ABOUTISSEMENT: The Race to the Finish!

Dogs on fence
Ever noticed how some people are having a day at the beach...while you are scrambling up the rocky coastline? In today's story, I’m feeling crabby in the rush to the finish line to publish my next book…

TODAY'S WORD: ABOUTISSEMENT

    : completion, result, outcome


A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

I said I wasn't going to write this week, not with the run-up to my deadline—or the aboutissement of my manuscript, including the last-minute search for photos, typos, and peccadilloes—oh my!

This is a crucial moment in the production of my book, A Year in a French Life—the moment when everything must be triple-checked (spelling), swapped (photos) and tied up (loose ends and, while we’re here, tie up the feisty writer whose arms and legs are flapping in anticipation of what could possibly go wrong).

On Friday, days away from my publishing deadline, I realized I had not turned in the back cover—in fact I had not so much as conceptualized it… Monica, the cover designer, was now asking for some pertinent information: text (what kind of blurb?), shelving category (“Travel”? “Memoir”? “France–Social Life & Customs”?), the ISBN, and the price. But I can’t determine the price until I know the printing cost! 

With my head spinning—What? Where? Who? How much?—I felt like a swimmer on the final lap, suddenly without goggles. Before sinking, I decided to pause and watch a movie, hoping for a fresh perspective.

Have you seen Nyad? The film about 64-year-old Diana Nyad who tries to swim from Cuba to Florida? Following each failed attempt, she dives back in, braving the dark waters, the sharks, the nausea until some deadly méduses threaten to undermine everything. Undeterred, she suits up in a special protective skin and mask and soldiers on in what are clearly impossible, downright painful circumstances. No matter how the story ended (I’m trying not to give it away…) Diana is a powerful example of following through, win or lose.

After the film, I procrastinated further with a walk. When rain began pouring down, drenching my clothes, a voice in my head warned, Turn back, you might catch a cold. Then you’d really delay this project! But then I remembered Diana, fully immersed in frigid waters, battling a storm at sea. In the dark of the night, as towering waves shoved her back, she pressed on until the lights of Florida sparkled on the horizon. Delirious, she still had fifteen hours ahead of her to reach la ligne d’arrivée!

Around that time, she began floundering—swimming in all directions! A kind of human short-circuiting where left is right, up is down, and the machine is disintegrating. That is about how I feel now, faced with tying up several loose ends relating to my book project: I’m becoming disoriented.

“Write a list, Mom!” I hear my daughter’s voice as I carry on through the rain. She is right, just note down every little thing and begin checking it off! (I might note down “breakfast” because I forgot it this morning which partly explains why I’m so crabby today.)

Soaked, I finished my walk and returned home to my own marathon. If Diana can attempt the Cuba to Florida crossing five times, I can go over the details of this book une énième fois.

Faster than you can say “finish line” in French, the back cover came together and all the remaining photos for the interior were turned in. I still needed a fresh pair of eyes or two to catch any coquilles, or typos. My sister, Heidi, in Denver, has offered to look it over, and Agnès, in Marseille, too. And there’s Sara from Boston, now in Paris, still waiting to do a final proofread after a stroll down Rue de Rivoli. Tee-hee! (I had to add tee-hee, to rhyme with Rivoli…cuz I’m a little delirious! Make that giddy!)

Ouf. Like our waterlogged swimmer, I’m beginning to see the lights on the horizon, but one more call to my sister just to let the jitters out.

“And even if there are a few typos in my book,” I tell Heidi over the phone, “it won’t be the end of the world.”

“No, it won’t be the end of the world,” Heidi assures me.

I hang up the phone, click open my word file and rub my eyes. I’m tired but this sure beats swimming with the sharks!

*** Spoiler Alert***

When Diana Nyad reached the shores of Florida she was able to speak despite exhaustion. “Never ever give up,” she said. “You’re never too old to chase your dream,” adding, “It looks like a solitary sport, but it’s a team.”  

Thanks to the team at TLC Book Design, who are working behind the scenes, and for all those who helped and are helping in these last moments before A Year in a French Life is published. Let’s remember this popular French expression, next time a goal seems overwhelming: ce n’est pas la mer à boire. It’s not the sea to drink, not the ocean to swallow. For me, a bunch of raindrops made this project easier to assimilate.

Finally, there will always be doubts when reaching the finish line. Some, including myself, have asked, “Why would anybody buy your book when they have already read the blog online?”

I trust readers will buy it for the same reason we watch movies a second time or listen to songs over and over or return to a restaurant to order the same comforting meal. I hope you will see my stories in the same way—and come back to read again. 


IMG_2372
***COMING SOON!***

COMMENTS/CORRECTIONS
I look forward to your messages and your edits help so much!
Click here to comment.

FRENCH VOCABULARY

Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce these French words…as the Argentine vineyard crew revels in the background

l’aboutissement (m) = completion

la méduse = jellyfish 

la ligne d’arrivée = finish line

une énième fois = the umpteenth time

une coquille = typo

ouf = phew

ce n’est pas la mer à boire = it’s not the end of the world (literally, "it’s not the sea to drink")

IMG_7618_Original
At Mugel Park in La Ciotat

REMERCIEMENTS
An ocean of thanks to the readers who sent in a donation after my last post. Your support means so much and helps keep this journal alive and thriving—I couldn’t do it without you!

Jean P.
Mike P.
John O.
Carol T.
Paige H.
Susie B.
Karen P.
Linda H.
Karen M.
Bianca S.
Sharon K.
Gary and Lou M.

Back cover First French Essais
I leave you with the back covers of the last three books. They each have their own style. First French 'Essais' , available here, has more marketing, while Blossoming in Provence, below, highlights readers' comments. 

Blossoming in Provence
Blossoming in Provence, published in 2011

Words in a French Life

Words in a French Life, available here, is shelved in the travel category. A passage from the book makes up this back cover.

A Message from KristiOngoing 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 [email protected]

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


Témoignage: Why I Don't Drink Alcohol in France (or Anywhere)

Menu and dog
I once thought giving up alcohol would make dining out less enjoyable—how could I savor a meal without a glass of wine? But with so many delicious things to eat and to see, I don't miss drinking. Just look at this charming pup and the inviting French menu. Life is full and vibrant on the other side. More in today’s story!

TODAY'S WORD: LE TÉMOIGNAGE

    : testimony, personal account


A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

February 3rd, 2025—Twenty-two years ago today, I made the decision to quit drinking. I had just turned 35.

We lived in the medieval village of Les Arcs-sur-Argens, in le Quartier de La Garrigue, on a quiet lot at the base of a forest. From our living room you could see la piscine where our kids loved to swim and a few rows of vines Jean-Marc had planted—the beginning of his dream to make wine. The day I became sober, we had no idea that two vineyards and thousands of gallons of wine were in our future.

I remember the cream-colored velour canapé where my husband and I sat side by side that early morning. The kids were asleep in the rooms down the hall. Steam rose from our coffee cups, and the house was so quiet you could hear our heartbeats. The last time our hearts had pounded this loudly was on our wedding day, nine years earlier. I had been just as scared then as I was now, facing another lifelong commitment.

Setting down his coffee, Jean-Marc turned to me. “Je pense que tu dois arrêter.” (I think you need to stop.)

I wiped my tears away, but more came pouring out. I wasn’t sad about quitting, I was relieved, soulagé (interesting how the word soûl or “drunk” is part of the word soulager, “to relieve”). I was relieved to be done with alcohol, and I could now see how I had used it as a relief from everything from social anxiety to procrastination—or facing the challenges of living.

I may not have been un accro at that point along life’s trajectory, but my social blunders were accumulating and I was waking up with more and more regrets. My family and friends did not think I was an alcoholic, only that I could not handle alcohol—whether it was wine, beer, or vodka.

Vodka. I leaned back, remembering the Christmas gift from weeks earlier. At the Swedish-owned vineyard where I worked, we were all given bottles of Stoli. I brought mine home and slid it in the congélateur. In the evenings, after the kids went to bed, I would pour myself a shot and sit in front of a blank page. My dream was to be a writer, but an invisible barrier seemed to stand in my way.

The Swedish team had also given us pajamas in cornflower blue—soft, elegant, and comforting. I wore them at home after work, sipping vodka at my desk. One shot became two, a new ritual, just as wine had become a ritual when I moved to France and, before that, beer. It was an engrenage—a slow, insidious trap tightening its hold on me.

I might have quit drinking as a teenager, after my first blackout. But it wasn’t in the cards—or in the stars. Heaven alone knows our steps and our missteps, but one thing is clear to me now: when there is a giant boulder on the path, it takes a supernatural strength to remove it. The day I made the decision to quit, the desire to drink was lifted right out of me. I know it was the hand of God.

That morning, sitting on the couch beside Jean-Marc, something shifted—a déclic. My intellect told me dark clouds were ahead if I continued down this road. My heart and mind told me I needed help and could not do this alone. By God’s grace, I stepped off that dead-end road and, little by little, found an inébranlable peace. Life’s challenges and anxieties don’t suddenly disappear when you make a positive change, but positive changes are like muscles, helping us to carry life’s load instead of bending beneath it. 

Twenty-two years ago today, I said adieu to alcohol. Not everybody understands my decision but I do and I have never looked back—except to share my story, day after day, when I wake up to face this blank page. That invisible, insidious barrier has been lifted, entirely taken away. And but for the grace of God go I.

"Addiction is giving up everything for one thing. Recovery is giving up one thing for everything." 
--Anonymous
L'addiction, c'est tout abandonner pour une seule chose. La guérison, c'est abandonner une seule chose pour tout retrouver.

Ceci est mon témoignage. This is my personal account. I hope it speaks to you. Whether you are thinking of quitting alcohol or cigarettes or gossip—whatever the insidious habit—face the blank page and begin to write your own future, the way you imagine it in your heart, your mind, and your dreams. Je vous assure, it is a story worth telling. 💗

 

IMG_20140904_190627~3
Back then...I'm the tipsy one wearing the party ribbons

Kristi Ana Max hiking
And now: on a hike with Ana, Max, and their dogs.

COMMENTS
To leave a comment or a correction, please click here.

FRENCH VOCABULARY 

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

le témoignage = testimony, personal account

la piscine = pool 

le quartier = neighborhood 

la garrigue = wild Mediterranean scrubland

le canapé = sofa, couch

je pense que tu dois arrêter = I think you need to stop

soûl (saoul) = drunk 

soûler (saouler) = to get drunk

soulager = to ease, relieve

un accro = an addict, someone dependent on something

Stoli (Stolichnaya) = a brand of vodka  

le congélateur = freezer

l’engrenage (m) = spiral, cycle

le déclic = aha moment

inébranlable = unflappable

adieu = good bye forever

ceci est mon témoignage = this is my personal story

je vous assure = assure you 

 

Tour With Absolutely

A TEAM AND TOURS THAT MAKE A DIFFERENCE 

Bonjour!

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Our expert hosts—an extraordinary mix of Canadian, American, and Australian best-selling authors, influential bloggers, renowned chefs, talented photographers, gifted artists, and skilled craftswomen—bring each destination to life with their passion and expertise.

From intimate literary salons in Paris and hands-on artisan workshops in Provence to coastal discoveries in the Basque Country and vibrant market strolls along the Riviera, our thoughtfully curated journeys celebrate the creativity, heritage, and artistry of remarkable women. Join us for an unforgettable adventure, where authentic experiences and meaningful connections await. 100 euro discount code French100

Contact [email protected]

Mimosa and shed

REMERCIEMENTS
Heartfelt thanks to the readers who contributed after my last post. Your support means so much and helps keep this journal alive and thriving—I couldn’t do it without you!

Jo H.
Norman S.
Yvonne W.

IMG_7526
Back here in La Ciotat, the mimosa is in bloom. I've been enjoying lots of hikes. This one with Jackie and Ricci.

Ricci Poppy
On February 4th, we also saw the first coquelicot, or poppy, of the season! I meant to photograph it in the field, alongside the road, but when we returned from our hike it was gone. We spotted it on the ground further down the road. "A little kid must have picked it," Jackie said, reaching for it. That's how it ended up in Ricci's fur, and she is being very patient for this photo even if it's not her best.

A Message from KristiOngoing 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 [email protected]

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


Sabots: Clogs, Sabotage & Standing Your Ground in France!

Sabot clog
I woke up this morning thinking, "I could really use a clog to illustrate today's post." Later, Jackie and I were at the mall when we stumbled into a second-hand shop...and found this sabot. Now that’s serendipitous! 

TODAY'S WORD: LE SABOT

    : clog

Did you know the word sabotage comes from sabot? The term sabotage is believed to have originated during the Industrial Revolution in France. Workers, particularly in the textile industry, would throw their wooden clogs (called sabots) into machinery to disrupt production as a form of protest. The act symbolized their resistance against poor working conditions, low wages, and the exploitation of labor. Today, learn a funny expression related to sabot


A DAY IN A FRENCH LIFE by Kristi Espinasse

Some of the most colorful French phrases I’ve learned come from my time as a budding writer in the medieval village of Les Arcs-sur-Argens. While Fanny, up the road at the Swedish vineyard in Draguignan, was natural, wholesome, and funny, my neighbor (who we’ll call Marie) was quite the opposite—severe and calculating. Yet, in the short time we knew each other, she revealed a vulnerable side that I remember just as much as her sharp edges. It was from Marie, with her wit and dry humor, that I picked up one of the most unforgettable local expressions (hint: it has to do with boots and walking).

Marie was the one who played a practical joke on me after my husband invited her and her husband to dinner. It was she who placed the whoopie cushion on my seat so that, when I returned from the kitchen, I sat down in the most inelegant way—PFFFFFT!—to the hysterics of my guests.

My petite prankster later explained that she found me a little stuffy and thought the joke might loosen me up. Marie’s evaluation came as a jolt, and to this day, I overcompensate in social interactions to be sure I’m not as reserved (unapproachable? stuck-up?) as I seem.

It may be that Marie, like many of us, mistakes shyness for snobbery. It’s something I try to remember when feeling too intimidated to causer with certain others at a party—chances are, the ones that are aloof are slightly introverted.

Perhaps I was being judgmental, too, assuming Marie was more confident than she actually was. I remember waving coucou as she drove past my house the next week in her shiny sports car. Her short hair slicked back, she wore dark red rouge à lèvres. A trendy blouse completed the look. When she rolled down her window, a strong whiff of Poison (her signature perfume?) strangled the following words right out of me:

“You look pretty!” I said, to which she replied, “Why? Did I look ugly yesterday?”

Marie stared at me until I registered my gaffe. However embarrassed, I now knew how not to pay a compliment to a French woman.

Marie could be intimidating but, with time, I learned she was only insecure (I didn’t know it then, but her life was on the verge of falling apart, starting with divorce). She once told me the story of her kitchen renovation, which she was in charge of while her husband, a public figure, was away. She needed to get several devis before selecting the right prestataire. Marie suspected she would be overcharged by the contractor:

Ils me voient venir avec mes gros sabots,” she said, her tone both matter-of-fact and self-deprecating. “They see me coming with my big clogs.” The moment she said it my mind conjured up the image of  someone showing up, clunk, clunk, clunk, with all their weaknesses exposed. She knew her well-dressed appearance and delicate stature made her a target—someone who, in the eyes of opportunistic workers, could be plumée (or plucked of all their feathers/money).

Finally, I could relate to Marie! As a woman with a strong American accent in a foreign country, I sometimes feel the same way—obvious, exposed (especially when alone). It’s not about being a victim; it’s about trying to fend off the wolves who see us coming from a mile away, in our big clunky boots, as we venture to ask, “How much to fix my car?” or “What’s the cost to trim these hedges?”

Worse than clogs, I was wearing an accidental combo (flip-flops and socks) while negotiating with a couple of out-of-town hedge trimmers passing through our neighborhood last week. When they rang unexpectedly, there wasn’t enough time to put my boots on before hurrying to open the gate. Before I knew it, I’d had my hedges trimmed and my highly flammable (empty, but full of dry pine needles) chicken coop cleared out—along, you might say, with my porte-monnaie. While I did negotiate 50 euros off the top, I won’t tell you how much it cost to give our leafy walls a much-needed trim before the police came knocking on our door, threatening une contravention (as they do, every couple of years! Around here you can’t have your hedges hogging the municipal trottoir).

Whether being shortchanged at the baker’s or overcharged by the hedge trimmers, I’ve got to be vigilant when doing business—or be taken for a ride (se faire rouler). And this takes more than intelligence, confidence, or dark red lipstick. It takes practice. There will surely be more opportunities to negotiate before my husband, Chief Negotiator, returns in eight weeks. How about next time I invite the prestataires in for tea and a wee prank? PFFFFT! A good ol’ coussin péteur ought to level the playing field. Merci, Marie!

Better yet, forget the clogs and the victim mentality and remember Nancy Sinatra’s famous example: These boots are made for walking! All that’s needed now is to stand tall in my flip-flops and socks and let the potential schemers know, “One false step, and I’m gonna walk all over you!

🎶   🎶   🎶   🎶   🎶   🎶

Post note: I realized, after writing this story, that I had a slight trou de mémoire, or memory lapse. Turns out it wasn’t a whoopie cushion but another classic gag that Marie played on me all those years ago. Google “French word a day fake crotte” and read all about it :-)


Jules at aqualand
Because an underlying theme in today's story is strength: here is my Mom, who lived near us in Les Arcs-sur-Argens, in 2003. She had an apartment on Rue de la Paix (Peace Street). Interestingly, Max, (around 9 years old in this photo) grew up and lived on Rue de la Paix in another town (here in La Ciotat).

COMMENTS
Your notes are a joy to read and your corrections help so much. Click here to leave a message


FRENCH VOCABULARY 

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


se faire rouler = to be taken for a ride

 causer = chat

coucou = hi there!

le rouge à lèvres = lipstick

la gaffe = blunder

le devis = bid

le prestataire = contractor 

Ils me voient venir = they see me coming

les gros sabots = big clogs (expression for being obvious)

le porte-monnaie = wallet

la contravention = fine

le trottoir = sidewalk

le coussin pèteur = whoopie cushion

Merci, Marie! = thanks, Marie

le trou de mémoire = memory lapse

la crotte de chien = dog doo

Tour With Absolutely

A TEAM AND TOURS THAT MAKE A DIFFERENCE 

Bonjour!

As a France-based company, we at Tour With Absolutely offer an insider’s perspective on small-group tours designed exclusively for women, showcasing the very best of France.

Our expert hosts—an extraordinary mix of Canadian, American, and Australian best-selling authors, influential bloggers, renowned chefs, talented photographers, gifted artists, and skilled craftswomen—bring each destination to life with their passion and expertise.

From intimate literary salons in Paris and hands-on artisan workshops in Provence to coastal discoveries in the Basque Country and vibrant market strolls along the Riviera, our thoughtfully curated journeys celebrate the creativity, heritage, and artistry of remarkable women. Join us for an unforgettable adventure, where authentic experiences and meaningful connections await. 100 euro discount code French100

Contact [email protected]

 

IMG_2432
Jackie and Ricci at a delicious little café in La Ciotat. For more pictures, I invite you to follow us here on Instagram

REMERCIEMENTS
Sincere thanks to these longtime supporters of my journal, for your donations last week 💗

Douglas 
Maureen
Charles and Martha
Natalia, Rod, Elley & Ari 

IMG_2429

Jean-Marc is in love with South America! He will begin his work at two Argentinian vineyards soon, just as soon as he finishes his 3-week bike (and rowing…) adventure in Chile. Wish him bonne chance!

A Message from KristiOngoing 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 [email protected]

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