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FRENCH WORD-A-DAY

CELEBRATING 21 YEARS OF CHRONICLING LIFE IN FRANCE: 2002-2024

Home Archives Subscribe, It's Free! Stories, photos (c) Kristin Espinasse The
Lost Gardens (Our Vineyard Memoir) Provence Wine Tours with Jean-Marc
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TROUVAILLE: SURPRISE IN THE GARDEN & A FUNNY ADAGE FOR NOT WORRYING WHAT OTHERS
THINK ABOUT YOU

THURSDAY, MAY 09, 2024

The garden of wonderments. Apart from the red valerian behind my dog, learn
about the latest trouvaille or finding in our garden, and don't miss the
colorful expression at the end (the funny French equivalent to "Sticks and
stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me").

TODAY'S WORD: la trouvaille

: find, discovery, treasure

Are you an expat in France (or anywhere outside the US) and need to file your
tax return?
Good news: you have an automatic extension through June 17. I am using Expatfile
again this year to complete all tax forms quickly and easily, and I highly
recommend it. Click here.

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

There was a time, years ago, when I might have sold my soul for my garden. I
remember that exact moment, kneeling beside a rock bed overflowing with parsley
and strawberries and buzzing with life in December. The sweet-scented earth, the
vivid colors, the warm sun on my back, a ladybug alighting in the midst of it
all. This was heaven on earth. Suddenly, I had the thought that I never want to
die and so be separated from this terrestrial paradise. I wrote about the
experience in our story, The Lost Gardens (there, you know how that ended).

By now you may be picturing a magnificent floral kingdom, but a beautiful garden
is subjective, isn’t it? One person pictures a stately Jardin de Versailles,
while another envisions a charming potager. My own digs were a messy affair:
wild, expansive, out of control. A marriage of weeds and peas and bees and sore
knees. Artichokes spread from the garden beds up through the thyme-scented
hillside where my husband had begun to carve out his “vineyard in the sky.”
There, midway up the hill to heaven, I had strawberries galore and exotic
berries–tangy “argousiers.” It was a permaculture playground just as I had
imagined it could be. What pride and joy I felt collecting the first (and what
would be the last…) creamy, perfectly ripe avocado. Soon after, the avocatier
was taken over by an army of bugs–and that, in a nutshell, is the story of my
garden: a tale of victories and defeats.

Among all the love and war in the garden were the unending trouvailles–the
discoveries! When I stop to think about it, what gave me the most joy wasn’t the
way my garden looked or what it produced, no—all the pleasure and excitement
came from the surprises it offered up, les petites merveilles meted out
according to its mysterious whims. At Mas des Brun, where we lived for 5 years,
those surprises were the fruits, vegetables, and flowers popping up all over the
field. While here in La Ciotat, in a crowded neighborhood where we moved after
selling our vineyard, there are other hidden treasures to keep me tied to the
garden even if this particular yard, made of sand and clay, has been nothing but
a struggle.

I’ll never forget the first thrilling discovery this urban lot offered up. Soon
after we arrived in 2017, relaxing back into une chaise longue beside the
fountain/pond, I looked look up to a branch laden with green plums. Mon Dieu! A
second prune tree mixed in among les haies! And, speaking of hedges, soon after
Mom moved here, to a converted garage on the northwest corner of the house, she
discovered a family of hedgehogs—les hérissons. Wildlife in the city!

Following on the heels of those hogs, three arbres de Judée revealed themselves
by springtime (hard to continue hiding among the green hedges with so many
fuchsia flowers popping up on your branches). Below, dozens of coquelicots
appeared across the yard, and the surprises only continued. There was little
room to mourn the loss of my permaculture garden, what with so many nouveautés
springing up across this stubborn plot. After wrestling with this garden for 7
years, this springtime has seen the most blossoms. I like to think the return of
a dog to the property has influenced its fertility somehow, some way. (All those
joyous four-pawed romps around the garden may have stirred the seeds below.
Thanks, Ricci, and rest in peace, dear Smokey. You will forever be a part of our
garden, your ashes resting beneath the Lilas d’Espagne which have spread in
abundance, like a dog’s love.)

Recently, while playing with Ricci, I spied an Acanthus about to bloom! I
hurried over to Mom’s to report it, before dragging her out to see it for
herself. “Wait, Mom! While you're here, I have another surprise for you…”

Each night this past month, while taking Ricci out for her last run around the
garden, my ears were delighted by frog calls. But when I approached the
fountain/pond, la grenouille was nowhere to be found. Turning to go back into
the house, it would croak again, sending me running back to the fountain,
searching for the green giant (from the sound of its voice it must’ve been
huge—un crapaud!). We played Cache-Cache for weeks until, one day I heard a
warble from the tree trunk beside the fountain/pond. Hmmm. A frog in a tree? I
studied the would-be refuge, a felled palm tree we’d made into an outdoor table.
Currently, the table was speaking to me:

Ribbit...ribbit...ribbit…

I fumbled for my phone’s flashlight. Shining it under the tabletop, I could not
believe my eyes: all those thundering ribbits echoing through our neighborhood
were coming not from a bullfrog, but from une rainette—a tree frog no bigger
than a macaron.

As I marvel at how such a tiny creature could add such a powerful blast of
character to our garden I am reminded, once again, that it isn’t the size or
shape or appearance of a garden that brings joy. It is the little findings
within it that offer eternal bliss. No need to sell one’s soul for this. It is
already a gift.

***

Post Note: If you ever find yourself fretting about the untidiness of your
garden—or your living space, for that matter—remember this amusing French
saying. 'La bave du crapaud n'atteint pas la blanche colombe' translates to 'The
toad's spit doesn't reach the white dove,' meaning that criticism or negativity
can't harm those who remain unaffected by it. So, embrace your garden just as it
is, and live life on your own terms.

The fountain-pond and the palm tree table where the tree frog lives. We
eventually lost both palm trees to an invasive “charançon rouge” (a red
weevil).

COMMENTS
To leave a comment or to read one, click here.
See a mistake? Thanks for letting me know so I may fix it illico (right away)!

Apples near the front door. Shoes tidied in the tiles, just behind.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Jean-Marc recorded the sound file during his layover at the Melbourne
International Airport. After 3 months in New Zealand he is on his way home,
arriving Friday!

Click here to listen to the French vocabulary

le jardin = garden
le potager = vegetable garder
l'argousier = sea buckthorn berry
le crapaud = giant toad
l'avocatier (m) = avocado tree
la trouvaille = find, discovery
la petite merveille = little marvel
une chaise longue = lawn chair
la haie = hedge
l'hérisson = hedge hog
l'arbre de judée = Judas tree
le coquelicot = poppy
la nouveauté = novelty
le lilas d'Espagne = red valerian
la grenouille = frog
le cache-cache = hide-and-seek
le crapaud = toad
une rainette = tree frog

La bave du crapaud n'atteint pas la blanche colombe = The toad's spit doesn't
reach the white dove (or "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will
never hurt me")

This is the back of our farmhouse at Mas des Brun, where we lived from
2012-2017. Those are the rock bed potagers, or vegetable gardens. And that is
Smokey, my garden buddy extraordinaire!

REMERCIEMENTS
Special thanks to these readers for their helpful donations in support of this
French word journal:

Lisa E.
John M.
Julie C.
Dana B.
Carol A.
Edred F.
Suzanne D.

Hi Kristi I so enjoyed your books as well as the word-a-days. Merci. -- John M.,
San Francisco

Kristi, knowing you all these years has meant so much to me. "Giving you a
little dough to blow," as my dad used to do for me, is a pleasure. You keep my
mind and heart reflecting. —Julie C., Tempe, AZ

I really like getting your blog. It is always of interest to me. I have CDs that
I used to listen to in order to learn French. I have a different vehicle now,
and it has no CD player. --Carol A., Willmar, MN

Mom, holding the hedgehog

Smokey, looking through the kitchen window at Mas des Brun, where this one-off
avocado was devoured.

Ricci looking conspicuous in front of the massive wine bottles or
"dames-jeannes" that decorate a corner of the garden.

Me and Ricci. Soon after this picture was taken, Ricci ate all the fruit on this
wild berry plant. I guess she taxed us for her part of the crop! Speaking of
taxes, if you are an American abroad don't forget to visit Expat Taxes for a
fast and easy filing process.

A Message from Kristi: Ongoing support from readers like you keeps me writing
and publishing this free language journal each week. If you find joy or value in
these stories and would like to keep this site going, donating today will help
so much. Thank you for being a part of this community and helping me to maintain
this site and its newsletter.

Ways to contribute:
1.Zelle®, The best way to donate and there are no transaction fees. Zelle to
kristin.espinasse@gmail.com

2.Paypal or credit card
Or purchase my book for a friend and so help them discover this free weekly
journal.
For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a
Sobriety

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

in garden, gardening | Permalink | Comments (14)

VOIR LA VIE EN ROSE: MOM’S SECRET TO FACING CHALLENGES

THURSDAY, MAY 02, 2024

Mom always said to take a new road each day, which is how I discovered this
secret square in La Ciotat. Growing up, Jules also taught me to see things that
are not as though they are. More in today’s missive “La Vie en Rose”.

Expat in France (or anywhere outside the US) and need to file your taxes?
Good news: you have an automatic extension through June 17. I am using Expatfile
again this year to complete mine quickly and easily, and highly recommend it.
Click here.

Jean-Marc returns home soon, in time to begin his Provence Wine Tours. Contact
him to reserve a date at jm.espinasse@gmail.com

TODAY'S WORD: VOIR LA VIE EN ROSE

: to see the positive side of things

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

The weather report was wrong. Fortunately, it wasn't pouring down rain, but
there were other traveling ennuis when we drove Mom to the hospital for her eye
condition. Coming out of Marseille's Prado Carénage tunnel, my daughter blared
her horn. “Mais ils conduisent comme des fous!" she gasped, as the car to our
right cut over, causing us to swerve. “You would have never been able to drive
here, Mom!”

“Don’t say that, Jackie! It’s discouraging. I'm sure I could’ve driven. I
memorized the map all week," I remarked, from the copilot seat. Currently, we
were arriving at "that building with the arched windows" and it was just as
Google depicted it. "Turn left at the BMW dealership Jackie!" There it was,
exactly as the online photo in Google Maps indicated.

“You’re a great driver, Jackie!” Jules cheered from the back. You'd never know
from her words that Mom was uneasy. By focusing on the positive, she was now a
voyager on an exciting ride, instead of petrified. Listening to our passenger,
I’m reminded of a title Mom kept on the bookshelf when my sister and I were
growing up. Florence Scovel Schinn’s Your Word is Your Wand was eventually
replaced by The Holy Bible which we call "The Living Word." I find the French
translation fascinating: The Word, which is considered alive and active appears
as "Le Verbe" in certain editions. "In the beginning was The Word...Au
commencement était le Verbe..." (Jean 1:1)

Words and vision have always been important to Mom. One of the first lessons Mom
taught my sister and me was to see things that are not as though they are.
Though it was hard for me to see all the D’s on my report card as A’s, or to
view my crooked teeth as straight, Mom’s scripture-based wisdom proved itself in
the end--with the help of long hours of study and braces. (Aide-toi, le ciel
t'aidera!)

But back to our narrative in which Mom’s faith-filled eyes are, ironically,
suffering from inflammation…

The doctor's assistant had already warned me that the European Hospital was in a
bad part of Marseille (I guess BMW thinks as positively as Mom...). Outside our
car windows, I saw boarded-up businesses and an automobile repair shop covered
in graffiti, a lone pair of jeans dangling on a clothesline above. But from
Mom's perspective, you’d think we were in a charming French village and not the
gritty city. "I love it here. I've always loved Marseille!"

"Mom, hold on to my arm!" I urged after Jackie pulled in front of L'Hôpital
Européen to drop us off. “What a beautiful hospital!” Jules enthused. Looking
around, I saw patients walking with mobile IV drip bags, others in wheelchairs,
and some with canes. All looked pale, but to Mom, they were nearly sunkissed.

Mom winked at the giant security guard at the entrance. Meanwhile, I saw the
agent de protection differently and began to envision a band of thugs hurrying
past us on their way to ER following another règlement de compte.

“Did you see those handsome men pushing the wheelchairs?” Mom said, pointing to
the aides-soignants. “When I check in next month I’ll have them race me down the
halls and across the street for a glass of wine at that darling café!" To Mom,
even the nearby commerces (including les pompes funèbres, or funeral parlor)
appeared otherly.

Having cleared security, now on our way to the first appointment in section C1
of the hospital, Mom’s enthusiasm ramped up, perhaps along with her anxiety.
“This place looks like a resort!” This sunny outlook was beginning to affect me
and I could now begin to see the clean, modern lines of the great hall which
reminded me of a shopping mall. In fact, we were very close to the popular Les
Terrasses du Port shopping center, where Jackie had gone after dropping us off.
Why not see this place as a little extension of that? Therefore, Mom and I were
only in one of the “department stores.”

In the hospital’s ophthalmology unit, I pulled a number from the ticket
dispenser, ushered Mom to a seat, and began rifling through my bag for
administrative forms, for Mom's American passport, her prescriptions, all the
while translating any instructions to Mom, in English or to the healthcare
workers, in French. While Mom found each étape amusing, I sweated them all. The
receptionist called our number and fell instantly under Mom’s charm, and I
sighed a breath of relief (Ouf! Mom’s insurance card, set to expire in 4 days,
had passed inspection).

We were in the second waiting room when Mom’s doctor appeared with a bottle of
eye drops to dilate her eyes. “Enlevez votre chapeau, s'il vous plaît," the
doctor said, to which Mom removed her well-worn Panama hat—but not without a
little reluctance. Her trademark chapeau is a little like her shield. I held my
breath, wondering, would all of her positivity disappear now?

When next I looked over, Mom was smiling demurely. I could see she was smitten
by the doctor! It was at this point that I knew Mom would get through this
current trial. If there’s one thing in the world that trumps positive thinking,
it’s love!

And I knew, by the grace from above, I’d get through it too, no matter how many
times I stumble as a caregiver.

Standing outside on the gritty curb, waiting for Jackie to pick us up, Mom was
filled with gratitude, even as the Mistral threatened to carry off her hat. As
she held on tight to her Panama and to me, she beamed. "I'm so proud of you,"
she said. "I'll bet these doctors are impressed with how organized you were!"

Well, I wouldn’t go that far! But then... Il faut voir les choses qui ne sont
pas comme si elles l'étaient.

COMMENTS
To leave a comment or to offer a correction, click here. Thanks in advance!

In theme with today's word "voir la vie en rose", here's a picture from the
archives. Jean-Marc, resting at Mas des Brun. His t-shirt is a play on words:
"La Vie en Rosé" from Sainte Cécile-Les-Vignes.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Today’s sound file may be difficult to hear, but you’ll enjoy the birds in the
background. Jean-Marc recorded it for me in New Zealand, and sent it along with
this note:

Found some internet to send you this
It's beautiful and very wild here
Will be with you in a week now ❤️

Click here to listen to the French vocabulary

voir la vie en rose = to see life through rose-tinted glasses
l'ennui = problem, aggravating factor
Mais ils conduisent comme des fous! = But they drive like crazy people!
le Verbe (Parole de Dieu) = The Word (Word of God)
L'Hôpital Européen = The European Hospital
Aide-toi, le ciel t'aidera! = God helps those who help themselves
le règlement de compte = settling of scores
l'agent de protection = security guard
l'aide-soignant, aide-soignante = orderly, porter, nurse's aide
le commerce = business
les pompes funèbres = funeral parlor
une étape = one step (or part) of a process or journey
ouf! = phew!
Enlevez votre chapeau, s'il vous plaît = take off your hat, please
Voir les choses qui ne sont pas comme si elles l'étaient = See things that are
not as though they are

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to readers for sending in a donation in support of my French word
journal. Your support makes a difference!

Bob O.
Anne J.
Julie F.
Dawn D.
Lucie A.
Linda A.
Debra H.
Pierre L.
Saundra H.
Valerie W.
Tricia N.B.
Augusta E.
Roseann M.
Catherine D.

Kristi, your posts are a joy! Merci! --Linda A.

Hi Kristi, I thoroughly enjoy reading your columns. All the very best to you and
your family. --Debra H

Salut Kristi, Thank you for sharing your adventurous life with us. It is a
blessing to read your stories and to learn very practical French that I can
share with my students from time to time. May you be blessed with more than
enough! --Dawn D.

Your posts add joy to my day, especially when they concern serepdipitous
encounters like the one with Jean-Pierre in Ceyreste. They're all part of a
bigger plan. Bisous bcp. --Augusta

My daughter Jackie, right, is driving (the photo is flipped around) Our
expressions tell a story: The nerve-racking ride home from the hospital and a
treat at the end: Jackie stopped at McDonald’s drive-thru to get her grandmother
a sundae.

Happy birthday to Ana. As Grandma Jules says, We're so lucky to have you!
(Pictured with Max and Loca.)

Ways to contribute:
1.Zelle®, The best way to donate and there are no transaction fees. Zelle to
kristin.espinasse@gmail.com

2.Paypal or credit card
Or purchase my book for a friend and so help them discover this free weekly
journal.
For more online reading: The Lost Gardens: A Story of Two Vineyards and a
Sobriety

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

in Health, Health care, Jules, Positive Thinking | Permalink | Comments (16)

IL DEVAIT EN ÊTRE AINSI: MEANT TO BE (PREDESTINED) IN FRENCH: A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
WITH SOME CEYRESTENS

THURSDAY, APRIL 25, 2024

The sign reads "change of ownership". Today's story takes place in a town
nearby: Ceyreste. FYI: The inhabitants are called "Ceyrestens" for men and
"Ceyrestennes" for women.

Are you an expat in France (or anywhere outside the US) and need to file your
taxes?
Good news: you have an automatic extension through June 17. I am using Expatfile
again this year to complete mine quickly and easily, and highly recommend it.
Click here.

TODAY'S WORD(S): Il devait en être ainsi

: meant to be (predestined)

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristin Espinasse

While French greeting cards are interesting and exotic for family back home, I
wanted to celebrate my nephew Payne’s college graduation in plain English and
was delighted to find a clever card on Amazon France. But, when I received an
email informing me I was absent for the delivery and would have to drive to the
next town to retrieve my paper-thin parcel (the card would’ve easily fit in my
mailbox), that delight turned to dégout. “But we were home all day!” I grumbled
to my dog, Ricci. “I’ll bet the driver took the easy route, dropping it with a
lot of other packages at the nearest (for him) dépôt!”

While I had a mind to report the rogue livreur, intuition whispered to go with
the flow of what Life (if not the driver) had successfully delivered: an
opportunity to put my current soucis on hold and get out for some fresh air and
flânerie. At the very least, it would be the chance to practice my driving,
which is rusty after all these years of being a passenger.

The Mistral wind in full force, our compact Renault Zoe swayed back and forth
along the road to Ceyreste but I made it safely to the village and even found
parking. What a pleasure to see the vintage Tabac sign near the church square
had not been taken down, and ditto for a few other old businesses including
Boucherie Jacky. I would have liked to explore more but the wind was sending my
hair flying in every direction and I just wanted to get my nephew’s card and go
home to my warm bed for une sieste with my dog.

I don’t know what it’s like chez vous, but in France packages that cannot be
delivered to a home address are rerouted to a point relais. It’s a good way to
discover and support a variety of local commerces, who go to the trouble of
handling the parcels. I once collected a dog leash at a cannabis shop and une
couette at a former garage turned optical. For my nephew’s carte de vœux the
packet has ended up at a primeur of all places.

The green grocer’s was easy to find, I could see the colorful produce a block
away. Entering the shop, there was a customer before me so I mosied on over to
the root vegetables and selected a bunch of carrots (for a fresh jus de carotte
for Jules every morning to help her eyes). While filling my basket I overheard
the shopkeeper talking to the older gentleman:

“I’m afraid we don’t carry fougasse here, Jean-Pierre,” she said gently. “You
might try the baker.”

Monsieur looked confused. After a long pause he asked for du lait.

“Sorry, Jean-Pierre. No milk here. We sell fruits and vegetables.” With that,
the shopkeeper shot a conspiratorial wink my way. “But I can offer you a coffee.
The machine’s in the back.”

“Do you have sugar?” came the hopeful response.

“No, I don’t have sugar….”

Monsieur looked over at me as if I might be able to produce a few cubes from
thin air. “It’s not bad without sugar,” I smiled. “C’est mieux pour la santé.”

“Vous savez, j’ai travaillé dans le nucléaire.” You know, I worked in the
nuclear industry, Monsieur offered, out of the blue.

I gathered he meant What does sugar matter when you’ve worked around radiation?
but he was only reminiscing. “I lived in Avignon…and Qatar…and Algeria….(He
mentioned a few other cities but I lost track, focusing instead on his innocent
eyes, the color of la noisette he would now be drinking if only there was milk
in this fruits and vegetables-only shop.

“What was your favorite place?” I set down my basket to listen closely.

“L’Algérie. Oui, L’Algérie...”

“I hear it is beautiful there,” I said.

As the venerable Ceyresten struggled to convey the beauty of North Africa to his
captive audience of two, I experienced that rare sensation of time standing
still. In that moment, there was no rush, no rigid routine, and no pressure to
produce (though there was plenty of produce, green and leafy, surrounding us).
When he finished speaking, I reached over and placed my hand on Monsieur’s
shoulder, without stopping to think about cultural norms or boundaries.

“That’s lovely. Thank you, Jean-Pierre. Did your sister send you out for
anything else?” The shopkeeper smiled, jogging Monsieur’s memory.

“Perhaps,” he said, thinking about it. During the pause, the shopkeeper gestured
towards me and I handed over a basket full of carrots. “Oh, I have something to
pick up as well. I don’t know why a little greeting card I ordered was delivered
here,” I shared.

The shopkeeper sympathized, “Maybe it was meant to be.”

Driving home I thought about the errant postman, who wasn’t such a bad guy after
all. Now, looking at the bigger picture, I see his role as some kind of cosmic
carrier, rerouting my own, and a few others' paths that day...and also the role
of the tiny parcel, in altering our schedules and so tinkering with Father Time.
Perhaps that is peace: when the clock stops ticking and the heart opens up to
the moment at hand.

***

I can’t end this update without sharing the message on my nephew’s graduation
card: (First, picture a dachshund wearing a party hat): “Well done you clever
sausage!” the card reads. Today, this message also applies to my Mom, for her
cheery, positive, and grateful attitude while being poked and prodded at Hôpital
Européen in Marseille on Tuesday. As we keep Jules in our thoughts and prayers,
her French health insurance is set to expire this week. We eagerly await its
renewal, crucial for her upcoming 4-day hospital stay and a battery of tests
aimed at uncovering the cause of her inflammation.

COMMENTS
To leave a comment or a correction click here. Merci!

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Audio File Click here to listen to the French pronunciation

le changement de propriétaire = change of ownership
Il devait en être ainsi = it was meant to be
le dégout = strong disappointment
le dépôt = drop-off site
le livreur, la livreuse = delivery man, delivery woman
le souci = worry
la flânerie = stroll, ramble
la sieste = siesta, nap
le point relais = parcel pickup location
la couette = duvet, comforter
la carte de voeux = greetings card
le jus de carotte = carrot juice
la fougasse = the French equivalent of focaccia bread
le lait = milk
une noisette = “a hazelnut” means a shot of coffee with milk in a very small cup
C’est mieux pour la santé = It's healthier
j'ai travaillé dans le nucléaire = I worked in nuclear

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