Sally Price

Sally Price is driving me crazy.

She is one of the characters in the book I am writing, Day Care. I was even thinking of eliminating her although I found her interesting.

The daughter of an almost crazy evangelical minister, she was disowned when she had a chance to go to a boarding school, where she could study normal subjects rather than be home schooled. Later she had a baby but threw the father out for stealing from her.

Like all the other three single mothers which are the focus of the novel, she supports each of them when necessary and has fun with them as well.

But I wasn't sure there was enough of interest to keep her. The conflict necessary to keep her story going was all in her past and had little relevance to the current time.

I was about to hit the delete key on her chapters, but she has stopped me by worming her way in my thoughts as I cooked, as I walked the dog, as I tried to fall asleep.

That is the second character in this book that seems to be taking over the story in a way I never intended.

"My father is dying, I want one last chance to see him," she tells me.
"And what do you think will happen?" I ask her.
"How should I know, you're the writer."

Maybe by this afternoon, Sally and I will have figured it out.

Symbols and writing

Because I live in a francophone world, English books often come to me by chance. I found The Opposite of Fate at the English Library book sale. It is a collection of essays on a variety of topics, all interesting, a great find.

Before getting up this morning, I read about Tan's take on how academics have been interpreting her work. One grad student did a whole thesis on her use of the number of four in Joy Luck Club. (she had no idea she'd used the number four as much and when things were in fours it was either by happenstance or in one case historic) Another paper talked about how chapters were arranged. (It was totally by chance, too).

I remember working on my graduate thesis, Repeated Symbolism in John Irving (bears, wrestling, boys schools, New England, short people), and arguing with my advisor who didn't think Irving was using his life experiences. My advisor claimed that it was deliberate symbolism. My thesis still passed both by my advisor and the outside reader, which the university used to get an unbiased opinion.

About a year later, I came across a quote by Irving about how he uses his life in his work. I sent it to my advisor who sent back an apology.

Which makes me wonder about literary criticism in general.

More than once my writing mate would comment on my use of symbolism. Usually my reaction was not unlike Tan's, "I did?"

And in Running from the Puppet Master, the first drafts were chronological, which didn't really work. I finally took file cards, wrote a summary of each chapter on a single card, divided them in half, shuffled them and that became the timing of the story...present with backstory worked in. The novel had far more tension and ah ha moments.

If, when someone reads one of my novels, and they see a symbol, or something deeper than my trying to tell a good story, that is good.

I have also learned that people bring their own perspective to the story, like the woman whose husband was unfaithful. She thought the woman who was unfaithful in The Card, should have worked harder to communicate with her cold husband rather than find a lover. Of course, than there would have been no story.

Writing a book is a bit like living...you want something, you do everything you can to make it happen and then it is up to fate if it works for not. Once the book is in the world, it is on its own for whoever picks it up.

Alone/together

At about 2:30 this morning my husband was getting dressed to drive to Toulouse to catch his 7 a.m. flight. He will be playing golf and participating in a conference in Orlando.

For five years, except for our business travels when we both go, we have been constantly together. Our writing desks are only about 10 feet apart.

My late friend Barbara said, couples shouldn't live in each other's pockets, but we do with a positive synergy. Sometimes I will go off with friends or he'll play golf but mostly we are sharing a pocket.

I was happily single for 41 years. Sometimes I shared living space. With three other people, Susan, Julia and my daughter, we could be alone together. That space sharing is the same with my husband.

When rarely he travels on his own, I relish the knowledge that I can still be alone and love it. I can cook things he doesn't like (we share cooking alternating days). But I love being with him more.

When he's writing, I don't exist. I know if I tell him something during that time, I almost need to write it down and have him sign it Lu et Apprové like the French do -- proof he was informed and agreed. In a way I am jealous of his concentration ability.

When he emerges, he often shares what he has been doing, as I do with my writing. We constantly bounce ideas off one another and not just on writing but all aspects of our lives from looking at a sunset to Tourist Tuesdays to watching a Netflix to to to.

There's also the consideration such as whoever gets up before the other will make sure the towel rack heater is on so we can get out of the shower and dry off with a warm towel and put on a warm robe.
It's the "what can I get you," if one of us goes into the kitchen.

At least five times this morning, there's something I would have shared with him had he been here.

For the next few days I will be alone-alone. I will write, write, write, walk the dog, stop for tea with friends. Then Julia will be here and we will go to the giant Vide Grenier, eat good meals. She will wander off on her own, see her friends she has met here, notice all the changes. I am looking forward to that sharing too.

As I was putting away laundry, I walked into the snore room. I noticed a pink bag. Assuming Rick had put it there for me, I opened it. There was a beautiful pair of slacks and a print top that matched perfectly.

The leaver always notices the absence more than the leavée because the leavée is usually very occupied, there is no presence of the other person. Rick will be lucky enough to get in at least two rounds of golf with a good friend and business associate, the conference will be productive.

When he's back we'll be going back to Geneva and also to Stockholm...in each others' pockets. I like pocket living.

Chocolate and beauty

A friend posted a picture she'd captured on one of her walks with the Facebook caption, "Sometimes I think I live on the lid of a chocolate box ...."

The friend, a courageous, creative, caring woman (all words that start with C like chocolate) got me thinking, once again. She has been known to make think over and over and . . .

At Christmas time the grocery stores in France and Switzerland, and other places for all I know, usually have an entire aisle with chocolate boxes containing luxury chocolate. Many of those boxes are works of art. I would say it is as much fun to look at the boxes as it is to eat the chocolate, but I am too much of a chocolate lover to believe that. I can do both: enjoy the box, enjoy the chocolate.

As a child, periodically we would be given a Whitman sampler. The gift was a cause for celebration. At the time I hadn't been introduced to the glories of Swiss dark chocolate. My grandmother would bring out a knife and let us cut them all the pieces in half, so when we chose one (and they were rationed), we would know what we were getting.

To the other part of my friend's caption. She swallows beauty and adds it to her soul. It is easy to do here between the mountains, flowers, sky, clouds, woods, rocks, etc. If one wants to add music, bird song fills the air. One would have to walk with their eyes closed and ears blocked to miss it all especially if you add in sunrises and sunsets.

There are stores in Geneva where the chocolate is hand made such as Auer's. One will carefully select maybe six. At bedtime, I will take one, swallow it a bit at a time. It has the quality that even after the bite has long melted the taste remains.

The beauty in the world, the fields of flowers, can be savored longer than a piece of fine chocolate. It too is fleeting. The petals fall. The sun rises taking the pinks with it or the sunset hides in dark. The mountains play peek- a-boo with clouds which change shape and tones of white and gray.

Our senses are alive with what we see, feel, taste, hear. The lid of chocolate box is our world and every day gives us a gift of feeling, seeing, smelling, tasting.

Creative jumps

I don't know how other writers work, I just know my characters control  me.

I want my character Sally Price, who was disowned by her father for leaving the strict church which he leads, to learn that he is dying. Over the years she has made some attempts to reestablish contact. Most of her letters are returned unopened. A few have not been and she hopes her mother has disobeyed her husband and opened and read the letters. She also fears they were lost in the mail.

She decides to drive to Maine to see her father taking her four-year old daughter Grace with her.

Here is where I lose control. Sally could ask any of the three other mothers from the day care center who share so much to go with her. All of them could over a weekend. Yet that pushy Susan Ainsworth comes stomping into the action.

I had created Susan as a writer who has been hired to do a creative non-fiction work on how women support each other. I made up interviews to help me define the four women's characters. Before I knew it Susan has become THE MAJOR character.

Susan says she is going with Sally and doesn't allow any backtalk. Susan dictates going at night which allows the four-year old Violette to sleep, but Sally can sleep too allowing Susan to think about the children which she has more or less ignored. I hadn't planned that at all which means two chapters because Sally needs to confront her parents. I suspect at this point it won't go well.

Now writing this I realize that Susan and Sally, names starting with S, can confuse the reader.

Back to the list of popular baby names 1969. www.babycenter.com/top-baby-names-1969.htm
Susan had been number 11 that year. I ruled out Dawn, because all the Dawns I know are nothing like the iconoclast Susan.

Brenda was 39th in popularity, but it was a name I disliked based on my experience in first grade when a girl named Brenda painted the back of my favorite blouse. But then again, maybe it is time I forget something that happened decades ago. The writer in the book is a risk taker. And I don't have any other characters whose names start with B.

Last week, I did change a character's name from Carol to Medora. I don't usually use unusual names, but it was my great grandmother's name. I did a global find and replace. One problem. I also referred to Christmas Carols which became Christmas Medoras. Good thing this is still a first draft.

Meanwhile, this afternoon I will be in car with Susan/Brenda, Sally and Violette. Because it is night they won't be able to see the scenery. I've done the route so I didn't need to research the description.

I suspect if Sally had gone with any of her friends, they would have gone in the daytime.

Before I start I will have raclette for lunch and take the dog for a walk. Maybe during the walk Susan/Brenda will tell me the next bit of action.

Languages

There are people who are gifted in languages. My French daughter after a year of English and three weeks in the US with me could hold an in-depth conversation. She is now fluent in Dutch, German and I believe can function in Spanish. Her English is so good she can write speeches for CEOs in English.

The doctor who treated me with radiation was Swiss German. I was worried about communicating with him. No reason. He spoke seven languages like his mother tongue and another three functionally.

I worked with a Romanian who also spoke seven languages fluently. His eighth was flirting.

I am not that talented.

A year of Latin helped me understand grammar. Two years of Spanish left me able to read a child's book about a Mexican jumping bean for a few months.

When I went to Germany to join my Army musician ex-husband, the first thing I did was go into an intensive German course. It met six hours a day, five days a week and I emerged functional. That was in the early 60s and since then my ability has been reduced to shopping German and able to get and take a simple, and I mean simple message, for my former housemate when her German family and friends called.

My university French experience was horrendous. In three semesters our professor, a retired Army officer covered about 10 pages. I could still pass a doctorate level exam on his stories with a little review.

Not being able to stand another semester I signed up for a Modern French Drama course given totally in French. Fortunately, a good friend was mother tongue French and she gave me her notes which I translated with a dictionary word for word. The same for the readings.

All was fine until I had to take an exam. The teacher asked to see me. "WHAT, just WHAT are you doing in this class?" I couldn't say the idea of another semester with that idiot, who was her friend, I said, I wanted to know more about French drama. We both agreed I didn't belong in the class, but she let me stay, let me write in English and graded me on my knowledge. If I remember it was a B.

Moving to Switzerland, I was told by my boss, I needed to speak French but he gave me only dual language clients and told me never to negotiate a contract in French. He also said I was too old to learn French.

He was wrong. I was able to speak French well enough to qualify for my Swiss passport. I can read, write and understand. I even dream in French depending on which language I was in prior to falling asleep.

I decided I wanted to bring my German back to the level it had been. I bought the Rosetta Stone and use it almost every day. Some things come back without any effort at all. Others are harder. And the declensions are making me sweat.

Rick bought me Berlitz German vocabulary cards. Many of the words, I knew including gender. Others were too deep in my memory database to extract.

After about 400 words I ran into five, that no matter what I did, the meanings would not stick. Hopefully by writing them here, I will have them become part of me, the part of me that does not need to translate when I want to use or hear the German. 

• Bervorzugen - to prefer
• Berühen - to touch
• Empfangen - to receive
• Empfehlen - to recommend 
• Fortsetzen - to continue

Meanwhile other words, long forgotten or new, set up housekeeping in my head with lightening speed.

I would bevorzugen to fortsetzen. I still would empfehlen the vocabulary cards as a helpful tool to learning a language. If you order them you will empfangen them fairly quickly. I must go now, because my dog has come in and has berühen my leg which means he wants to fuss gehen.

Integration

I hear people say, "Refugees should integrate."

I wonder if those who have only lived in one place have any idea what that means to the person in a new culture. I wonder how well they would do if they were plucked down in a strange culture.

Although I have lived for various amounts of time -- months to decades -- in different countries outside my birth country, the cultures are all western cultures. I never had to run from gangs, bombs, starvation. My moving was my choice.

Some of the cross-culture differences have been easy. I have read Edward Hall's work on low and high context cultures and knew where I should not only look for differences but adapt to them such as uses of time, space, verbal and non verbal communication.

I also assume most people have not studied these things especially those fleeing bombs. No one says as they climb into a boat ready for a perilous sea voyage, "I need to finish 'The Hidden Dimension' and 'Cultural Awareness and Cross Cultural Communication' so if we don't all die on the trip I will be prepared."

My first experience was in Germany where my ex was in an army Band. We lived "on the economy" so I had access to the PX and commissary. Still I wanted to relate to my German neighbors. It was a PR unit so we played Fashings and Fests, and wives were encourage to go to show Americans as nice people. I loved it. I had taken an intensive German course so I could function in German, but the people who we've stayed in contact with were all Army people.

My longest time has been in Switzerland. The man who hired me said he, "was curious to find out what sort of people would apply. He was hoping to find some who would be open to changing their lives and lifestyle, adapting to different language areas and cultures."

Did I?

In 2006 I became Swiss. Although for years I had a Swiss gentlemen friend and knew all the nuances of polite Swiss life, loved the country's history and habits, appreciated the culture, part of me, even after renouncing my American citizenship, retain New England Yankee roots, right down to using my great grandmother's beanpot.

I've spent time in pre-war Syria, and yes I could adapt to life there although it would be harder. The people, the food, the respect for the Muslim religion I could easily adjust too. But would I happily wear a hijab or a burka? Probably not happily, but I would do it out of politeness for the culture in some places in the country. Yet in India, if I could figure out how to wear a sari, I would. Otherwise I would select the other. But to give up my western dress would feel strange.

So how would all the people who say refugees and foreigners integrate. I think of the Brit man living in the south of Spain. He was asked if he would ever go back to London. He looked at the interviewer with horror. "No, it's full of foreigners. Most don't ever speak English." When he was asked how his Spanish was, he said, "Enough to order a beer."

To totally integrate is negate what came before in life. To not integrate at all is to lose out on the richness of a new culture and a new way of life. To combine the two? Best of all worlds.

Happiness

On Facebook I regularly post things that make me happy. This is a complete happiness blog.

This Easter Monday morning holiday, more rain is predicted. Outside the patio is wet from last night's shower.

We woke after the sun came up, warm between the Korean Mink cover and the electric under sheet set to 1. . . A day for writing and playing with the dog inside.

It was too early to get up and and my beloved brought me Constant Comment tea, which he had ordered from the States and shipped to a relative and picked up when he visited the States. Next to it was half of the chocolate eclair, I had bought him yesterday. He loves chocolate eclairs.

He went back to bed, settling on his back to a Val McDermid novel. I was reading a book by Amy Tan. Periodically we would find a paragraph or a sentence to share. One of Mcdermid's characters had the same attitude toward dishes in the sink as I do. And I let him know that Tan had lived in Montreux, a surprise to me. There was other wording that we wanted the other to hear.

Sherlock was on top of him his back against my beloved's tummy. His hand stroked the dog who twisted slightly to make sure he got the right spot. Even the dog was filled with contentment.

I would have loved to have taken a photo, but I knew if I got up to get the camera, the dog would move. It is a mental picture that will have to do for now and forever.

There are words to describe the morning: peace, content, love, sharing, blessed, lucky. Those are just six but words do not describe how completely happy I felt. I am a woman who has everything I could possible want in this life.

Corruption

The US government is more or less run by corporations.

Doubt me?

Look at how men and women in congress vote and then look at their contributors. There is at least a 90% correlation.

And corporations are still participating in writing laws that help themselves. ALEC (American Legislative Exchange Council www.alecexposed.org/wiki/ALEC_Exposed)

I would love to know how so many senators and representatives have become millionaires on their base salaries. Amazing how many must be genius investors. One would suspect they are not putting their constituents first.

Although it will never happen, there are ways to correct it. I would like to see these rules apply for ALL public office from dog catcher to president.

1. Candidates can only accept money from their district. That would save Robert Mercer and the Koch brothers, etc.  a lot of money. Presidential candidates can accept no money at all.

2. All corporate donations are banned. I will never accept corporations are people and money is speech despite Citizens United.

3. TV and radio stations must make a certain amount of equal time to all candidates free of charge. No paid advertising aloud. Candidates do have social media but those will be monitored for truth (see no. 4).

4. There is an agency that examines every thing a candidate says for truth. If there are any lies, that appears under the appearance on a television program.

5. Ballots are mailed to every eligible voter that can be mailed back or dropped off in person to a voting station.

6. Videos will be taken of all vote counting.

7. All people holding office must release their tax returns plus all their personal expenditures, debts, etc.

The entire population will be taxed at 1% to pay for the administration. Violation of any of the rules will result in prison terms of up to five years.

I imagine if this were the case, a majority of the so-called leaders would quit. Maybe they would be replaced by representatives of the people who believed that public service means they are in their positions to service the people not the people there to service them.

I know it is only a dream.

Off grid

Off Grid Almost

Over a year ago my husband and I decided to have an off grid day...no Facebook, social media, email or news.

We discovered those days were happier, calmer. We accomplished things put off, not always fun things, like cleaning closets, but the feeling of accomplishment exceeded the dislike of the chore. And there were the positive: More reading, a long walk on the beach, more writing.

Somehow that day started to go away. Rick had deadlines, we were waiting to hear from someone we needed to, there was a major news story we were following.

I will admit besides FB, I am a news junkie following many countries newspapers and broadcasts to get a more complete picture of any event than the slanted point of view of anyone source. Sadly, all of them can be upsetting.

Then Julian Assange was arrested. I have always admired his work, telling people of the crimes of those in power. I had met him briefly in Geneva when he spoke in front of the UN. He won't remember me. He has other things on his mind.

Something snapped.

Not just for this story, but the reactions of people, the hatred, the vitriol, the name calling, the amount of misinformation. I couldn't take it anymore.

Part of me wanted to hide in a cave, preferably one that was heated where I could get hot showers and enough light to read and write. For that I needed electricity and for research for my writing I needed the internet which could lead me back to my social media and news sources.

After returning to our French village after almost four months in our Swiss home, within the first 24 hours we met over 40 people we know, like and care about. Some were quick conversations, others were in depth.

A cave wasn't such a good idea between lack of creature comforts and people we like/love.

A less drastic approach was the decision to go almost off grid for a week. FB would be limited to checking messages. News would be limited. Emails I would check because of people I care about.

Immediately, I found myself calmer. And I gained time to edit my about to be published novel, Triple Deckers without the temptation to check FB or any of my news sources for something that might have happened in the last 15 minutes.

The week is up.

I still care about kids in cages, a deranged president, the Palestinians, climate change, gun control, and the horrendous state of health care in the country where my daughter lives. I still believe in the propaganda of what America was that I was taught in school. I want it to become real. I care about FATCA and the right of women to choose, causes I have fought for from writing a book to law suits, to going before Congress. I joke my name should be Donna Quixote and that I have Amazonian women tendencies that go beyond my missing right breast are still valid.

From now on I will pick my battles more carefully. Rather than spend hours trying to educate others about things I know and they don't, getting upset on things I can't change, I'll concentrate on my writing and the positive.

And of course I will continue to adore and appreciate my husband, my dog, my friends, the beauty of the two places I live and the good things we have in life.

Donna Quixote will only be in semi-retirement.





 

On strike

 Arnold Rubin talks in a video about 

multi-generational businesses in Reading

My grandmother, mother and I all food shopped at the Atlantic Supermarket in Reading. Three generations (Grandfather, Father, Son) of Rubins were the owners. My memory is strongest of the father. Whenever I finished the cookie aisle, Sid the Father, would be arranging Wonder Bread more often than not, to keep the display neat and inviting.

Immediately after my father left and before my mother had her own business up and running, they were quick to give us credit. Although it was a short period, it made a difference in our lives.

It was a family store for Reading families.

After moving to Boston in my late 20s, I did my shopping mostly at Haymarket or Stop&Shop.

Haymarket is nothing like the friendly French marchés, with Boston stand owners often yelling at customers, but the great fresh fruits and veggies at a fraction of supermarket price and the atmosphere was worth it. We bought in quantity and shared it with others.

Stop&Shop began in 1892, when Solomon and Jeanie Rabinovitz opened the Greenie Store at in Boston's North End. This morphed into the Economy Grocery Stores Company and eventually a self-service store. The name Stop & Shop was given in 1946.

From 1995-2015, Stop&Shop was a wholly owned subsidiary of the Ahold, a Dutch supermarket operator when there was a merger with  Belgian Delhaize Group  to form Ahold Delhaize. Typical events in our lifetime.

Stop&Shop has 134 locations in Massachusetts, 92 in Connecticut, and 27 in Rhode Island — roughly a 21% of the region’s food retail market and is the only large grocery chain in New England with a fully-unionized store workforce.For three months the United Food and Commercial Workers  (UFCW) have been negotiating a contract with them with no results. Now they are on strike.

Strikers say that the chain wants to cut wages and benefits. The company says, "The unions proposed a contract that would increase the company’s costs,” Stop & Shop officials said Thursday. “This would make our company less competitive in the mostly non-union New England food retail marketplace.”

The union points out that Ahold Delhaize earned $2 billion in profits last year and approved a 11.1 percent shareholder dividend increase just this week, UFCW leaders say their requests for more are “completely reasonable.” Instead of raising prices, they could cut bloated salaries and slightly reduce shareholders dividends while still giving them plenty.

The union believes cashiers will be replaced with self-checkout stations. They said about the cuts,
“Protecting health care coverage so you can keep your family healthy, adjusting wages to keep pace with regional cost-of-living increases, and maintaining pension contributions so you can retire with dignity is not too much to ask,” UFCW leaders wrote to members Wednesday. “It is what you have earned and deserve.” (Boston.com)

The Teamsters are refusing to deliver to Stop&Shop. Customers are refusing to cross picket lines.

Today I read an article in The New Yorker about Eugene Debs who fought for workers in the beginning of the 20th century. The issues are the same.

Because it is a union shop, the employees are better off than in non-union stores. That the workers want a better share of the profits, is not unreasonable. They do almost all the work. Even with increased pay and/or benefits, there would be plenty left for management and shareholders.

The answer is not to reduce the union's benefits, but to increase to the benefits and salaries of those in non-union shops. And although unions are far from perfect, they raise the standard of living of their workers.

The Atlantic wasn't a union shop. I have no idea how well or badly the employees were treated. I was just a customer, a satisfied one. Today, it no longer exists. No one wanted to take it on after Arnold retired.

I can't imagine eating Wonder Bread after living with European bread. Sometimes it is so fresh, it still has the oven heat, but when Sid was rearranging the packaged bread, I appreciated the care he showed. 

I believe in unions. It is the only balance against the raw power and greed of the corporate leaders. I wish UFWC luck. I wish the other grocery workers would get a union so they could lead better lives.

The lost bookmark

I am one of those evil readers that turn over a page to mark my place.

For Christmas, my husband gave me a beautiful lace bookmark.

I gave up my evil ways, but sadly, the bookmark has disappeared.

I looked through the bed, the dog's horde (where he keeps his toys), and shook the book where it should be.

Sigh.

Notre Dame

The cornerstone of Notre Dame was laid in 1163 with Pope Alexander watching. It took almost a 100 years to build.

Over the years, it served as the place where hundreds and thousands of people were baptized, prayed, married and were buried.

In recent times some 13 million people walk down the aisles each year, looking at the statues, the stained glass windows, the soaring buttresses.

There were times of damage by the Huguenots, the French Revolution and WWII. 

Over the centuries, there have been major repairs and cleanings the latest completed in 2000.

Today, 15 April, at 18:50 the history has gone up in flames.

I think of all the times, I've been there.


<sup>With two friends from Boston, we heard a woman with a Texas woman at one of the souvenir stands almost screaming at the vendor as she held up a  metal model, "Is this the real McCoy," causing us to shrivel in shame at the crudeness of a fellow American.

Sitting inside and watching tourist groups: a Japanese group followed a woman who held up a fan. A British group followed a man holding up an umbrella.

At another visit sitting inside, soaking up the atmosphere, and the choir began practicing.

One warm afternoon I was with two Syrian friends eating egg salad sandwiches outside.</sup> 

<sup>Not going in on one visit, but looking closely at the statues at the entrance. 

On each trip to Paris, I might walk by it, I might go in. There were times, I spent a long time examining some part of the church.

I thought it would always be there.

I was wrong.</sup>

Off grid-almost

Starting today I am off Facebook for a week and am cutting my news watching down too. I want to concentrate on the multiple aspects of beauty in my life, my lover, my dog, and my writing.

Friends (you are part of the beauty in my life) can find me via email, landline, or blog http://theexpatwriter.blogspot.com

Why?

I need to clear my mind of the vitriol, the misinformation, the ignorance from all sides. Even the cute animal photos, pretty flowers don't make up for the negativity. I can do without The Washington Post, The Guardian, AlJazeera, France24, BBC, Sky News, DW, RT for a week.

If the world ends, I am sure I will hear about it.

Assange, etc.

I had the good fortune to have a short conversation with Julian Assange at the Press Club in Geneva many years ago.

His supporters treat him as an angel, his distractors as the devil. He is neither, but I lean to the angel side in his actions.

He is a man that through Wikileaks has exposed wrong doing by people who do not want their wrong doings held up to public scrutiny.

None of us would.

However, when we mess up, it does not effect vast numbers of others. When governments mess up they keep it classified for the need for security--in most cases their own.

Assange is not the first to be targeted by the U.S. government for revealing their war crimes. In February 1971, Daniel Ellsberg (photo above) gave the Pentagon Papers to the New York Times. He went to prison for showing the truth about the Vietnam War. The American people had been lied into going to war. Now there are 50,000+ names on a long black wall in Washington, D.C. all who died for nothing. There are some 600,000+ dead civilians as well.

Assange did not break the U.S. Espionage Act in revealing U.S. War crimes in Iraq. He is not a U.S. Citizen and he wasn't in the U.S. Can you imagine the chaos if everyone could be held responsible and punished for breaking laws where they are not citizens and didn't commit the act they are being punished for in the country trying them?

Assange showed what the world should see. War crimes.

Assange relies on whistleblowers, and bless everyone of them. Without them we would all be at the mercy of corrupt companies,  corrupt politicians and corrupt governments.

Today on CNN people have said that stolen papers shouldn't be published.

So, the corrupt government, corrupt politicians and the corrupt companies will reveal all the things that they do wrong? I doubt it.

The U.S. has been merciless in punishing and is still punishing Chelsea Manning for releasing a film showing U.S. Soldiers sport shooting civilians.

Assange is right in thinking if he is ever on U.S. soil, he will be treated that badly or worse. After all, the U.S. brought down the plane of Evo Morales, Bolivian President, over  because they thought Snowdon was on board. He was denied entry into air space of several European countries. If a country's president is treated that way, what will the U.S. do to an individual.

Suddenly in 2010, Assange was being charged with rape charges in Sweden. It happened after consensual sex. What followed was a mockery of justice. Assange was willing to answer questions but was blocked at every turn.Made up or blown up? Rape charge, forcing a presidential plane down, seems like another desperate move by the U.S. to get him.

His sought asylum in the Ecuadorian embassy thus escaping his bail. His fears of extradition were reasonable. The UK spent a fortune on security to make sure he didn't escape. I suspect any one else in the UK who jumped bail would not merit the same attention. The UK ignored the UN ruling to release Assange.

Today Assange's alleged rape victim wants the case reopened.

Assange's crime is not so much rape, not so much jumping bail.

His crime is revealing truth, truth that puts all the gullible people who still believe their governments are just at risk.

Snowdon, Assange, Manning...truth tellers who have paid a high 

price for protecting the individual against powerful governments.

Film festivals

I adore film festivals because of the variety of the showings and having the directors, actors and other principles there to answer questions. A buzz of people swarm through the streets and halls.

One annual festival is in Argelès and features mid-Eastern movies. It is lovely to be 75 steps away from the theatre that shows the films.

The second is in Nyon, Switzerland, more like a half hour away. Vision du Réel is an international festival of documentaries.

For the last couple of years, I have missed it. This year because of other commitments, I could only see two films. My friend, with whom I usually share the festival had a conflict, but for the first time my husband, was able to attend.

Little Dieter Wants to Fly was by Werner Herzog, described by François Truffaut as one of the most important directors alive. Herzog was not at this showing, but he appeared later and gave a class in film making, which I would have loved to attend.

Dieter was born in a little village in Germany. His desire to fly started almost as soon as he could think. His village was destroyed in WWII. He made his way to the US, where he joined the service and after a long time peeling potatoes, he did finally fulfill he dream and became a pilot. He was shot down in Vietnam. Most of the film showed his attempts to escape and his trek through miles of jungle barefoot, until a U.S. plane picked him up. His rescuer tells his part of the story.

The end of the film is Dieter's military funeral at Arlington cemetery. Besides the horse drawn carriage with the flag-draped coffin and the flag-folding ceremony, I could not stop crying. Rick held me. I cried for the man who lived through so much. I cried for all the soldiers that have died and yet, and yet, part of me says, they never should have been there. They fought and died for nothing.

A Taste of Hope featured a tea-producing worker's co-op. Lever owned the plant before and pulled out to set up in Poland. It is a "fascinating story of a workers’ cooperative on their bumpy and conflicting road to real utopia. Where idealism clashes with harsh reality, the documentary observes the factory workers as they face inevitable challenges. For two years, the filmmaker accompanied the workers in their daily struggles. Between general assemblies, cash-flow problems and tea tastings with potential clients, deception, and conflict emerge. Ultimately, the documentary poses the question: How do we need to work today so we might live in a better world tomorrow?" 

Laura Coppens, the director, is a visual anthropologist and academic. Unlike Herzog who has written, directed and produced 60+ films, she is relatively new. On stage to answer questions she went back and forth in English and French, admitting nervousness. In a true co-operative spirit, she had her team with her.

I chose the first film because I know how interested my husband is in anything to do with flying. He chose the second. I am a firm believer that coops are the way to a more just society.

Looking at the program, there were at least 10 other films I would have loved to see. However, between a dog that can't be left alone too long and travel plans the next day, I am content with what we did see.

There's always next year.

In memoriam

In memoriam for a women I never met.

We were a group of writers from all over the world: UK, US, Australia, Germany, Switzerland, Israel. All of us belonged to the International Women's Writing Group. That group puts writers who live nearby together so they can meet and talk about the writing.

In the mid 1990s, a geographically diverse group IWWG members, decided to meet on-line, far ahead of what exists today with Facebook. My first emails with the group was on a black screen with yellow letters.

We decided to write a project together: a collection of short stories with the characters intertwined.

First we selected a place: Camden Market in London. On a trip to London, I took photos and shared them with the other members. It was before the web with its Facebook, Instagram, etc.

Then we each developed a character and selected one of the other's characters.

Emails and stories went back and forth probably at least a couple of hundred of times, until we had them the way we wanted them.

The book above is the result.

Although we never did a second writing project, we became friends, sharing our successes and failures, happy moments and worries.

Janice Jakubowitcz was one of those women that I shared with sometimes regularly, sometimes less regularly. We both had daughters that meant the world to us. We almost met in person when I was visiting my daughter in Washington, D.C. and she was planning to take the train from Pennsylvania. Weather fouled our plans but it didn't stop our writing off and on. During this period we even chatted on the phone.

There are friends one has that it is possible to go a time with no contact and when the contact is renewed it was like it was the day before, only there's more to catch up. It can be true for email friends. I know if we lived in the same city we would have met often. 

Today, when I opened my email today the title of one of the other writer's in the group read "horribly sad news." The title was correct.

There is no point in saying it isn't fair when a good person suffers.

That she has no more health problems is a compensation for my loss. 

I wish her daughter courage in learning to live without her wonderful mother.

 

Meditation

I know meditation is supposed to to be good for a person. And over the years I've tried. I've failed.

When I am suppose to be relaxing my muscles, they got tighter and tighter and tingly but not in a good way.

I tried to quiet my mind and the more I tried to clear it, the more things I thought about that I needed to do, wanted to do, tumbled through my head until I felt as if I would explode if I didn't stop and start doing at least one of them. As soon as I stopped, I feel my entire body relax, my breathing returned to normal.

There was a period when I said I was going to try meditation every day for a whole month. I even reviewed what was necessary by reading a book and watching a CD-Rom. In the morning, I set up a spot and made sure all was ready when I came home from work, the time I chose to meditate each day so I wouldn't be under any preparation pressure.

The first week, the reaction I described above happened. By the second week, I was searching for reasons not to go home to meditate. I even debated going shopping, and anyone who knows me, knows that I put shopping right up there with going to the dentist for fillings without Novocaine. 

Yes, I can relax. A walk where I can observe little details can totally absorb me. I can examine the veins in a flower petal and feel total happiness. But to sit down and formerly meditate, I will chock that up to something I will never be able to do along with swimming and reading James Joyce's Ulysses.

I can live with the failure.

Changing Lives

We are changing lives again.

After three great months in Switzerland, our home base, we are about to go South for a month.

The Swiss time, our main home, has been productive:

• Rick did his intensive French course for six weeks, 
• We saw friends all over the country, 
• We traveled to St. Gallen to order his hickory stick golf clubs, which he has played with, 
• had a chocolate tour, 
• I voted, 
• We saw a play
• We explored different places just for the joy of doing so.

Life in the two places is very different.

Switzerland is definitely more formal with meetings pre-planned while in Argelès, impromptu is the mode of life. It is not a joke that I can go out in Argelès at 8 in the morning for a fresh baked loaf of bread and because I run into so many friends I might not get home until after lunch.

In Switzerland we need a car, bus or train to accomplish almost anything, where we can walk to everything in Argelès including the movie theatre, dry cleaners, doctor, etc.

Both homes have a patio, although the Swiss flat is smaller, but it comes with a beautiful garden in walking distance of the lake. The view of the Jura and Alps is breathtaking.

We have Canigou mountain in Argelès, but it is not visible from our house. No one will pity us if we have to walk to get a view of it just as we need to do a longer walk to the Med than the walk to the lake in Geneva.

There's still some fun things to do before we go. There's the library sale where we will load up on English books (I am often to lazy to read in French). Much easier to get English books in Geneva. And there's the Nyon Visions du Réel Documentary Film festival.

We have not activities planned for Argelès although they happen. Rick needs to go Paris almost immediately when we arrive and he will also be Florida for a conference part of the time. I will hold down the fort and walk the dog.

I think the big difference is we don't use supermarkets in Argelès. Bakers, green grocers, and butchers abound and almost every food buying expedition is personal.

The last week in either place is about the same.

• What do we need to take down? 
• What is already there that we forgot? 
• What has to be cleaned extra thoroughly What have we forgotten and we will forget something. 
• Have we got all the electrical cords? 
• What about Sherlock's toys--what should be taken left?

The trip will take between 6 and 8 hours depending on stops and traffic. Then it will take another day to settle including remembering where we put the (fill in the blank). Then in mid-May we will reverse the process.

No one will feel for sorry for us that we live in Switzerland with a second home in the south of France. I do remind people who think it is glamorous, we still need to do the laundry and take out the garbage in both places. However, I never, ever forget how blessed I am to live this life with the man I adore.