = traditional meatball-shaped pâté from southeastern France

la collation = light meal or snack

les accras = Caribbean-style fritters

la pissaladière = savory tart with onions and anchovies

la quiche lorraine = savory tart with cream, eggs, and bacon

le pâté en croûte = meat pâté baked in a pastry crust

la navette = boat-shaped Provençal cookie

la cave à vin = wine shop

T’es Jean-Marc? = you’re Jean-Marc

Salut = hi

on compte sur toi = we’re counting on you

enfin = finally, anyway

la ruelle = little street or alley

grotte = cave

REMERCIEMENTS

Merci beaucoup for your continued support of this blog. The internet is brimming with places to see and things to read—I’m truly grateful you take the time to visit here. Special thanks this week to:

AL K.
BOB O.
KAKI G.
ELISA G.
MARCI H.
EILEEN B.
ROBERT & MARY ELLEN G.

I am deeply touched by the notes that sometimes accompany your donation, including these:

In celebration of what would have been my beloved father Jack's 100th birthday! He was your biggest fan. I read excerpts from your book to him on the night that he died. . . It was all that he wanted. . . MUCH LOVE, Eileen B.

Kristi, I have just submitted a request to the Indianapolis Public Library to buy your book so more people can know about it. Amities! Mary Ellen 

FIRST CORPORATE BOOK ORDER!
Thanks, Critic’s Choice Vacations for your corporate book order of 30 copies of
A Year in a French Life. What a boost! Bon voyage to your clients headed to Europe and beyond!

Here is a tamaris tree. I talked about it in the previous post (about the presqu'île of Saint-Mandrier-sur-Mer).

IMPENDING MOVE….
Currently I am working between two blogs, as I begin the daunting undertaking of moving blog  platforms. There is a large learning curve involved and 23 years of posts to migrate. Please keep me in your prayers. Merci.

TODAY'S WORD: petite virée

PRONUNCIATION: [puh-teet vee-ray]

DEFINITION: A short, casual trip or outing, often for pleasure or adventure. Typically used to describe a spontaneous or relaxed excursion.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Before my family flew back to the States, while the house still buzzed with activity, Jean-Marc and I slipped away for an overnight escapade. My husband’s 58th birthday was the perfect excuse to échapper or escape our responsibilities here at home. I quickly decided his gift would be an expedition on the beautiful peninsula of Saint-Mandrier-sur-Mer, conveniently located near Toulon—just 45 minutes from our house.

“Enjoy your getaway! We’ll take care of Grandma and Ricci,” my family assured me. I could leave in good conscience, l’esprit tranquille… though not without risk. On va faire la fête! My sister, Heidi, flashed a devilish smile as the cousins exchanged conspiratorial glances. Woo-hoo! Soon they could crank up the music and bust out the BBQ—without me hovering around, trying to control every drip or decibel.

“Have at it!” I said. “Bring down the house!” I’m slowly learning not to take the bait among a family that loves to taquiner.

In our little two-seater jeep, we took the backroads through Bandol, Sanary-sur-Mer, and our favorite—le Brusc. The winding path above this picturesque port attracts a lot of cyclists and quickly sparked Jean-Marc’s interest. Je vais revenir! He exclaimed, pleased to find a new cycling itinerary.

Arriving in La Seyne-sur-Mer sans reservations, the plan was to check out a few hotels, beginning with the chichi one at the west end of the beach. After learning the price for one night, I quickly reconsidered Jean-Marc’s idea: the modest, family-run inn at the opposite end.

Rien que le nom. Just the name was enough to sway me: Hotel George Sand, so-called after the famous author who came to this former station thermale to heal. While I haven’t finished one of her books, I admire her business savvy. Nearly two centuries ago, she hustled to make a living from her writing. Sand understood the potential of serial publication: rather than rely solely on book sales, she published her novels in popular newspapers such as La Revue des Deux Mondes, ensuring a steady income and keeping readers eagerly following each installment.

While I’m tempted to insert a “to be continued”—right about here—I’ll muster on, for no matter how vivid or romantic a place may be, if you’re not in the mood to talk about it—because spring fever has you in its lackadaisical grip—writing becomes a brick-by-brick slog.

Speaking of bricks… our recently renovated hotel, located along la plage des Sablettes, was clean and comfortable. The owner reminded me of another great character and novelist, Colette. I’m saving her story for a future installment, having learned a trick or two from Madame Sand...

Bon, enough side-tracking. Finally, we left our room (and its perfect view of the Mediterranean) and wandered over to the peninsula, part of la rade de Toulon. Behind our hotel, the streets were dotted with soft pink shrubs–les tamaris–after which George Sand named one of her novels. We passed by a cluster of humble baraques, their gardens a tangle of wildflowers and weeds—just like my own. I breathed a sigh of relief, leaving all cares behind as we made our way to the other side of the peninsula, where the pine forest meets the sea. 

Somewhere near the isthme (were we already on the stretch of land joining La Seyne to Saint Mandrier peninsula?) we crossed through a giant seaside park, passing several locals with their dogs. I made a mental note to ask “Colette” if animals were allowed chez elle—our berger américain would love galloping through the tall maritime grass and scrambling up the rocky coastline, where those little shacks gave way to avant-garde baraques—a word the French also use, tongue-in-cheek, to describe flashy or outsized homes.

We might’ve continued to the tip of the presqu’île, or “almost island,” but I was ready to turn back—hoping to cross the darkening forêt before sundown. 

Jean-Marc suggested we pause to enjoy the coucher du soleil, so we rested at the edge of a sandy beach, sur le muret, as the sun slipped behind the rolling hills. It was so quiet on the waterfront I could almost hear the sizzle of our barbecue and the clink of wine glasses on the other side of the colline, as my family enjoyed dinner back in La Ciotat… .

While it wasn’t the rugged adventure I had imagined for my better half’s birthday (we barely made it beyond the bottleneck of the peninsula), this petite virée was like a good opening chapter: enough to hook us. We’ll definitely come back to the area to discover more. Even better, next time we’ll bring along my spicy little band of rascals. For the amount we saved on the chichi hotel, we can get extra rooms for the family. That ought to perk up my story! What do you think, Madame Sand? 

Our balcony at Hotel George Sand in La Seyne-sur-Mer (on plage des Sablettes). 

Together on Jean-Marc's 58th birthday, sporting a pink glow from the sunset

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FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the following:

la petite virée = little jaunt

échapper = to escape

l’esprit tranquille = peace of mind

On va faire la fête ! = We're going to party!

taquiner = to tease

le Brusc = a small port town near Sanary

Je vais revenir ! = I will come back!

sans = without

chichi = pretentious or showy

rien que le nom = just the name

la station thermale = spa town

la revue = magazine or journal

les Deux Mondes = the Two Worlds (from the title La Revue des Deux Mondes)

la plage = beach

les Sablettes = name of the beach where the hotel is located

bon = well then, so

la rade de Toulon = Toulon harbor

les tamaris = tamarisk shrubs

les baraques = shacks or houses (used here informally for homes)

l’isthme = isthmus

chez elle = at her place

le berger américain = American Shepherd (dog breed)

la presqu’île = peninsula

le coucher du soleil = sunset

le muret = low stone wall

la colline = hill

REMERCIEMENTS--THANKS
Merci beaucoup for your continued support of this blog. The internet is brimming with places to see and things to read—I’m truly grateful you take the time to visit here. Special thanks this week to:

Trina S.
Holly R-J.
Laurence S.

A note from Trina S.: It's hard to believe how many years it's been since I read your first book and began following your blog. Your children were children. Jules was in Mexico -- with internet -- and chatting away in the comments, too. And, now, here we all are. So much has changed and yet so much is still the same--the things that bring us together, your readers, and your family, curiosity, kindness, the love of learning, the love of the written word, and beautiful photos of food, and markets, country, and ocean, city streets, cozy times at home, and, of course, les animaux de compagnie.

In the distance you can see Les Deux Frères--the two boulders out at sea.

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Merci!

Deeply touched to see this collection of my postcards framed in the home of a longtime reader, Maria. Merci, mon amie!

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TODAY’S WORD: le remue-ménage : commotion, hubbub, upheaval

PRONUNCIATION: [ruh-mew-may-nazh]

EXAMPLE SENTENCE:
Le remue-ménage de la maison pleine a réveillé des émotions inattendues.
The hubbub of a full house stirred up unexpected emotions.

A YEAR IN A FRENCH LIFE…Kristi Espinasse

After two weeks in Europe, my American family has returned to the States. Outside, the garden is still rowdy with blossoms—red poppies, purple irises, blue borage...even the weeds are kicking out petals of gold. Inside, the house is so calm I can hear the horloge in the kitchen: tic-tac, tic-tac. Ricci is curled up against me and, no matter how colorful, bright, and exciting things are out there, I’m happy to rest in a whispering palette of grège.

I woke up debating whether to write today’s story or take the day off to récupérer. But my mind would only be full and restless, so why not let the words and images spill out now—and so review the highlights of this sentimental séjour?

Sentimental because “qui dit famille dit feelings”—that’s franglais for “where there is family, there is emotion.” And in the two weeks together, our clan experienced every nuance on le Carrousel des Sentiments:

L’agitation set in from day one—a true remue-ménage of stacked suitcases, laughter echoing from every room, voices overlapping in the kitchen, and too few pillows! Even in high spirits, going from a four-person household to ten at the dinner table requires a steady nerve… and a bit of acrobatics. During mealtimes, my family literally had to climb over the side of the table to reach the bench. “Careful of the broken leg!” I’d remind them each time, hoping our limping table would hold out for another family feast.

L’enthousiasme—as you know it takes a lot to get Jules out of bed! Especially now that her inflammatory condition has come back full force. But she strolled over every night for dinner and even posed without makeup or styling for our Christmas card (we’re planning ahead!). Those days when Mom showed up perfectly impeccable have been traded for simply being present. The pride of seeing all of her grandchildren gathered together was moving for my sister and me to see, and mom never looked so beautiful as when surrounded by those who love her.

La Joie…..All gathered we toasted to several réussites: niece Reagan’s semester in Florence, Heidi’s latest vente immobilière, Jean-Marc’s new project (a postage stamp vignoble in the Var), Max and Ana’s condo (after three months of renovation, c’est prêt!), Jackie’s short term lease in Brooklyn, Payne’s graduation, my new book, and Mom—for all she sacrificed to raise her family.

La Jalousie…Every member of a family harbors some sort of “need to be loved just as much if not more.” Ours is no different. To be safe we’ll pin this emotion and any examples on Ricci, who found it insupportable to be even slightly ignored, left out, or shortchanged (which she signaled by highly annoying aboiements any time she felt compromised). 

L'Exaltation—Jumping into the cold Mediterranean, peeking over the cliffs in Cassis, zipping across the bay of La Ciotat in a little wooden boat… even the quieter moments, like sunning in the garden beneath the flowering Judas tree, bees buzzing by, or tasting fresh produce from the Provençal markets, had a special energy. These are some of my family’s favorite memories—simple, bright, and full of life.

Tristesse… The last morning, just before heading to the airport, Heidi and I knocked softly on Mom’s window at 3:30 a.m. Jules was awake, watching a program online, and smiled when we slid open the porte-fenêtre and quietly entered her studio. “I love you girls so much. I’m so proud of you,” she said, with outreaching arms. After a long câlin and several whispered words of affection, Heidi promised she would return as soon as she could. We lingered for a moment, each of us knowing this goodbye was precious, filled with both the warmth of our bond and the ache of parting.

La reconnaissance — The house may be quieter now, the chairs tucked back in place, the fridge full of leftovers, but my heart (and Ricci’s, too, now that she has my undivided attention) is still echoing with the joy of having shared this fleeting, noisy, love-filled time together.

No matter how much I covet my time alone—and la quiétude—I know it is a gift to belong to a family—even one that arrives like a whirlwind and leaves you, afterward, searching for your peace and your pillow. As the French say, c’est pas tous les jours la fête—it’s not a party every day. But when family is here, it’s time to rejoice, celebrate, and honor every emotion on The Wheel of Feelings. It’s what makes us human—and lovable, perfectly imperfect souls.

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Thank you for your edits and corrections

Tucked up against the wall to make room in our cozy living area: our dining table. The benches (made by my sister-in-law) allow for an extra seat on either side..

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the following words:

le remue-ménage : commotion, hubbub, upheaval

l’horloge = clock

tic-tac = tick-tock

grège = greige, a soft gray-beige color

récupérer = to recover, rest, recharge

le séjour = stay, visit

qui dit famille dit feelings = where there is family, there is emotion

le Carrousel des Sentiments = the carousel of feelings

l’agitation = restlessness

l’enthousiasme = enthusiasm

la joie = joy

la réussite = accomplishment

la vente immobilière = real estate sale

un vignoble = vineyard

C’est prêt = it’s ready

la jalousie = jealousy

insupportable = unbearable

l’aboiement = barking

l’exaltation = exhilaration, heightened joy or excitement

la tristesse = sadness

la porte-fenêtre = French door

le câlin = cuddle, hug

la reconnaissance= gratitude

la quiétude = tranquility

c’est pas tous les jours la fête = it’s not a party every day (you can’t celebrate all the time)

Jean-Marc and my sister, Heidi

REMERCIEMENTS 
Heartfelt thanks for the generous support sent in by readers. Your donations are a veritable coup de pouce and keep this word journal going out each week.

Pierre Le R.
Marianne R.
Albert G. M. (sorry, Albert, I could not get your thank-you letter to you as I don't have your address. Mille mercis for your support sent in via Zelle!)

Maddi, Ana, Jackie, and Reagan


Mama and Papa dove enjoyed all the family activity. In the background, the flowering Judas tree sports pink blossoms for only three weeks each year. 

My mom, Jules, in the garden with her wild doves. She befriended this couple, Mama and Papa, soon after she moved here in July 2018. They have been a source of wonder and joy ever since.

Family time in La Ciotat: Nephew Payne, girlfriend Maddi, Jackie, Ana, Max, my sister Heidi and my niece Reagan. Don’t miss today’s story!

MERCI!
A heartfelt merci to those who have ordered a copy of A YEAR IN A FRENCH LIFE! Four weeks after publishing, over 500 books have found their way into readers’ hands. If you haven’t yet picked up a copy, please know that every order makes a difference—not only in supporting this lifelong devotion, French Word-A-Day, but also in helping new readers discover it. Click here to order a copy for yourself or a friend. Your support means the world!

TODAY’S WORD
Help find the word of the day. After reading the entry, suggest a French word that best summarizes the theme of this story. You may pick from the vocabulary list, below, or come up with one of your own. 

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

I was hanging out laundry to dry on the line when the sonnette rang. Hurrying around the side of the house, I opened the front gate to our smiling postman.

“Bonjour, un colis pour vous.”

Looking at the giant box, it dawned on me—my cardboard envelopes had arrived! All two hundred of them. At last, I could begin shipping out my new book via mail order.

Lugging the box over to the picnic table, I tore it open eagerly—only to find the envelopes much smaller than expected. Zut! I rushed inside to grab a copy of my book, A Year in a French Life. But the moment I held it up to the envelope, it was obvious it wouldn’t fit. The length and height were correct, but I hadn’t taken into account the width of the book!

Punaise! I didn’t want to haul that box back to the post office and wait in line. Instead, I tried—vainly—to push the book into the narrow envelope. But when the corner threatened to tear, I relented. Mince! I’d have to send them back and order the larger size, which would cost readers extra for postage… if the package tipped the scale past 500 grams.

I bee-lined to the kitchen to weigh the envelope and book on my digital scale (normally used to weigh flour). 498 grams. They may be too small, but they’re the right weight. What if I cut the envelope lengthwise? I could slip in the book and seal the side shut… but there’d be a gap beneath the tape. It might be better to go back to paper envelopes, however flimsy. No, a dented, mangled book was no way to begin what I hoped would be a flourishing mail-order business.

There was no way around it—I’d have to order the larger size and have readers pay twice the shipping price. But would they? (Would you, dear reader?)

If only I had thought about the length of the book before publishing it! I should have kept it at under 300 pages! That would’ve solved everything.

I stared at my dog, Ricci, trying to figure out what to do next. If only I could rip out a few pages—those useless blanks at the back. How much did those weigh? Out of curiosity, I tore them out: .9 grams per page.

Ricci groaned as if reading my thoughts…two blank pages weren’t going to cut it. Besides, wouldn’t that look tacky? Buyers might think that they’d received a used book. 

I could very carefully scissor out the prologue? Estimated at 8 precious grams, the beginning of the book amounted to a backstory on how Mom ended up living with us in France. (On second thought, this section needs to stay.)

What about ripping out the hefty Acknowledgements at the back of the book? Ricci, reading my mind, sighed, “Quelle ingrate!” She’s right. I didn’t want to be ungrateful—or sloppy, which is exactly how this convoluted quick fix could end up.  

A box cutter could make a tidy, close-to-the-spine coupure—allowing for a swift, multi-page removal. Of course, if the book suddenly jumped from page 206 to 212, that might be noticeable. Best to stick to the front pages, which use les chiffres romains. The entire Introduction could go—pages xi through xv. There! That ought to tip the postal scale in my favor. Finally—an economic solution to this shipping conundrum.

All that remained was a logistical problem: there were two hundred books to “trim.” Luckily my family, now visiting from Denver, could lend a hand. After hiking the trail to Cassis, touring Aix-en-Provence, a night out on the old port in La Ciotat, and a boat ride with Jean-Marc, they’ll be happy to help form a production—or “reduction”—line: my sister Heidi can rip out the front pages, nephew Payne can weigh the book, his girlfriend, Maddi, can adjust the weight by pasting pages back into the book (if need be), and niece Reagan will finish with a careful inspection of the slimmed down version of A Year in a French Life.

Max, Ana, and Jackie can be in charge of damage control, or service après-vente—for, no matter how sympathetic and supportive my readers are, there’s bound to be a few disgruntled bookworms who prefer a complete copy and not one that’s been doctored (or “doc” “torn” if you get what I mean).

The mail clerk mentioned postage rates rising on April 10th, so we’d better get cracking. It’s already the 1st, April Fools’ Day—otherwise known in France as Poisson d’avril! Better hurry and order your book before rates go up—and I “edit” any more pages from your copy! 😂

Family photo 💗 How many dogs can you count?

COMMENTS

Did you fall for this year’s story? Let me know in the comments :-)
Also, can you offer a French words that summarizes today’s story? (Comment here)

FRENCH VOCABULARY

la sonnette = doorbell

un colis = a package

Zut! = Darn!

Punaise! = Darn! (softer than Zut!)

le livre = book

Mince! = Darn! (softer than Zut! and Punaise!)

Quelle ingrate! = What an ungrateful person!

la coupure = cut, trimming

le kilo = kilogram

les chiffres romains (m) = Roman numerals

le service après-vente

le poisson d’avril = April Fools’ joke

Note: In France, April Fools’ Day is called Poisson d’Avril (April Fish). A common prank is to tape a paper fish onto someone’s back without them noticing. The origins of this tradition are unclear, but some believe it dates back to the 16th century when France switched from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar, and those who continued celebrating the new year in April were playfully mocked.

My nephew and niece in the bay of La Ciotat

REMERCIEMENTS Special thanks to readers who support this weekly letter via a donation. Your contribution helps so much and keeps this weekly letter going!

Chrise T.

Martha C.

Robert H.

Jennifer T.

I got your book on Amazon. It’s lovely. —Jennifer T.

Je profite beaucoup de lire vos histoires. —Robert H.

Thanks, Max, for this photo of Cassis, where you and Jackie took your cousins. Pictured above this one: a family lunch on the patio, and a hike in the hills above La Ciotat.