TODAY’S WORD: la fête : the party, celebration
PRONUNCIATION: [la fet]

French sentence: Il faut fêter ça—trente ans, ça se fête !
English translation: This calls for a celebration—thirty years is something to celebrate!

A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse
“Can I throw a party at the house for my birthday?” Max asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

I flinched. Why here? Why not somewhere out in the countryside—far from our voisinage? The thought of our tranquil garden rattling with bass, our walls vibrating, and our neighbors—including Mom—wincing behind latched shutters made me uneasy. Of course, I wanted my son to celebrate with all his friends—just not at our community’s expense.

But then I paused. This wasn’t just any birthday—it was a milestone. Our Max was turning 30! If ever there were a time to loosen up…

“No worries. I’ll figure something out,” Max said when I didn’t answer right away.

“Hang on. Of course you can have it here!”

“Thanks, Mom!” With that, Max promised to write and distribute a letter to the neighbors, and to tone things down after midnight.

Even so, I phoned our next-door neighbor to personally inform her. Yvette’s reaction surprised me.

“C’est très bien,” she said. “Il faut fêter ça. Je suis contente pour lui!”

What a gracious and inspiring response. With that, my cloud of doubt lifted, and I began to look forward to la fête. “What can I bring to the party?” I asked Max.

“Just yourself. Everything else is taken care of.”

“What about the cake?”

“I’ve got that covered, too.”

There was nothing left to do but relax and reflect: on the days, years, and decades since my son came into the world, and just how much this gathering meant. What better way to mark the moment than with a party, surrounded by those who had walked alongside him?

On the day of the celebration, studying the newly-tidied yard (merci, Jean-Marc), I realized I hadn’t thought about decorations.

“He’s thirty,” Jean-Marc reminded me. “He doesn’t want balloons.”

I nodded. Maybe decorations were passé…

Then, wouldn’t you know it, Yann and Victoria arrived, carrying two giant gold balloons—the numbers 3 and 0—bobbing and bouncing in the air, festive and unapologetic.

Earlier, Mom had said she wanted to spring for this party. “It will make things a little less painful when the bill arrives,” she explained, as she does each time she is spontaneously generous—which is more often than her pension really allows. Her defense? “The more you give, the more you receive.”

Inside her cozy nest, Jules was nowhere to be found… She was out looking for Max, intent on giving him his birthday gift before the party began.

I finally spotted her at the side of the truck, chatting with the chef and trying to work out a deal: Could this beautiful shiny camion be her second home? It was just perfect for her van life aspirations. The truck belonged to La Vieille Chouette, a beloved burger joint near the train station—but tonight, there were no hamburgers. On the menu: travers de porc, brochettes de poulet, entrecôte marseillaise… all sizzling on our circular grill, le brasero.

As for Mom’s plans to commandeer the truck? Unlikely. La Vieille Chouette was doing brisk business with its weekend side gig—and had no plans to give up its prized rolling kitchen anytime soon.

The party began at 5 p.m. with games in the yard: ping pong, darts, and laughter spilling over the garden. Across from the food truck, in front of the pond, a barman served punch, beer, wine, and cocktails to order. My sister-in-law, Mariem, filled our glasses with sparkling water and we strolled through the garden, taking in the happy scene. Near the oleanders, guests posed for photos with the balloons, so we hurried over for our turn to smile with Max. Ouistiti!

Looking around, I saw a tapestry of friendships, woven over decades: Clément and Luca, from Les Arcs—his first buddies at age five. Antoine and Édouard, from our time in Sainte-Cécile-les-Vignes, at our first vineyard. And from Saint-Cyr-sur-Mer, where Max started over at a new school, there were Paul, Anto, Antoine, and Yann—his closest friends to this day.

Jean-Marc’s closest friends were also present: Fred, Max’s parrain, and Nicolas, too. Missing were his two marraines, one French (Laurence, in Grenoble) and one American, Susan, a.k.a. Rouge-Bleu, back in Arizona. But they sent their love and cheers from afar.

As the sun went down and the music rose, someone began dancing on the steps—and everyone joined in. Ana, like me, was a little shy on the sidelines, content to observe.

Then, as if on cue, les feux d’artifice sparked in the distance, beyond the silhouette of the parasol pines and the Mediterranean Sea. The night sky was alive in a colorful confetti of lights. What timing. Everything was unfolding like a dream, making this party almost too good to be true!

But with the next POP, I remembered Ricci, who is terrified by the sound fireworks. Oh no, not again! We’ve been through this before!  I took off running in high heels–past the ping pong table, the dart board, the drinks stand, and the pond, around the side of the house, hoping she had not escaped to the streets.

“RICCI! RICCI!” I called. Hurrying to the back, behind the food truck and the house, I found her trembling in the driveway, in front of Mom’s. “It’s about time we both headed in,” I said, gathering her into my arms with relief, and looking forward to donning pajamas and snuggling down. But we’d wait for dessert—because that’s the universal rule: no sneaking off before le gâteau d’anniversaire! Though in France, this can easily happen after midnight.

When the cake finally came out (make that cakes—several dozen cream-filled Paris-Brest pastries shaped into a giant 3–0), Max, a little tipsy after he and a friend raided Jean-Marc’s cellar—making off with, among others, one of JM’s New Zealand wines—gathered his emotions and stood on the front steps to address his guests.

As I listened to my son speak, addressing each friend personally by name and with heart, it was my proudest moment as a parent—even more so than the time he biked to the supermarket at age eleven, his sister in tow, to buy a bottle of wine for his father. Not that I was proud he’d purchased alcohol (though, truly—only in France!), but I was deeply touched by the gesture. It was intuitive and caring, just like him. He knew how much his dad appreciated wine and had stopped at nothing to make a thoughtful gift happen—relying on his charm and an oversized dose of confidence. Those very qualities make our son the passionate wine salesman he is today.

Max concluded his speech: “Je veux vous remercier tous… I want to thank you all for being there for me. You’ve made me who I am,” he said.

“C’est toi qui t’es formé!” Uncle Jacques corrected from the crowd.

It’s true, Max can take credit for how far he’s come (and we are all so proud of him!)—but he was right to acknowledge those who shaped him. As he thanked his friends and his lovely Ana, the crowd cheered and whistled. Amidst the cheering, I gave quiet thanks to our kind neighbor—whose grace helped this party happen.

And truly, it was nicer at home than in some rented salle des fêtes. After all, where else could Ricci and I slip away unnoticed, change into pajamas, and drift to sleep to the familiar sounds of laughter rising from the garden? A garden once filled with doubt—now lit with joy, friendship, and the sweet afterglow of a milestone fête that couldn’t have unfolded anywhere else, but here at home.

FRENCH VOCABULARY
Click below to listen to Jean-Marc read all the French vocabulary

le voisinage = the neighborhood
la fête = the party
C’est très bien = That’s great
Il faut fêter ça = This calls for a celebration
Je suis contente pour lui = I’m happy for him
passé = outdated
le camion = truck
La Vieille Chouette = The Old Owl (name of the burger joint)
le travers de porc = pork ribs
la brochette de poulet = chicken skewer
l’entrecôte marseillaise (f) = Marseille-style rib steak
le brasero = backyard grill/fire bowl
ouistiti = say cheese (used in French when taking a photo, like “say cheese” in English)
le parrain = the godfather
la marraine = the godmother
les feux d’artifice (m) = fireworks
le gâteau d’anniversaire = the birthday cake
le Paris-Brest = a round French pastry filled with praline-flavored cream
Je veux vous remercier tous = I want to thank you all
C’est toi qui t’es formé = You shaped yourself
la salle des fêtes = community hall

REMERCIEMENTS
Thank you to the following readers for your donation this past week to this journal!

Judy F.
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Natalia, Rod, Elley & Ari

I leave you with another story, one you will enjoy listening to this summer….

THE PARISIAN CHAPTER by Janet Skeslien Charles
From the New York Times bestselling author of The Paris Library and Miss Morgan’s Book Brigade comes a charming and cinematic multi-cast audiobook following a young woman from Montana who lands a job in the American Library in Paris, where she discovers the power of storytelling and writes her own Parisian chapter.

Paris, 1995: It’s been five years since Lily Jacobsen and her best friend Mary Louise arrived from their small town of Froid, Montana. Determined to establish themselves as artists—Lily, a novelist, and Mary Louise, a painter—they share a tiny sixth-floor walkup and survive on brie and baguette.

When Mary Louise abruptly moves out, Lily feels alone in the City of Light for the first time and is in need of a new way to support herself. She lands a job as the programs manager at the American Library in Paris, following in the footsteps of her French neighbor Odile, who infused her childhood with tales of heroic World War II librarians. Here in the storied halls of the ALP, Lily meets an incredible cast of characters—her favorite author, quirky coworkers, broke students, and high society trustees—each with their own stories…and agendas. Personal dramas sometimes take precedence over books and patrons.

Between her hard-nosed boss not letting up and her best friend letting go, Lily is stressed and bewildered. When it becomes clear that the Library is facing serious financial struggles and its future is uncertain, she must look beyond her own problems in order to protect the ALP and the precious memories it holds.

This moving, propulsive story features twelve different voices, led by French-American actress Pauline Chalamet, and offers a panoramic view of a real historic institution, revisiting characters from both of Charles’s beloved novels. Lily’s story is a love letter to the artist’s life, the importance of friendship, and leaving home only to find it again. To order, go here.

Une coquille is just a little typo—if you spot one, don’t hesitate to point it out. Merci beaucoup for helping me keep things polished!