La Grotte – the restaurant at the end of Marseilles located dans les Calanques de Callelongue (les Goudes)
un kleptomane (klepto-man)
: kleptomaniac
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Un kleptomane ne peut se retenir de dérober des objets, la plupart du temps sans aucune valeur. A kleptomaniac cannot help himself from lifting objects that are, for the most part, worthless.
A Day in a French Life… by Kristin Espinasse
After an emotional visit to the American Consulate, we swung by my mother-in-law's, buckled her into the car, and drove to the end of Marseilles where the coastline rumbles out to sea, the huge limestone rocks meeting a turquoise eternity.
We arrived at the last port, "Callelongue", where a couple handfuls of fishing boats rested along the tiny bay. Facing the boats, there was our longtime favorite restaurant, La Grotte.
Ça fait du bien. Ah, ça fait du bien! My mother-in-law and I agreed: getting out, with family, did wonders for the morale! But our spirits were about to be stirred up once again….
It happened when Jean-Marc shared an update about a certain someone. The news was innocent enough but my focus automatically shifted to my mother-in-law, who I knew would self-detonate in a matter of seconds.
One…. two… three! I listened as my normally lovable mother-in-law made a cutting and unsavory remark, before staring off in the opposite direction of her son. (Leading me to speculate that older people don't roll their eyes, they dignifiably remove them from the annoyance).
Ha! My eyes hurried over to Jean-Marc to witness his predictable reaction: "Maman, is it really necessary to make such a remark each time? Why don't you just keep it to yourself?!"
Michele-France mumbled something loud enough to solicit another peeved response from her firstborn. Well, if he didn't want to hear such a remark, he needn't have brought up a touchy subject, my mother-in-law insinuated. Things were heating up now!
As my eyes traveled eagerly back-n-forth I caught myself enjoying some guilty entertainment. But it was a relief, for once, not to be on the receiving end in the word-slinging arena! Besides, I might learn a tip or two from my mother-in-law–on how to dish it back!!
Guilt won out and I quickly jumped in to defend my belle-mère. This time Max and Jackie's eyes jumped in too as we followed the grumpy dialogue. Wishing to avoid a commotion (the tables all around were beginning to take notice) I begged everyone to calm down and try to be normal like the rest of the French families, who were enjoying their public outing in a good-mannered, typically reserved way.
Why couldn't we be normal like everyone else? (The previous meltdown happened when one of our teens would not stop saying the "b"–or "bouton" (pimple) word, thus breaking a rule enstated by the weak-stomached member of our family (no potty talk at the table, either, I'm always reminding everyone!). Allez. ça suffit. ARRET! Quit it!
Soon we were all on our best behaviors again, letting go of the worries and irritations of the week in time to enjoy plates of deep fried supions and even a round of ice cream sundaes! What a lovely lunch, I thought, standing up to stretch as Jean-Marc paid the bill. Only the newfound peace was short won….
I watched in disbelief as my mother-in-law picked up the table's ashtray. "Do you think I could take this?" she asked her son. My eyes were glued to the cendrier which hovered dangerously close to my mother-in-law's wide open purse.
I thought about what a dupe I'd been to sit there defending my rascal of a mother-in-law… when, in the end, she was about to pull one on us–"one" of those social don'ts that no longer seems to faze people like her. People like her who have already been labelled or judged or misunderstood or sadly shunned to the point where no matter what they do they're damned.
I knew I needed to be understanding but despite all my efforts I had not yet, in my 45 year experience, evolved that far spiritually. It was still very important to my well-being to control all outcomes or, at times like this–as a desperate last resort–to keep up appearances!
"No! No she can't take that! " I implored my husband. "Tell your mom she can't steal the ashtray!"
Jean-Marc, caught in the middle, spoke firmly. "Laisse-le, Maman." Leave it, Mom.
But wasn't that, after all, a little hypocritical to judge my mother-in-law for wanting to swipe restaurant property? Hadn't I done the same at some point in the past? What about that time when, after a couple or 5 glasses of wine, I slipped a wonderful clay cendrier into my purse on leaving a historic restaurant in our old neighborhood? Who was I to be so shocked by my mother-in-law's simple desire? At least she had the politesse to ask if she could steal it!
"I should have just slipped it in my purse," Michèle-France explained, "and not bothered you about it."
Or was it pride that had me wanting to control the situation? We weren't going to risk our reputations, were we, over a cheap cigarette dump! Frustrated, I looked at the pitiful ashtray. It was only a standard glass cendrier. Rather than cause a scene, we could stop by the dollar store, on the way back–or any local quincaillerie–and buy her one! Or I could send her the pretty ashtray that we inherited from Maggie and Michael when we moved to our new house. If my mother-in-law wanted an ashtray, she could at least have a beautiful one. It certainly wasn't worth the risk of condemnation to steal this lousy thing!
Michele-France spoke innocently to her son. "Do you think you could ask the waiter if I can have it?"
Oh gosh! This was almost as bad! She wasn't going to ask the waiter! This was the point at which I realized it must be pride that was shuffling all my emotions. If only I could learn that lesson, which began 10 years ago. And what little progress has been made…
"Jean-Marc!" I said, hoping to influence him. But my husband grew frustrated with the ridiculous situation and I watched as his turn came to self-detonate.
What a ridiculous situation indeed. And to think, up til now I wasn't in trouble with anybody! I had set out to mind my own business–pausing only to help defend my mother-in-law (that was it! Last time I'm sticking up for her–THE RASCAL!–only to end up on the attack end!)
It was too late now to try to keep up appearances. My husband threw up his arms, "C'est le monde à l'envers!" With that he stormed out of the restaurant, leaving me to translate–and then contemplate–his departing remark: "It's a crazy world!" Indeed, it's the world upside down.
Michèle-France wasn't fazed, but lingered suspiciously close to that ashtray before I snapped, "Come on, let's get out of here!"
"I'll just rest here until he brings the car around," my mother-in-law casually mentioned, pretending to ignore the ashtray.
Oh no she wouldn't. Not if I could help it! With that, I coaxed the little trouble maker away from the table and its treasure, past the discreetly indiscreet restaurant audience, and out to the curbside where we waited for our ride.
I couldn't wait to see how my husband would navigate… what with the world being as he said,"upside down". I guessed we had better put our seatbelts on!
French Vocabulary
la grotte = cave
ça fait du bien = that feels so good
la maman = mom
la belle-mère = mother-in-law
le bouton d'acné = pimple
allez / ça suffit / arrête! = come on. that's enough. stop!
le supion = une petite seiche =small cuttlefish
la quincaillerie = hardware and junk store
c'est le monde à l'envers! = this is crazy! (or this makes no sense!)
Cabanes de pêche. On the way to the restaurant, there are these classic fisherman's cabanes–used nowadays by families who spend the day at the beach. (The colorful doors open up and the family has access to everything from beach mats to little cooking stoves on which to fry merguez sausages for lunch!)
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How fun is this .. a Mischievous Grandma, the embarrassed Daughter in Law, a Son overwhelmed by the scenerio, with Jackie and Max no doubt enjoying the show .. another fascinating portrait of real life, and that’s what makes your writing an A+ !
How fun is this .. a Mischievous Grandma, the embarrassed Daughter in Law, a Son overwhelmed by the scenerio, with Jackie and Max no doubt enjoying the show .. another fascinating portrait of real life, and that’s what makes your writing an A+ !
Delightful in every word and turn…as everyone has written, exquisite writing Kristin. Makes us all smile and reflect.
Family stories, often the very best.
Delightful in every word and turn…as everyone has written, exquisite writing Kristin. Makes us all smile and reflect.
Family stories, often the very best.
A perfectly delightful story! There are no perfect families, you know. That’s why it’s fun to read about (and watch) other people’s flawed families! I’ve been to that little spot… for a wonderful lunch. I have a photo of those boats. Thanks so much, Kristin! Keep it up! Reading your stories and looking at your photos takes me back and makes me miss Provence.
A perfectly delightful story! There are no perfect families, you know. That’s why it’s fun to read about (and watch) other people’s flawed families! I’ve been to that little spot… for a wonderful lunch. I have a photo of those boats. Thanks so much, Kristin! Keep it up! Reading your stories and looking at your photos takes me back and makes me miss Provence.
Hilarious!! Mille mercis! ( An ashtray purchased from la quincaillerie just wouldn’t be the same).
Hilarious!! Mille mercis! ( An ashtray purchased from la quincaillerie just wouldn’t be the same).
I think we have all “helped ourselves” to something from a restaurant at one time. Did anyone think to ask her why she wanted the ash tray? Perhaps she wanted it to remember a time the family was all together in Marsielles at their favorite restaurant. Just a thought……and how does one describe “rascal” en francais?
I think we have all “helped ourselves” to something from a restaurant at one time. Did anyone think to ask her why she wanted the ash tray? Perhaps she wanted it to remember a time the family was all together in Marsielles at their favorite restaurant. Just a thought……and how does one describe “rascal” en francais?
Your story brought back a bittersweet memory for me. The star was my own Mother-in-law in a lovely little country inn. We’d gone, all of the family, for Sunday lunch. At the end of the meal my MIL started loading things from the table: salt/pepper shakers, the ashtray, even the cloth napkins into her bag. My brother-in-law was so appalled he grabbed all of the silverware still on the table and dumped it into her tote. My MIL, who was quite ill at the time, but had not shared that bit of info. with us became terribly upset, burst into tears and dumped everything out of her bag back onto the table. I was a new bride at the time and wondered what I could do to “save” our family lunch. My father-in-law said not one single word. He simply reached across the table to his wife of many years, took her hand and escorted her out of the restaurant. Now, I’m a MIL myself and think fondly of the sweet woman who walked with such dignity out of that small country inn on that sunny Sunday so many years ago.
Not “the best lunch” ever for our family but one which taught me a lot about family dynamics and the sad perils of aging. Thank you for a beautiful story. BTW, Marie-France isn’t really a rascal at all. She seems so very familiar to me… XO
Your story brought back a bittersweet memory for me. The star was my own Mother-in-law in a lovely little country inn. We’d gone, all of the family, for Sunday lunch. At the end of the meal my MIL started loading things from the table: salt/pepper shakers, the ashtray, even the cloth napkins into her bag. My brother-in-law was so appalled he grabbed all of the silverware still on the table and dumped it into her tote. My MIL, who was quite ill at the time, but had not shared that bit of info. with us became terribly upset, burst into tears and dumped everything out of her bag back onto the table. I was a new bride at the time and wondered what I could do to “save” our family lunch. My father-in-law said not one single word. He simply reached across the table to his wife of many years, took her hand and escorted her out of the restaurant. Now, I’m a MIL myself and think fondly of the sweet woman who walked with such dignity out of that small country inn on that sunny Sunday so many years ago.
Not “the best lunch” ever for our family but one which taught me a lot about family dynamics and the sad perils of aging. Thank you for a beautiful story. BTW, Marie-France isn’t really a rascal at all. She seems so very familiar to me… XO
It seems I had a very different reaction from many of your readers. I didn’t think this was a ‘very funny story.’ I was filled with anxiety almost the entire time – the story was full of anxiety – your writing really showed every bit of that and it showed the emotion just amazingly clear. It made me so anxious, I had to keep re-reading lines to know where I was in the story (not that it was confusing, more probably to calm myself) Amazing writing. Not funny, but very, very impactful. I think we have all been in a public place with a terribly awkward, embarrassing, strained situation where we just want to make it all right… and, it’s just tough! I bet it was quiet in the car ride home! Glad all are safe and ready to face another day. Things do look better in the morning! Excellent post!
It seems I had a very different reaction from many of your readers. I didn’t think this was a ‘very funny story.’ I was filled with anxiety almost the entire time – the story was full of anxiety – your writing really showed every bit of that and it showed the emotion just amazingly clear. It made me so anxious, I had to keep re-reading lines to know where I was in the story (not that it was confusing, more probably to calm myself) Amazing writing. Not funny, but very, very impactful. I think we have all been in a public place with a terribly awkward, embarrassing, strained situation where we just want to make it all right… and, it’s just tough! I bet it was quiet in the car ride home! Glad all are safe and ready to face another day. Things do look better in the morning! Excellent post!
Thanks, Luci, for such a tender and beautiful story. I need to look up the word :rascal: which I may want to change (I use it here in a tender sense, aka the little rascals, but perhaps it is too strong a word.
Faye, so funny about the candle with the smoke coming out of the purse! 🙂
Thanks, Luci, for such a tender and beautiful story. I need to look up the word :rascal: which I may want to change (I use it here in a tender sense, aka the little rascals, but perhaps it is too strong a word.
Faye, so funny about the candle with the smoke coming out of the purse! 🙂
Thanks for confessing your peccadillo, Kristin – I think that made a difference. Obviously, life in France was desperately poor during and after the war and such a jarring experience as yr. lunch must have been an uncomfortable reminder of that era. We have been lucky.
Thanks for confessing your peccadillo, Kristin – I think that made a difference. Obviously, life in France was desperately poor during and after the war and such a jarring experience as yr. lunch must have been an uncomfortable reminder of that era. We have been lucky.
I found Luci’s story compelling too. An incident like that shows how fragile we all really are, one step away from embarrassing ourselves in public due to advanced age or illness, or being the person who needs to handle the situation without destroying the dignity of a loved one.
BTB,why are there still ashtrays in rsetaurants? I though French cafes and restaurants were now smoke free…
I found Luci’s story compelling too. An incident like that shows how fragile we all really are, one step away from embarrassing ourselves in public due to advanced age or illness, or being the person who needs to handle the situation without destroying the dignity of a loved one.
BTB,why are there still ashtrays in rsetaurants? I though French cafes and restaurants were now smoke free…
Is she a kleptomane, or did she just want that ashtray for some reason known to her? There is a big difference.
Is she a kleptomane, or did she just want that ashtray for some reason known to her? There is a big difference.
I wonder if my grandfather saw those wonderful tall houses in Marseilles when he lived there as a young man around 1900. I’ve never been there but now I really would like to see that city and taste the bouillabaisse that he talked about.
I wonder if my grandfather saw those wonderful tall houses in Marseilles when he lived there as a young man around 1900. I’ve never been there but now I really would like to see that city and taste the bouillabaisse that he talked about.
Kristen,
Taking things from restaurants is not just for the elders. I remember my mother wanting a plate from a restaurant in New York state. We were with business associates of my fathers and my mother wanted a dessert plate. Well the boss decided that my mother should have it , so he held it up in the air and proceeded to clean it off and then handed hit to my other to take. We were so embarrassed, that needless to say, we did not take it.
So tell us over what Jean-Marc and his mother were arguing. You left us a cliff hanger.
Kathleen
Kristen,
Taking things from restaurants is not just for the elders. I remember my mother wanting a plate from a restaurant in New York state. We were with business associates of my fathers and my mother wanted a dessert plate. Well the boss decided that my mother should have it , so he held it up in the air and proceeded to clean it off and then handed hit to my other to take. We were so embarrassed, that needless to say, we did not take it.
So tell us over what Jean-Marc and his mother were arguing. You left us a cliff hanger.
Kathleen
I imagine that was private beeswax, Kathleen, since it didn’t directly involve Kristin. Her family story was personal enough! Admitting her peccadillo opened up the space for half the commentators to confess to casual cafe crime, which is eye-opening. And strange how many people thought it so funny when it really wasn’t. Her belle dame et mari both behaved badly and she is the one who has to live with them. How long can she keep making excuses for him? Can’t regular readers descry an underlying pattern of stress past her pretty game face? It seems we are addicted to cheap entertainment.
I imagine that was private beeswax, Kathleen, since it didn’t directly involve Kristin. Her family story was personal enough! Admitting her peccadillo opened up the space for half the commentators to confess to casual cafe crime, which is eye-opening. And strange how many people thought it so funny when it really wasn’t. Her belle dame et mari both behaved badly and she is the one who has to live with them. How long can she keep making excuses for him? Can’t regular readers descry an underlying pattern of stress past her pretty game face? It seems we are addicted to cheap entertainment.
Jeanne, the word of the day, kleptomane, lightly referred to the ashtray that I–and years later my mother-in-law, set our sights on. Your question, and the other responses here, make me realize that she may have been motivated by sentimental reasons. In any case,this story, as with all the stories, is meant to be humorous.
Jeanne, the word of the day, kleptomane, lightly referred to the ashtray that I–and years later my mother-in-law, set our sights on. Your question, and the other responses here, make me realize that she may have been motivated by sentimental reasons. In any case,this story, as with all the stories, is meant to be humorous.
Kathleen, re who were they fighting about? No cliffhanger there, just protecting the identity of the certain someone …
Kathleen, re who were they fighting about? No cliffhanger there, just protecting the identity of the certain someone …
I also had a different take on this story, even though “kleptomaniac” is in the title. I wonder why Jean-Marc would bait his mother in a public place, or any place for that matter. He knew she would take the bait. I think she simply used the idea of taking the ashtray as a way to get back at him. Aaand, since she is an old woman, as am I, everyone thinks it’s cute except for the one person who thinks she may have dementia. One reader wondered if she, herself, would grow old gracefully or just tell things the way they are. I didn’t know the two were mutually exclusive.
By the way, what is the French way to express “baiting” and “taking the bait”?
I also had a different take on this story, even though “kleptomaniac” is in the title. I wonder why Jean-Marc would bait his mother in a public place, or any place for that matter. He knew she would take the bait. I think she simply used the idea of taking the ashtray as a way to get back at him. Aaand, since she is an old woman, as am I, everyone thinks it’s cute except for the one person who thinks she may have dementia. One reader wondered if she, herself, would grow old gracefully or just tell things the way they are. I didn’t know the two were mutually exclusive.
By the way, what is the French way to express “baiting” and “taking the bait”?
Now I would love to hear the story from HER point de vue!
Now I would love to hear the story from HER point de vue!
It seems a sign of your increased use of French that your spelling errors use the French spelling when writing in English.
Sollicite instead of solicit.
Hard for me to understand why it is such a problem to take an ashtray from a restaurant. In my younger days, the restaurant, in my area, would see it as a bit of marketing, just like taking one of the matchbooks printed with their name, sitting in a bowl as one exited. Rare to find matchbooks in a bowl now. Instead, a business card to take home.
Times have changed, with the image of smoking so altered? Those little items are viewed as so valuable and not marketing items? I suppose so.
Asking the restaurant staff if it was okay to take it seems so rational, if you, Kristin, were so upset all of a sudden. I think I was not quite understanding the anger between mother and son (the topic not wanted) or why she is a “people like her who have already been labelled”. Rather mysterious comment to me.
The humor is all in your huge reaction to her small action. And the world upside-down, in the duaghter-in-law telling her mother-in-law how to behave, rather than support her in pubic. Leaving the son to choose his best way out of a crazy upset.
It seems a sign of your increased use of French that your spelling errors use the French spelling when writing in English.
Sollicite instead of solicit.
Hard for me to understand why it is such a problem to take an ashtray from a restaurant. In my younger days, the restaurant, in my area, would see it as a bit of marketing, just like taking one of the matchbooks printed with their name, sitting in a bowl as one exited. Rare to find matchbooks in a bowl now. Instead, a business card to take home.
Times have changed, with the image of smoking so altered? Those little items are viewed as so valuable and not marketing items? I suppose so.
Asking the restaurant staff if it was okay to take it seems so rational, if you, Kristin, were so upset all of a sudden. I think I was not quite understanding the anger between mother and son (the topic not wanted) or why she is a “people like her who have already been labelled”. Rather mysterious comment to me.
The humor is all in your huge reaction to her small action. And the world upside-down, in the duaghter-in-law telling her mother-in-law how to behave, rather than support her in pubic. Leaving the son to choose his best way out of a crazy upset.
I like Joan’s idea about belle dame’s behaviour. Kristin’s take in hindsight is sweet but may be a bit generous. Sarah La Belle’s comment is alarming – public theft is a ‘small action’ and K. should support it?
I like Joan’s idea about belle dame’s behaviour. Kristin’s take in hindsight is sweet but may be a bit generous. Sarah La Belle’s comment is alarming – public theft is a ‘small action’ and K. should support it?