FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

Today’s story unfolds here in La Ciotat, near this lush, green former agricultural estate, now the Parc du Domaine de la Tour...

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TODAY'S WORD: le/la kiné

    : physical therapist

PRONUNCIATION: [kee-nay]

EXAMPLE SENTENCE:
Le kiné français avait deux assistants—tous deux étaient des chiens.
The French physical therapist had two assistants—both were dogs.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

When my mobile phone rang, I picked up to hear a sunny voice on the other end. "Hey, Mom. Want to have lunch together at the port?"

"Hi, Max! I would have loved to, but I have an appointment at la kiné! And hey, next time you go to St. Tropez, take me along," I said, remembering his wine delivery there yesterday.

My son laughed. "Next time!"

I said goodbye, gathered ma carte vitale, mes clés, et mes lunettes, and set off to my physical therapist's office. I enjoyed the walk, which took me through our neighborhood, past the local lycée and across a municipal park. There, nestled among a cluster of apartment buildings, was the only medical cabinet in an otherwise residential space. Above the entrance, a fluffy white cat stretched on a balcony beside some hanging laundry drying in the sun. I punched in the key code, made my way past several private apartments, and entered the cozy setup, which felt more like a friend’s living room than a clinic.

"Bonjour," my kiné said, greeting me with a pair of bats perched humorously on her head—a funny contrast, given the serious demeanor French healthcare workers typically maintain. A moment later, two dogs dressed as goblins trotted over. Hector, a Border Collie mix, and Maika, a Cavalier King Charles, wagged their queues as they greeted me. Once they recognized the patient, they settled back into their respective beds beneath the therapy table where I now rested.

My kiné studied the graph on the screen beside her, instructing me when to relax and contract. Respirez… Serrez… respirez… serrez." And so began another 20-minute session to “re-educate le périnée”…

In France, when a woman gives birth, she’s offered—courtesy of the French healthcare system—ten sessions of physical therapy with a kinésithérapeute to help her recover. But back when I had Max, at the age of 27, new to France, I didn’t understand what rééducation périnéale was, let alone what it entailed. And with a baby to care for, I skipped it altogether. Now, thirty years later, I regret that decision—a choice I was reminded of on our recent family cruise when a mini health crisis sent me straight from the ship to the doctor’s office.

As I lay there, feeling the device contract my muscles, I winced. It wasn’t intolerable, but it wasn’t sans douleur either. I breathed out, relaxing, when the soft snoring from one of the dogs helped lull me into a reverie. 

My mind drifted to memories of other atypical healthcare offices in France...Like the dentist’s in Lille. Back in 1989, during a university exchange program in the north of France, un mal de dent sent me to the neighborhood tooth slayer. I remember setting out after dark for my 6:30 p.m. appointment—an unusual time for a dental procedure by American standards. But that wasn’t the only surprise. When I rang the bell, I was startled to be at a private home. 

"Bonjour," a man said, and just as I was about to respond, in elementary French, that I must have the wrong address. "Entrez," he said, gesturing me inside.

I followed the older man past a dining room, where a table was set for dinner. There was even a bottle of wine on the table and everywhere, antique furniture. In the back, lights glowed in the kitchen, illuminating a woman cooking at the stove. The aroma of stewed meat made me salivate—dinner in France was much later than back home. Soon I’d return to my host family’s for another delicious meal that Madame Bassimon was cooking. But not before the dentist—if that’s who this was—treated my toothache. Just where was that going to happen? Dans la cuisine?

Le monsieur of a certain age creaked open a door just off the living room, revealing an exam room complete with a reclining chair. “Asseyez-vous,” he gestured. I sat back and stared nervously at le plafond. Back home in Phoenix, my dentist’s ceiling was covered in cartoons and humorous images, a distraction to keep patients relaxed. Here in Lille, in this ancient building, the ceiling was also plastered—but with ornate, centuries-old moldings that were equally distracting. My eyes traced the swirling lines when suddenly I heard the drill and the command, “Ouvrez la bouche!” But the dentist had not given me a shot to numb the area. Just what kind of dentist was this? Help! Au secours!!

Back in the present, at my kiné’s office in La Ciotat, the sound of “the drill from Lille” fades into a soft snore as I wake from my reverie to the hum of ronflements. Two furry goblins beneath the PT table stir on hearing the familiar words. "Ça va? Tout va bien?" The session was over.

I looked up at the woman with the bats on her head. “Oui, ça va. Merci. Everything was fine—just as it had been at the dentist’s all those years ago.” Somehow, getting a tooth filled without Novocain was possible, just as it’s possible for a healthcare office in France to feel as familiar as home. There’s a certain charm to that, and maybe—just maybe—it’s this charm that takes the edge off the pain.//

Photo: Maika and Hector leave the kiné's office to greet the next patient.

COMMENTS
I enjoy your comments, and your corrections are very helpful. Merci! 
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FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French

le/la kiné = physical therapist
la carte vitale = health insurance card
la clé = key
les lunettes = glasses
le lycée = high school
le cabinet = doctor’s office
Bonjour = hello
la queue = tail
Respirez = breathe
Serrez = squeeze, tighten
le périnée = perineum, pelvic muscle
le/la kinésithérapeute = physical therapist
la rééducation périnéale = perineal re-education, pelvic floor therapy
sans douleur = without pain
un mal de dent = toothache
Entrez = come in
dans la cuisine = in the kitchen
le Monsieur = the man
Asseyez-vous = sit down
le plafond = ceiling
Ouvrez la bouche = open your mouth
au secours! = help!
le ronflement = snore
Ça va? = are you okay?
Tout va bien = everything is okay
Oui = yes
Merci = thank you

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Happy 22nd Anniversary! Your thoughts and words continue to inspire and delight me and your many followers. Thank you so very much for all your efforts. --Susan S.

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WORDS IN A FRENCH LIFE: LESSONS IN LOVE & LANGUAGE

Have you had a chance to read my first collection of stories? Much like today’s post, it captures many of my earliest encounters with the French way of life. If you’ve already read it, I would greatly appreciate your help in reviewing it through this link. Merci!

Have a wonderful weekend. See you in two weeks! (photo taken near La Route des Crêtes in La Ciotat).

That Halloween parade was my first cultural event to report on, and I covered the entire subject in one brief entry in this online journal. Here’s an excerpt from October 31, 2002:

Guess what? The French are celebrating Halloween! Today children will se défiler (parade) down the village streets dressed as sorcières (witches), fantômes (ghosts), and citrouilles (pumpkins). In France, the citizens haven’t yet figured out that it’s okay to be Elvis for Halloween… Les enfants (the children) will solliciter local bakeries, butchers, and various shops for candy (bonbons).

Granted, that short billet was more of a headline than a story. But soon, these paragraph-long reports grew into soulful essais—and how fitting that word is, coming from the verb essayer (to try). I soon learned that all you needed to be a writer was the willingness to essayer—the courage to try.

Since that day, I’ve been an essayist—someone who tries to put words down on paper. And, remarkably, it’s no easier today than it was 22 years ago which sometimes baffles me. But then, that’s true of every worthy pursuit, isn’t it? As you progress you build experience, but, just like jumping off a cliff, the fall is never the shorter. You may have better gear, more wisdom, and more muscle, but that doesn’t eliminate the fear, the risk of rejection from publishers and readers, and the looming threat of humiliation. Because once you have got your story down, no matter your intention, interpretation is out of your control. All you can do is try to improve your expression, day after day after day. Then one day, you repost an essay from years ago—only to get this feedback: “Loved today’s story! Your writing has improved so much!”

Maybe we don’t get better. But we get bolder!

Back to the grind… Each day brings the challenge of not knowing what to write about—in this blog post, in that magazine column, in this upcoming chapter—whatever the pen-worthy assignment might be. It can feel as daunting as a skeleton lurking in the closet, a goblin staring you down, or as unnerving as a ghostly whisper of doubt. And that brings us to today: Halloween! Just what is there left to say about that? Should I wax poetic about mums? During Toussaint chrysanthemums are the French flower of choice for cemeteries—precisely why you should never bring them as a hostess gift! Or perhaps I could describe the decorations that've gone up in town, in orange and black--so many pumpkins, spiders, and bats! Or let me tell you about the stash of candy I’ve amassed for the four trick-or-treaters who’ll hopefully ring our doorbell after sundown. Currently, les friandises are hidden from Jean-Marc, though I know our sweets thief will end up with them all tomorrow—when he’ll split le butin with his bewitching belle-mère Jules. Just don’t share with Ricci—chocolate is poisonous for dogs! Instead, we’ll offer her the pumpkin-themed jelly beans.

Voilà, my stab at a Halloween report--or essay--this year. Time, now, to figure out how to close this birthday post disguised as a spooky story…

On this, l’anniversaire of French Word-A-Day, I’d like to express my heartfelt gratitude. Merci beaucoup, dear reader, for lining up outside my door, like the most faithful trick-or-treater, waiting to see what goodies are in store for you today. I wouldn’t be here, all dressed up in my Writer costume, if it weren’t for you showing up on the other side of this portal. And now here we are together, many Halloweens later! Max and Jackie are all grown up and will greet trick-or-treaters chez eux. So many changes in your lives, too. Yet through it all, we continue on—writer and reader—for as long as we can say bêtise ou friandise, Trick or Treat! Ultimately, while writing may be fraught with uncertainty, it is also filled with countless blessings, reminding us that every word penned is a gift shared between writer and reader.//

Ricci peeks at the candy for our trick-or-treaters: chocolate euro bills, jelly beans, chocolate skeletons, ghosts, bats, and pumpkins. Ricci jette un coup d'œil aux bonbons pour nos petits monstres : billets en chocolat, bonbons gélifiés, squelettes, fantômes, chauves-souris et citrouilles en chocolate.

COMMENTS
A big thank you in advance for your comments and corrections--all so helpful and enjoyed! Click here to leave a message.

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

Lisa S.
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You always brighten up my days, Kristi! Thank you for your nice stories! --Mike

Merci Kristi!! Depuis 11 ans je lis tes récits sincères et partage tes moments de plaisir au sud de la France. merci bcp et un jour j’espère avoir le plaisir de vous rencontrer tous:). --Lisa. De Charlottesville Va

FRENCH VOCABULARY

AUDIO FILE: Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French:

Les Arcs-sur-Argens = a medieval village in Provence
le bonbon = candy
la citrouille d'Halloween = jack-o-lantern
le frérot = brother
se défiler = to parade
la sorcière = witch
le fantôme = ghost
la citrouille = pumpkin
les enfants = children
solliciter= to solicit
l’essai (m) = essay
essayer = to try
la Toussaint = All Saints' Day
la friandise = candy
le butin = loot
la belle-mère = mother-in-law
voilà = so there you have it
l’anniversaire (m) = anniversary
merci beaucoup = thanks so much
chez eux = at their place
bêtise ou friandise = trick or treat

Did you notice anything missing from the above list? Any other errors? Thanks for letting me know here in the comments.

A then five-year-old Jackie

Colorful buildings along the port of Cassis. Also, below, in the first six lines below, I am trying a new format for the word of the day. How do you like it? Do you have other suggestions for this weekly journal. Thanks for letting me know in the comments box.

TODAY'S WORD: Laquelle, Lequel

Pronunciation: [la-kell, le-kell]
Meaning: Which one? 

Example Sentence:
Je ne sais pas laquelle choisir.
(I don’t know which one to choose.)

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Laquelle? That is the question of the day! With so many things happening each week, picking just one incident to write about can be a real casse-tête.

Should I title this one Grand-mère Chérie and talk about the blessings of our aînés? Especially the French grandmother who warmed to Ricci and me while we were shopping for greens. Entering the maraîcher’s, the only other client in the tiny shop approached. “What a lovely dog!” she began. By the time our conversation was over, I knew exactly which champignons to buy (not those from Haute-Savoie—too gorged with liquid—wait another week, and the local chanterelles will be in stock). “Do you like Nougat?” my new friend continued. “They make it just over the hill from Ceyreste—in Signes...” And there I thought nougat was from Montélimar, only, and that signes was French for monkey (just kidding—that would be singes).

Putting geography and nougat aside for a moment (that last one will take willpower, n'est-ce pas?)... and back to our embarras de choix: I could write instead about Jean-Marc's latest Provence Wine Tour. What a treat to meet Donna, Jim, and Nancy over coffee at Le Rose Thé hotel here in La Ciotat. “We feel like we know you,” Donna shared, having read this blog for years. The feeling was mutual. Whether it was l'alchimie or sudden camaraderie, this encounter felt like reconnecting with old friends. After coffee, Donna’s husband, Jim, agreed to drive us to the world-renowned Château de Pibarnon, in the verdant hills above Bandol, then onto Cassis, to Domaine du Paternel. From Bandol’s hilltops to Cassis’ cliffs (falaises) and the hairpin turns in between, we were glad Jim was behind the wheel. Jean-Marc, our copilot, filled us in on the sights, adding a little history along the way.  It felt good to get our feet back on solid ground as we strolled through colorful Cassis after lunch on the port at Le Bar de La Marine. But not for long, we lifted off, once again, to reach the heights of La Route des Crêtes, where behind us the valley was carpeted with purple heather, and before us, a long way down the cliff, the turquoise blue sea spread out to infinity. I could go on about our picturesque périple, but back to our story-choice dilemma…

Maybe you’re curious to read about the monumental tongue-lashing Ricci and I received while sneaking across the beach, and the ice queen out at sea, hollering at me. During the off-season, their backyard having been battered all summer by tourists, the locals wander out to the empty beaches, often with their dogs. What a pleasure to see all the neighborhood chiens, bouncing and rollicking among the rocks and sand.

Normally, groups of people walk in the cold, shallow waters each morning, even in late fall. It is invigorating, wonderful exercise—and mood-lifting. But not for all….

"Get your dog off this beach!” The goggle-eyed woman thundered, stomping through the water. “It's disgusting. All the crap they leave is full of disease. Allez! Va-t-en! Get out of here!” I don’t know what crap she is referring to as I have rarely seen it on the beach (though there is plenty of  human generated litter…).

"Come on, Ricci!" I tugged at the leash, where a half dozen neon-pink doggie waste bags were tied at the ready (offered by the city—the pink is for Octobre Rose, breast cancer month). In addition to picking up after our dogs, we often pick up litter, giving those free bags extra duty.

During the woman’s tirade, Ricci dug her feet in, intent to do her business then and there…  Oh no! Not here! Just when I began sweating it—the fear, the condemnation, the public humiliation…..Plot twist! A crowd at the café began yelling back at the ice queen, “Ferme ta gueule! Shut up!” Caught in the crossfire, Ricci and I tiptoed off the battlefield... and hurried home to tell Mama Jules everything. "That's why I stay in bed," mom smiled. "Because, this time of day, all the nuts come out!"

Ouf! I’m tired just thinking about which story to expand upon. Wait a minute, there’s one more! I could write about that surreal wait, Monday, chez le gynéco, where everyone behaved like they were on the Paris Metro: not daring to look at each other lest they break some supernatural law. There in the waiting room, I found myself wondering what brought each woman here. Some were obvious—a pregnant belly here, perhaps birth control pills there... and as for we three middle-aged nanas: prolapsus? Incontinence? Menopause? All three? (Yes! But one doesn’t talk about such things! Just like on the Paris Metro, where you mustn't look into a stranger's eyes, certain subjects are best left unexamined. 

Enfin, voilà! Every week it's the same dilemma: which slice of life to share? So many stories, each has its drama, suspense, and even its own moral. But which one to write about? Laquelle? And therein lies the hitch: whether you’re a writer or a dreamer, you’ve got to choose a path today and ride it out to the end. Vroom! Vroom! After all, the journey is what makes each tale worth telling, each dream worth dreaming, and each day worth living.//

COMMENTS
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A snapshot from our Provence Wine Tour: Donna, Jim, Nancy, and Jean-Marc at Domaine de Paternel.

I love this old typography. Next time it's open, I'm stopping into Mr Lion in Cassis for a treat.

REMERCIEMENTS

With deep appreciation to Jeanne G. and Michele C. for your recent donations. Your kindness, along with the support of all my readers, breathes life into this journal and keeps it going. Merci du fond du cœur! — Kristi

"Thank you for a splendid post that took me right into the heart of your adventures." — Jeanne G.

At Bar de La Marine in Cassis. Borrowing Donna's reading glasses in order to see the menu. 

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French words below

laquelle = which, which one
le casse-tête = the puzzle
la grand-mère = the grandmother
chéri(e) = dear, sweet
les aînés = the elders
le maraîcher = the greengrocer
les champignons = the mushrooms
la Haute-Savoie = the Haute-Savoie
le chanterelle = chanterelle (golden wild mushroom, fragrant and tasty.)
le nougat = the nougat
le Montélimar = the
Signes = a small village in the Provençal hinterland
le singe = monkey 
n'est-ce pas = isn't that true?
l'embarras du choix = overwhelming options
l'alchimie = the chemistry
les falaises = the cliffs
le périple = journey
le chien = dog
Allez! Va-t-en! = Go! Get out of here!
Octobre rose = pink October
ferme ta gueule! = shut your mouth!
ouf! = whew!
chez le gynéco = at the gynecologists
les nanas = women (informal, slang)
interdit = forbidden
enfin, voilà = so there you have it
merci du fond du coeur = thank you from the bottom of my heart

Did you notice any words missing from the list? Thanks for letting me know.

Tied to Ricci's leash are those pink sacs à déchets I told you about--for Octobre Rose. 

Fishing boats in Cassis

Le château de Cassis, high up on the cliff. What would you like to read about next week? Let me know in the comments.

I leave you with a story from the 2006 archives. The photo of my mom, Max, and Josephine was taken in 1997, when we lived in St. Maximin. Don't miss the story of Josephine and her famous friend Josephine, here. Given it is Octobre Rose, you might also read my mom's experience with breast cancer here in France, and facing her fears, in the story "Revivre", to live again.

Bubbles in Barcelona: Enjoy the story of our father-daughters’ Mediterranean reunion in today's entry “Papa Chéri.”

TODAY’S WORD: PAPA CHÉRI
Sweet Dad, Darling Dad

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

It’s 4:15 a.m., and I’ve just hugged my sister, Heidi, goodbye. She is on her way home to Denver. In another three hours, it will be time to send off our other sister, Kelley, and our dad, who will fly back to Seattle. We have just spent nine days together, laughing, reminiscing, and toasting to this collective effort to be together once again—and the sunny Mediterranean was the ideal backdrop for our family reunion at sea!

After our dad launched the idea of a father-daughter voyage a few years ago, it was our little sister who tracked down the ideal seven-day séjour. Kelley, a flight attendant, learned about Azamara cruises thanks to her colleague Susie, who is experienced in les croisières. Being cruise novices, we weren’t sure what to expect, but since our goal was to spend time together and celebrate Dad’s upcoming 83rd birthday, we didn’t really care about perfection—though that’s exactly what we got!

Our Mediterranean itinerary began in Spain and stopped at ports along the south of France. While it may seem strange to go port-hopping so close to home (Collioure, Marseille, Toulon, Sanary-sur-Mer, Nice, Monaco—and even Ajaccio are familiar spots), I appreciated my family’s willingness to travel in my direction. My Dad was hesitant, but agreed to traverse three international airports, security, customs, and the rest. He was accompanied all the way by a first-class flight attendant—Kelley—which made the deal a little sweeter.

There in Barcelona, before boarding Azamara’s 700-passenger ship, Onward, my sister Heidi and I waited our turn in line to check our bags. Ahead of us stood a tall, beautiful blonde and a distinguished gentleman who could have been her father. That’s because he was her father—only onlookers could easily make the wrong assumption! We needed to have T-shirts printed to clear up any confusion. One would read “That’s my Dad” (with a large arrow) and the other, “That’s my daughter —>.” On second thought, why not have Dad’s T-shirt read “Sugar Daddy” and give those accidental gawkers something to gossip about! Given the range of characters aboard our ship, there was no shortage of misconceptions, and we enjoyed every minute of people-watching—and making our own colorful conclusions.

After checking our bags and going through security, we boarded the cruise ship and headed straight to lunch, poolside. Incidentally, poolside would be the only part of the ship we’d easily recognize, as we never did figure out exactly where we were on the 181-meter-long, multi-storied vessel. To borrow a line from our sister, “Passengers tend to check their brains with their bags…” Kelley means that tenderly, as that’s what vacation is all about: relaxing the mind.

With seven days ahead of us, we had plenty of time to orient ourselves. Though I still can’t tell you whether these places were bow, starboard, port, or stern side, here are the spots we frequented most: the Cabaret Room (for evening entertainment, including Disco Night and Bingo), the Den (for the piano bar), the walking/jogging track for daily exercise (and a spectacular early morning view of the latest port), the library, and the various eateries.

Every morning, we began with breakfast at Windows Café. The selection was vast—from le saumon fumé to pancakes—it was, as the French say, l’embarras du choix, overwhelming! Each night we dined at Discoveries Restaurant, and it was as good as the fine dining (five floors up) we experienced the first night. Lobster, filet mignon, crab cakes, lamb… the selection was gastronomique. Everything was cooked to order and delicious. Located near two onboard boutiques, the Mosaic Café was my favorite stop for a twice-daily latté and les gourmandises (cookies, carrot cake, lemon tart). There was even an array of dainty tea sandwiches. Ordering whatever you desire felt like being Charlie in The Chocolate Factory. On this cruise ship, everything is included—even le pourboire! My conscience was rattled at every meal, but the waiters insisted waste was dealt with ecologically (if not geographically. In a perfect world all the untouched food would be packed up at delivered fresh to the ports for immediate redistribution). 

The flower market in Nice

Our room being located above the bow, we were shaken awake that first morning by the lowering of a massive anchor! We dressed, had breakfast, and took a tender off the boat to reach our first destination: Port Vendres. Just in front of the tourist office, we stepped onto Le Petit Train, heading towards Collioure. The weather was so sunny and warm, people were swimming in the sparkling cove—in October!

Cathedrale de la Major in Marseille

We made it back to the boat for lunch and a little siesta, followed by drinks and dinner. We repeated this agreeable schedule daily (except in Marseille, where we met up with Jackie for a private shopping tour and lunch near Le Vieux Port. Aunt Heidi and Aunt Kelley were delighted to see their nièce, but Grandpa stayed on the boat, nursing a slight cold. He would gladly catch up with his granddaughter later in the week).

Kelley, me, Heidi at a café in the bustling port of Toulon

As for catching up, on this trip my sisters were on a sentimental mission: to make up for lost time. Heidi and I grew up in the Arizona desert, while Kelley was born and raised in Washington State. Beginning when Kelley was a teenager, we three gathered whenever possible, but a geographical distance made it challenging. Now, in mid-life, here we were, together again and taking enough pictures to crash our dad’s phone. We may not have a family picture or Christmas card from bygone days but, ouistiti! there was no stopping us now.

“Here, let me help you with your hair,” Heidi said one evening, offering me a salon-worthy blowout. She had this amazing brush and, after enough hints, she gifted it to me just to shut me up! Like teenagers, we shared each other’s stuff and savoir-faire, as siblings do. Kelley offered us each a trousse de toilette, filled with lotions and potions and we all giggled when Dad chimed in, telling us how much he enjoyed the eye mask. We had to give Dad credit for managing to participate in all our girly conversations, though he drew the line at window shopping, or “lécher les vitrines” as the French say (literally “licking windows”). We could spend hours in antique stores and boutiques at every port.

During the cruise, we each reveled in one-on-one time with Dad. While my sisters enjoyed father-daughter conversations on the sundeck, I relished our indoor tête-à-têtes, always tender and amusante. Over coffee with Dad at the Mosaic Café, we were talking about tap water when Dad casually mentioned he was drinking from the bathroom sink in his cabin. “Dad!” I cautioned, “You can’t do that!”

“Sure I can. I drink tap water all the time.”

I called the barista over to explain why this was a bad idea, given how much bleach they use to treat seawater. Dad allowed the young man to elaborate before replying, “Well, it may have some imperfection... but it’s not poisonous imperfection! I’ll stick to the cabin water!”

Speaking of cabins—or “staterooms”—Dad and Kelley shared one with twin beds, while Heidi and I were one floor below in a near-identical layout. Everything was comfortable except the temperature… and so began the thermostat wars. My sisters, with their Antarctic leanings, would’ve been better climate companions for each other. Dad and I prefer heat, so when the girls were sleeping, we turned up the dials!

In the artsy town of Collioure

One night, on our way up to the Atlas Bar on the 10th floor for our evening apéro—“Parisians” (champagne cocktails) for them, Perrier for moi—an elegant couple entered the elevator. Dad, captivated by the woman’s beaded jacket, flashed me a mischievous look before swiping at a string of dangling beads on the back. Unbeknownst to the glamorous fashionista and her civilized companion, the beads swayed innocently. I almost died!

“Dad!!!” was our not-so-indignant response to every mischievous word or deed coming from our papa chéri.

One particularly poignant evening balanced out these daily shenanigans. Over dinner, we asked Dad about his time in the Air Force, when we were with him in the Philippines, after he married Mom and adopted Heidi. He told us very little about the Vietnam War, but his visible sadness spoke volumes. As we quietly contemplated Dad’s words, a passenger from a nearby table appeared. “Thank you, Sir, for your service,” she said, simply. There followed a cosmic lull: time stood still. Next I knew my sisters had tears in their eyes. I felt a ball form in my throat imagining the full impact of war—on those targeted and those sent out to target others. Glancing over at Dad, I saw tears in his eyes for the first time.

In addition to so many tragic losses, there was the fallout among families, too. As Kelley dried her tears, I reminded her of something our Mom (Heidi’s and mine) often says when we feel sadness about the breakup of our family. According to Jules, “If it wasn’t for the divorce, we would have never gotten our precious Kelley!” (who toddled joyfully into this world after Dad remarried and who, all grown up now, became our compass on this trip, handling all the logistics and guiding us through the ports).

That emotional night brought a tender closeness to the rest of our chanceux father-daughter journey. As we disembarked from the ship, we felt a wave of gratitude for the way this time together had fortified our family ties. The sunny ports of the Mediterranean were enchanting, but it was the shared stories, laughter, and meaningful moments with Dad that made our trip shine. We raise our glasses to those memories, now, Tchin! Tchin!—and to our papa chéri.

***

Post Note: Papa chéri in French translates to "sweet dad." You might say our would-be Sugar Daddy T-shirts are fitting after all! :-)

Me, Kelley, Dad, and Heidi. Thanks again, Susie, for recommending this outstanding cruise company. We toasted to you every night--including White Night, which is a tradition onboard. (It was the chance to wear my wedding dress once again!)

COMMENTS
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FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: Click here to listen to the French terms below 

la croisière = cruise
le séjour = stay
gastronomique = gourmet
la gourmandise = treats
le pourboire = tip
le saumon fumé = smoked salmon
la pâtisserie = pastry, cake
Le Petit Train = the Little Train
le Vieux Port = the Old Port
la nièce = niece
ouistiti! = say cheese!
la trousse de toilette = toiletry kit
le tête-à-tête = one-on-one conversation
amusante = funny
le barista = a person who serves coffee in a coffee bar
lécher les vitrines = window shopping (literally "lick the windows")
chanceux = lucky
l’apéro (m) = pre-dinner drink
moi = me
papa chéri= sweet Dad, darling Dad
chanceux = lucky
tchin! tchin! = cheers

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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

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You can see our ship in the distance, off the shore of Collioure 

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To comment on this post, click here.

Bonjour les Amis et les Amies!

I'm back from a wonderful meet-up with my father and sisters. While this column will resume in one week, I wanted to check in briefly and see how everyone is doing. Our thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the hurricane in Florida and beyond. Please stay safe.

In moments like these, we often feel a mixture of emotions—both the need to pause and reflect, and the pull to return to daily routines. Speaking of transitions, it brings us to today's mot du jour. While we’ve encountered the word dépaysement in this journal before, today we explore another meaning of this versatile noun: the sense of needing a vacation from a vacation. Dépaysement literally means a feeling of disorientation or being out of one's usual environment, but it can also imply the mental exhaustion or disconnection one feels after being in a completely different setting, like a vacation.

Dépaysement evokes a mix of refreshment and fatigue, the sense of returning home yet still feeling out of place or needing more time to adjust. I admit, after being on a boat for seven days, things are feeling wobbly, and this, coupled with a recent health issue, means I am going to take it easy for the rest of the week.

With this, I leave you with a few photos from the tail end of our cruise, taken in Ajaccio. À bientôt for a recap of our family reunion at sea... Bye just now and take good care!

Amicalement,
Kristi

FRENCH VOCABULARY

les Amis et les Amies = friends (masculine and feminine)
le mot du jour = word of the day
le dépaysement = disorientation / feeling of being out of place
À bientôt = see you soon
Amicalement = warmly / best wishes

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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

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Chez Josephine

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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
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FRENCH VOCABULARY 

Click here to listen  to Jean-Marc pronounce the French

la plaisanterie (f) = joke, banter

la cicatrice = scar

le fond de teint = foundation (makeup)

raplapla = limp or lifeless

l’heure (f) de la sieste = nap time

la mèche = the highlight (in hair)

s’il vous plaît = please

la 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. 

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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

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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.
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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

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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.
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Ginny R.
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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

Une cabane in La Ciotat

Discover the earliest stories from this journal in Words in a French Life: Lessons in Love & Language in the South of France. It's the perfect read for anyone who loves heartwarming tales and French culture. Pick up a copy for yourself, or share the joy with a friend—and help us spread the love!

TODAY'S WORD: À table!

    : Time to eat!; Lunch (or Dinner) is served! 

A DAY IN A FRENCH Life by Kristi Espinasse

Ever since we lost our picnic table in a fire last year, we’ve struggled to find a suitable replacement.  With no place to gather for outdoor meals, we resorted to lugging our dining table outside that first summer, enjoying lunch or dinner under the open sky whenever the weather was good. We managed this way until Christmas when eleven of us gathered around for le repas de Noël. In the new year, when it became too cold pour dîner dehors, we carried our dining table back into the house, where it belonged.

Come springtime, we rustled up a round metal table from our garden, in time to enjoy meals out on la terrasse again. Finally, by summer’s end, Jean-Marc saw an ad in Facebook Marketplace—and there she was, a wooden beauty that would become our new centerpiece for l'heure de l'apéro, lunch, dinner, or even work.

As fast as you can say à table! my husband bought it. “Our jeep isn’t big enough to transport it,” Jean-Marc explained, on returning from the seller’s house. “But the man said he would be able to help.”

Ricci and I were heading to Mom’s around the side of our house when the table arrived. Jean-Marc had invited the seller to sit down for an ice-cold mousse after he had generously assisted with the delivery. (He had a more spacious fourgonnette). Beyond just transporting the table, the man had taken the time to treat the wood with l'huile de lin—a courtesy that didn’t go unnoticed.

The older man was somewhat winded as he took a seat at his former table, his salt-and-pepper locks damp from the oppressive heatwave. He wore a classic white marcel and a pair of shorts. “Bonjour, Monsieur!” I said, breezing by. “Oh, que c’est belle cette table. Merci!” After a hasty hello, I disappeared to Mom’s for some trivial matter, leaving the men to finish up business. I made it as far as the driveway when a gnawing feeling inside made me realize I'd ignored our visitor. I brushed it aside, reminding myself he was but a stranger.

Before long, we were enjoying meals around our second-hand table. Nickel! Max said, admiring its oval design, which rounded out the seating to 8. "We could even squeeze in two more,” Jackie noted. Everyone was enthusiastic, but none more than Jules, who spontaneously slipped her son-in-law 200 euros to pay for it. "It's beautiful! I love it!" she said. Jean-Marc had truly outdone himself, finding the perfect table for just 180 euros—and with 5 chairs included, à ce prix-là, c'était une aubaine! (And with the extra cash he could buy Grandma some more ice cream, to thank her for picking up the tab!)

One morning while we were having our coffee, I asked Jean-Marc about table's history. “Why was the man selling it?” 

"Oh," Jean-Marc sighed. “He was being evicted from the property, where he was renting a little cabanon."

“Evicted. That's terrible!”

Jean-Marc explained that the man had a home in Marseille, but this modest cabin had been his pied-à-terre for thirty-five years. Like many Marseillais back in the day, he would escape the city for "la campagne," sharing this seaside terrain with a few other families, each with their own petite cabane on the property.

Now those buildings will be demolished, with little regard for the people who once made memories there. All to make room for yet another programme immobilier—brand new condos. With the growth and rising popularity of our town—a former industrial shipping hub now catering to yachts—the demographics are shifting, and the demand for real estate is soaring.

Sadly, this longtime resident has to leave. With the help of his daughter, the elderly man listed his few possessions and packed up his modest abode to return to the outskirts of Marseille.

As Jean-Marc told the story, I pictured the man at this very table, where he and others had once gathered after returning from la pêche or a hike in the fragrant hills above La Ciotat. They might have enjoyed a round of pastis followed by a homemade soupe de poisson. A doze under the shady parasol pine completed the perfect journée.

Those halcyon days were fading, and soon the pine tree would be gone too. When Monsieur sat at the table for the last time, sharing a refreshment with Jean-Marc, a chapter of his life was coming to a poignant close…

…Yet, a new chapter for the table was just beginning, with the man forever intertwined in its story. His soul—and even his sweat—became part of it over the years, and again at the farewell delivery, as salty droplets mingled with the condensation from the men’s cool beers, anointing the wood below...

We will all enjoy this table, even more than the one we have lost. Though I missed the chance to connect with a venerable character, my hasty hello now serves as a reminder to focus on what matters most in life: the people we meet and their stories. As the saying goes:

Ne négligez pas de pratiquer l’hospitalité.  Car certains, en l’exerçant, ont accueilli des anges sans le savoir.

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.

À table! = Everyone to the table! Scroll to the end to see Jackie studying at the table, and news of her classes.

COMMENTS
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FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File: Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French  terms 

le repas de Noël = Christmas meal
pour dîner dehors = to dine outside
la terrasse = patio, terrace
l’heure de l’apéro (f) = aperitif hour
à table! = to the table!
la mousse = beer (informally)
la fourgonnette = the van
l’huile de lin (f) = linseed oil
le marcel = tank top
Bonjour, Monsieur! = Hello, sir!
Oh, que c’est belle cette table. Merci! = Oh, how beautiful this table is. Thank you!
Nickel! = Perfect!
à ce prix-là, c’était une aubaine! = at that price, it was a bargain!
le cabanon = the cabin
le pied-à-terre = second home
la campagne = the countryside
la cabane = the hut
le programme immobilier = real estate development
la pêche = fishing
le pastis = anise-flavored spirit
la soupe de poisson = fish soup
la journée = the day
Ne négligez pas de pratiquer l’hospitalité. Car certains, en l’exerçant, ont accueilli des anges sans le savoir. = Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.(from Hebrews 13.2)

A municipal poster along the boardwalk in our seaside town

REMERCIEMENTS
A heartfelt thank you to the following readers who recently made a donation to this journal. Your support is deeply appreciated. Merci beaucoup! — Kristi 

Anne U.
Julie C.
Edward G.
Sheryl W.
Holly R.-J.
Claudia-Marie P.

My daughter, at the new table and in the middle of a finance class. (Can you see Jules's doves, center?) Wish Jackie bonne chance! This week she began her Masters at Kedge Business School in Marseille, the very same école de commerce where her father graduated in 1991. 

Today, we say goodbye to a longtime reader, Lou, who also helped with a few harvests in his ninth decade of life!

TODAY’S WORD: Repose en Paix

  : rest in peace

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

It is just after 6 a.m., and my husband is on his way out to harvest at a friend’s vineyard in Bandol. Ever since we sold our last domain, Jean-Marc has managed to keep his feet consistently in (or near) a bucket of grapes. I’m happy for him, and seeing the smile on his face as he kisses me goodbye reminds me to always encourage him to follow his path.

As Chief Grape left the room, I felt an inkling to pray for him. Though it's been years since he struggled with le cafard, our emotional needs and spiritual growth don't suddenly end when we feel better. Positive thoughts and prayers are strengtheners, and faith and hope are what keep us going. My wish for each family member is always the same: that they will grow closer to leur source de vie.

I hear the jingle bell on the front door signaling someone's left the house. "Lord, as Jean-Marc goes out into the vineyard today, his sacred place, please speak to his heart." I didn't have further instructions for God, only one additional request: "Could you also please show me a sign? I know we are not supposed to ask for signs, but anything at all, God, to let me know you are working in his heart."

With that, my day began. I wrangled with family members, trying to get everyone—from my dog to Grandma—settled so I could eventually find some peace and quiet to meet my deadlines. Besides these weekly blog posts, I have a bi-monthly column due soon for France Today and a book project I'm struggling to keep up with.

First order of the day: get my stubborn dog out for a walk. With Ricci straining against the leash, I reached down and scooped her up. "There! ON VA MARCHER!" After fits and starts around the neighborhood, we made it home in time to quickly scramble a few eggs (I hear protein is a good mood stabilizer. Hopefully it helps with female hormones too—mine, this time, and not Ricci’s…).

I now needed to get Mom sorted out—not that Jules felt the same need. But she couldn't deny she needed groceries, and it was time to help change her sheets. Only, after Mom's new helper, Fiona, returned from the store, Mom threw a wrench in my plans by deciding the bed linen change would have to wait. What’s more, she sent Fiona back to my place to change my sheets. (It turns out this was all a lack of communication, which happens often in a bilingual household!)

Tensions were growing, lunch preparation loomed in the air, and I tried to focus on my writing, as story ideas superimposed one over the other, adding to the confusion. Just when I settled down to sort things out, Jackie asked if I could hang out her laundry as she was running late for work. Then Max telephoned for a favor: would I follow him to the repair shop to drop off his company car? And just like that, rebelote!—we were back on the jungle train again!

Somehow, we monkeys managed to get through the day: Jean-Marc processed more grapes, Mom got clean sheets, Jackie made it to work on time, Max’s car was fixed, and I wrote a workable draft for this blog. As usual, the pressure began to ease when I checked in to say goodnight to Mom, and found her in a happy mood (watching horse videos on YouTube does that). "Kristi! You'll never believe what happened!" she said. "Earlier, I was lying here in bed, wishing for something sweet to eat after dinner. A moment later, Jean-Marc came in with two ice cream bars! Isn't that incredible?"

Incredible? Yes, on so many levels. Suddenly, I remembered the prayer I had said earlier and hurried home to tell Jean-Marc about le signe de là-haut. He smiled, more in amusement than conviction, but that was good enough for me. As I once read, "Le sourire est chez l'homme l'empreinte de Dieu"—the smile is in man the imprint of God.

But, dear reader, our story doesn't end here, nor do God's mysterious ways. When evening came, I asked Jean-Marc if he happened to have a photo of the vineyard where he was harvesting that morning—something to illustrate the blog post I was working on.

"The only photo I have is with Lou Bogue."

"Lou Bogue?"

"Yes, Lou harvested with me at that same vineyard several years ago."

That's when I recalled a visit from one of my readers, Lou. At the age of 83, with shoulder-length silver locks and a boyish grin, he helped us harvest at our first vineyard, Domaine Rouge-Bleu. When we moved to La Ciotat, he traveled to visit us. By then, he was in his early 90s. I'll never forget taking Lou to lunch and leaving him to explore le centre-ville that afternoon. He insisted he’d find his way back to his Airbnb, but by early evening, Jean-Marc had an inkling of his own and felt a strong urge to get in his car and go searching for Lou…

Lo and behold, there at the old port, Lou was standing on a corner, waiting for a bus back to his rental. Only there were no more buses that evening. Just when a stranger wandered up to Lou, soliciting for something, Jean-Marc quickly pulled up to the curb.

He reached over to open the passenger door and Lou, ever chipper (and a little pompette after leaving one of the local bars…), thanked him for the ride home. Lou eventually returned to Florida and kept in touch with me via Facebook, as he had for years. In fact, he was one of my first blog readers! As always, he said he was planning a trip to see us. He was 95 the last time he made this promise.

After Jean-Marc reminded me of the harvest with Lou, I went over to Facebook to contact him for permission to post his photo. Only, instead of his usual update, there was a message from his daughter:

"…We want to thank all who've shared cards and their prayers after the recent loss of my dad, Louis Bogue, in Dunedin, Florida. He lived a full 96 years and passed in peaceful sleep after being surrounded by family on February 15, 2024. We will celebrate his life on Father's Day in Atlanta with a book we are creating of his golf journey and adventure-filled life. We invite you to share sentiments and photos…"

I am so sad to learn Lou is no longer among us, and upset I missed the chance to say goodbye. It all brings me back to my driven nature, as I crack the whip at the beginning of another day. Why do I always feel so rushed to get everything done “on time?” Just what is “on time” when you are on a schedule of your own making?

I ask myself, finally, “Whether I get the sheets changed today or whether I’m late saying adieu to a dearly departed friend —what is time in the face of eternity?”

I can almost hear Lou's voice, his wisdom echoing back an answer: "Time, mon amie, is eternal when you do everything with love. So sit back, smile, and remember your husband, your family, and your friends. Have a little more fun in life. Get out there and enjoy some adventures. Love life!"

Thank you, Lou, for keeping in touch and for always promising to get back to France. I love you! I did not tell you directly or often enough how much you impressed me with your plans. If I’m honest, this middle-aged mess was a little suspicious of your endless youth—and now regret not asking you your secret (which may have been shared in the paragraph above)! In your mid-90s, your excitement and verve for life, for friends, and your love for France were stronger than ever. You wore a permanent smile, l'empreinte de Dieu. Sign of signs!

I like a story to come full circle, so let’s return to that glorious vignoble in Bandol, where my husband was just beginning the harvest. In that paradisical setting, I prayed that God would work in his heart and send me some kind of message. I know we’re not supposed to ask for signs from God—perhaps that's why I received one from an old friend instead. Repose en paix, Lou. In memory of you, I’m going to try to slow down, chill out, and follow in your loving footsteps.

After typing the last line of this story, I stumbled upon an old email reply from Lou:

"Yes, a young girl’s dreams of finding that way of life that will bring all those dreams to fusion is a hard journey. Sometimes it's long and tedious, and sometimes a move to a completely new environment opens the door to understanding what you really want out of life. As the saying goes, NOTHING VENTURED—NOTHING GAINED. Another big secret of life: KEEP MOVING forward, never backward."

Here’s another of the many notes I received from Lou: “Hope all is well with you and family, basking in 80 degrees here in Fla., playing golf 3 days a week, working 3 days a week, keeping in good health, goal is to see my GREAT GRAND Children, do with their lives, they are 4, 6, 8 and one on the way!!!! Remember key to long life, KEEP MOVING!”

Back when Lou harvested at Domaine Rouge-Bleu (story here), and a note he wrote:

I've just been able to send an e-mail. I read your book, which I enjoy and get your word a day, which is helping me try and learn French, as I'm planning on spending a month next Sept. in the Provence area celebrating my 80th, hope to try your wine. I'm from Casa Grande, AZ., also a desert rat, much good luck to you and to your family. I'm sure, like most of your readers, you feel like family.  Au revoir.

COMMENTS
Your comments are a joy to read and your edits help me so much. Thanks in advance! To leave a comment, click here. 

Lou harvesting at Domaine Rouge-Bleu. Don't miss fellow harvester Sandy Maberly's post about Lou, and how he inspired everyone. 

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Click here to listen to Jean-Marc pronounce the French
le cafard = the blues, depression
leur source de vie = their source of life
On va marcher = we are going to walk
rebelote = here we go again
le signe de là-haut = the sign from above
le sourire est chez l'homme l'empreinte de Dieu = the smile is in man the imprint of God
le centre-ville = the town center
pompette = tipsy
adieu = goodbye forever
l'empreinte de Dieu = the imprint of God
le vignoble = the vineyard
repose en paix = rest in peace

*The smile quote is by Robert Choin

REMERCIEMENTS
When I receive a donation from a reader, I always send a thank-you email. However, there are times when I don’t have the correct address, or worse, my message ends up in a junk folder, never to be seen. To the following readers, I hope my note reached you, and I want to express my gratitude once again for supporting the blog!

Bob M.
Phil J.
Trina S.
Vicki B.
Nancy M.
Michele C.
Nancy S.
Marilyn W.
Lori K. C.
Maureen D.
Crystal and Greg A.
Midge and Dick Fleming
Natalia, Rod, Elley and Ari 

Lunch with Lou, the last time he came to visit. Read one more story about Lou, here.