Bonjour à tous, Hello Everybody,

Last April, I moved my French Word-A-Day blog to a new platform, and many of you may not have received news from me since!

This message is going out from my old platform to reconnect with readers who may have gotten lost in the shuffle.
👉 If you’ve been receiving newsletters recently, no worries—you’re already subscribed to the new blog.

✨ To keep receiving my updates from France:

1️⃣ Add my new sender address to your contacts/allowed senders: comment-reply@wordpress.com

2️⃣ Subscribe to my new site here:
🔗 kristinespinasse.com

3️⃣ Join me on WhatsApp (where I post a daily photo, word, and sound file):
📱 Follow me on WhatsApp
🔔 Don’t forget to tap the bell for notifications so you don’t miss any French-worthy updates!

Voilà! I hope this message reaches you, and that you’ll continue reading my daily and weekly updates. Thank you so much for your interest and your kind encouragement over the years.

Amicalement,
Kristi

All the colorful French words are in the story. Enjoy and Happy First of May! (Painting by my niece. Notice the dogs: Izzy, Ricci, and Loca--and our doves on the rooftop.)

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

Dear Reagan,

I hope you enjoy these memories as much as I enjoyed your visit last weekend…

After a semester in Italy, my niece has finished her study abroad program. Instead of flying straight back to the U.S., she returned to spend three more days with us in France. Wherever my niece lands she brings her adventurous spirit with her and she needs little advance notice to be ready to explore: she’ll simply throw her hair back in braids and illico presto! she’s out the door. 

As Reagan is the kind of person who says chiche—“I’m in!”—to just about anything, whether it’s sampling prickly oursins or trawling in Uncle Jean-Marc’s boat, we easily let the weekend unfold: wandering down to the calanque in Figuerolles, where we stumbled upon a movie set (a first for Reagan), hiking up to the sémaphore, a watercolor session on the sandy shores of Plage Lumière, or a spree to La pharmacie St. Jean for French lotions and potions. 

The night before Réré flew home, we introduced her to a decadent French tradition. “Raclette,” I explained, “is a kind of grill that you plug in and set in the center of the table. Beneath it are a series of little pans, or, poêlons, where each person adds a slice of fromage en tranchettes. After the cheese melts, you use a small spatula to scrape it over a boiled potato and add the accompaniment of your choice: ham, salami, coppa, prosciutto. Mushrooms, onions, sliced peppers, and more can be added to the grill above….” 

It’s a convivial and amusing way to gather for a meal. Depending on your table’s shape, it can be tricky to reach the grill, but Ana happily took charge of refilling Grandma Jules’s pan. Jean-Marc, at the end of the table, barely managed to set his pan beside mine—just in time to steal my just-melted cheese. Keeping an eye on my husband’s wandering hand, I listened as we all began sharing our favorite memories from Réré’s visit...

One highlight was an event at a beautiful seaside hotel, L’Hostellerie La Farandole, where Max had invited his cousin to a wine tasting. Not just any dégustation: it was the world-renowned Château de Pibarnon, and Eric de Saint Victor, the owner, was there to host. “We each had our own platter of cheese,” Reagan shared, “and we sampled several wines while Eric spoke. It was so interesting!” 

The next day, Max met up with us for a randonnée along le chemin de Sainte-Croix, and we each brought our dogs, Izzy, Loca, and Ricci. The hills are bursting with flowers this time of year: cistes, lavande, immortelle, coquelicots, valerian, and yellow broom steal the show… until you reach the top of the colline, where the cliffs of Cassis are stunning against the navy blue sea.

We followed the dogs back down the path and returned to kidnap Grandma for lunch at Max and Ana’s: roasted chicken, gratin dauphinois, and a strawberry tart from the bakery—until I hinted it was time for my sieste.

That evening, as I served chipolatas and roasted vegetables, grilled directly on the oven’s slide-out tray, Max shared an amusing word for roasting pan: lèche-frite—literally “lick-fry,” named for the way the ingredients (often fries) are set there to catch the drippings from the rack above.

Lèche-frite reminds me of lèche-vitrine (“window licking,” or window shopping), something we never got around to with my niece. It seemed she had already licked windows in Italy for, after the raclette, Reagan handed out gifts. We gathered around the coffee table to accept the presents: a beautiful bracelet for Ana from Florence, a bottle of wine from Tuscany for Jean-Marc, pasta tweezers (for twirling and plating pasta) from Rome for Max, and two watercolor paintings: for Grandma, a postcard-sized painting of the coastline seen from le parc du Mugel; for me, a delightful watercolor of our house—complete with all the dogs and even the tourterelles! The whimsical painting reflected my niece’s personality: bright, happy, energetic, clever, and well-balanced. If this painting could talk it would shout chiche! Yes—to life and all it has to offer!

As I reminisce about my niece—with her auburn braids, striped socks, and that sparkling smile—I’m reminded of my favorite childhood heroine, Fifi Brindacier. Not just for her wild hair and free spirit, or for her creativity (though she has that à gogo), but for the way she says chiche to life—that playful French dare that means “I’m in!” Bold, imaginative, generous, and always up for adventure, Fifi is a reminder of the joy in being fully yourself.

See you next summer, Réré. Whatever we do, I’m chiche to join you—braids, stripes, and a spirit of adventure… just like yours.

Love,

Aunt Kristi

COMMENTS & CORRECTIONS
Your comments are encouraging and your corrections help so much. 
To leave a message click here.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

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

chiche = I'm in! / game!

illico presto = right away

L’oursin (m) = sea urchin

la calanque = rocky inlet or cove

le sémaphore = signal tower / lookout station

la Plage Lumière = Lumière Beach

la raclette = a simple dish of (melted) cheese, potatoes, and cured meats

le poêlon = small pan

le fromage = cheese

en tranchette = in thin slices

la coppa = cured pork shoulder

le prosciutto = prosciutto / Italian cured ham

la dégustation = tasting (often of wine or food)

la randonnée = hike

le ciste = rockrose 

la lavande = lavender

l’immortelle = everlasting flower / helichrysum

le coquelicot = poppy

la valériane = valerian (wildflower)

la colline = hill

la sieste = nap

La chipolata = chipolata sausages

la lèche-frite = oven drip pan

le lèche-vitrine = window shopping (literally “window licking”)

la tourterelle = turtledove

Fifi Brindacier = Pippi Longstocking

Reagan, Max, me, Jean-Marc and Ana (who just celebrated her 29th birthday. Joyeux Anniv, Ana! Click to view photo (if it is not visible here)

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

Jed C.
Janet A
Ronnie H.
C-Marie P.

God bless you two! --C-Marie

J'aime vos histoires. . . . SVP, continuez les!! I love your stories....please continue them. --Jed

A SHIPPING CONUNDRUM

Now through July 1st, I’m able to ship my book A Year in a French Life at a very low fee. But starting in July, international postal rates will skyrocket—from 5 euros to 35 euros—as books will no longer qualify for the special “cultural” shipping discount.

If you’d like a signed copy, now is the time to order!
The price is $35 by check or Zelle.
For PayPal, please add $5 to cover fees ($40 total).

To order, simply email me at Kristin.espinasse@gmail.com

Wishing you all a joyful Premier Mai! In France, it's tradition to offer un brin de muguet—a sprig of lily of the valley—for luck and happiness. You’ll see these charming little stands all around town, set up just for the day. 🌿 Photo taken this morning, in the background notice Ile Vert, or Green Island.

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

TODAY’S WORD: le prédicateur 

: preacher, speaker at a church service

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

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

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE… by Kristi Espinasse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know each other?” I was amazed.

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

Laurent nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jean-Marc and Laurent

COMMENTS & CORRECTIONS
Your comments are encouraging and your corrections help so much. 
To leave a message click here.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

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

le prédicateur = preacher

le printemps = spring

le rez-de-chaussée = ground floor

le premier étage = first floor

la foule = crowd

le frigo = refrigerator

les impôts = taxes

la caillette = traditional meatball-shaped pâté from southeastern France

la collation = light meal or snack

les accras = Caribbean-style fritters

la pissaladière = savory tart with onions and anchovies

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

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

la navette = boat-shaped Provençal cookie

la cave à vin = wine shop

T’es Jean-Marc? = you’re Jean-Marc

Salut = hi

on compte sur toi = we’re counting on you

enfin = finally, anyway

la ruelle = little street or alley

grotte = cave

REMERCIEMENTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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