Where should I live?

 

I will never be faced with an abortion. I'm too old. My daughter is now safe from abortion because she is too old to be pregnant.

However, if I were still fertile and live in a state where my body belonged to the state and not to me, I could/should chose to move to a state where I was safe from those that would want to control my womb.

Unwanted pregnancies can come about for many reasons including rape, incest, failed birth control and even an error in judgement.

The decision to carry that child to term should be mine, no one else's. 

Even if I decided that I wanted the baby, something might go wrong. The fetus could die, or my own health could be put at risk. In many states in the U.S., I will be unable to get the neccesary medical care out of doctor fear of the law. 

Some states want to track my pregnancy. Some will want to punish me if I want to find a safe medical procedure in another state.

In too many places, as a woman, your life could be in danger if you are pregnant just because you are pregnant.

Good luck in your escape if you live in one of those states.

 

I don't wanta go...

 

Today's Free Write was under an umbrella providing cool shade from the heat behind the village bakery. D-L and Rick ate their pastries as Sherlock captured the attention of a woman drinking espresso. 

Julia had another commitment but sent her Free Write later in the day. 

Her autobiographical approach is great in a Free Write. One can make it completly true or add bits and bobs that we wish had been there the first time. 

Free Write is exactly what it says. Writing free of restraint.

"I don't want to go to New York. Or France." was today's prompt from Megan Howrey's They're Going to Love You.

Julia's Free Write

"I don't want to go to New York. Or France"

My first reaction upon reading this in a book "neither do I want to go to New York. But France?"

What's the reason for linking these two?

New York? Been there, more than "done that".

France - a tad more difficult as I live literally 4 miles (5km) from the border. Although I'm a firm believer in spending my money where I eat, there is the odd item in my local French store, such as cat food, cat litter deodarizer, my favorite salty butter and the package of three small splits of champagne that I favor!

Also going through my corner of France cuts a good 30 miles (50 km) off the total driving distance to some of my favorite Swiss places - along the lake through small towns at a much more leisurely pace than the motorway.

OK, not interested in going to Paris, but that's an exception.

So I'll reserve my opinion: not go to New York 

-easy; not go to France
- simply not doable.

"Santé"

D-L'S Free Write

I don't want to go to New York. Or France. 

I don't want to leave my house. I've had enough of airports and hotels.

I know Paris well. I met Peter in that city, and we lived there the first two years of our marriage.

I'm happy with my colonial house in Lexington, despite the tourists walking by on the way to the battlefield.

"We'll go the south of France," Peter says. "We'll fly into Toulouse, only having to transfer at Charles de Gaulle."

As a journalist I spent too many years running through airports to the next tragedy, war, flood. I was tired of covering meetings that were half torture watching politicians accomplish little.

I don't want to get on an airplane where the manufacturer ignored safety.

Peter doesn't know I haven't left the house in three months. He sees the cabinets well-stocked with food which I had delivered. He worries that the work I've done painting the old walls takes me away from the book I'm writing.

I'm only writing in my head as I clean, paint, arrange.

I can't tell him when I go out the front door, walk down the brick sidewalk surrounded by roses and I reach the gate that I can't go any further.

I rush back to the safety of my house.

Rick's Free Write

Andrew had spent his entire life within one hour or so of London, except of course for holidays and business trips. He had gone to the right public schools and then Cambridge University, and built a comfortable career in finance at a firm in the Docklands area.

Attractive, supportive wife with her own side gig as a bookshop owner. One boy, a teenager, and one pre-teen girl.

Membership in the Wimbledon tennis club with prime seats for the final match.

But much to his chagrin, Andrew’s boss made him an offer that, on paper, seemed too good to refuse. An overseas director post, leading either their New York or Paris office.

Katherine would not be pleased. Not everything was about money. “All our friends are here. My shop. The kids’ school mates. And people in New York and France are vile; you said so yourself when you visited those places.”

Andrew’s boss wanted a quick answer, within a fortnight.

It wasn’t that difficult a decision. Andrew simply started his own firm. And kept his seats for the tennis final.

Julia has written and taken photos all her life and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at: https://dlnelsonwriter.com

 

Rick is an aviation journalist and professional communicator. See his weekly newsletter at https://aviationvoices.com

 

Truth/ Lies Assange/Trump

As I write this Julian Assange is on a plane in a step toward his freedom. He will agree to certain conditions including the admission of espionage for his freedom after twelve years of prosecution, many in jail, others in sanctuary of the Ecuadorian embassy. His time in prison will be considered time served.

His crime was showing Americans committing war crimes in Iraq by shooting civilians. He also published other military documents. The stories were picked up by major newspapers in the U.S., U.K. and other countries. No charges were ever brought against those papers.

I had the opportunity to meet Assange, briefly, in Geneva when he spoke to the UN.

He was mercilessly pursued including facing rape charges in Sweden, later dropped.

His revelations were backed by video. Other stories were picked up by major newspapers in the U.S., U.K. and other countries. No charges were ever brought against those papers. In today's world, journalism does not necessarily need a print or new network. 

The internet has replaced many publications. Admittedly some of the information put up is false, but Wikileaks, which was started by Assange in 2006 and uses information from whistleblowers, revealed items that governments didn't want people to know, mostly things that they should know.

Trump, on the other hand, has been caught in thousands and thousands of lies. The Washington Post has reported 30,573 over-four-years.The latest comes from a fund raising letter that he was tortured in a Georgia jail, where he went to have his mug shot taken. He was in and out of the building so fast, that torture had to be extremely efficient ... or a lie.

He lies about what others have done, what he has done, what the U.S. has done or hasn't done.

Assange lost 12 years of his life reporting the truth and only will secure his freedom by lying about telling the truth. Trump may become president for lying.

Note: Check out www.dlnelsonwriter.com

Height, Identity and Presidents

 

We pass this cornfield regularly when walking Sherlock. Last week, the plants were too small to identify. This week their heigths vary from small to a few that have shot up above the others.

It triggered me thinking about height and identity. 

I did not realize I was short at five one or 153 centimeters until I was in my mid-twenties. Dating my ex who was almost six feet I wouldn't wear high heels because I was afraid I'd tower over him.

Some five years later when I was working and mentioned how tiny a new employee was my co-workers informed me she was much taller and heavier than I was. I weighed 100 pounds at the time.

I think of another co-worker, a short man with a swagger and arrogance. Someone said he had PMS (Petite Man Syndrome) causing him to compensate for his lack of height.

Then there was a housemate who was almost six feet. Unlike many tall women, she did not slouch. She strode, her head held high.

When my dog peed on her coat, the problem wasn't so much that she loved the coat, but that finding one that fit that she also loved was difficulty. Fortunately, the pee stains came out.

Only in discussions did she reveal that it was hard enough to find a man, never mind someone as tall or taller than she was.

I have had other conversations with tall women who cite the same problem with finding tall men. More than one complained that many tall men like shorter women -- the like you, you tall man stealer -- being implied. 

It was never my intention to steal from the tall men marketplace. 

There is a study: Human Height Is Positively Related to Interpersonal Dominance in Dyadic Interactions. Other studies of other cultures show women prefer taller men while men prefer shorter women.

I've read in U.S. presidential elections, the taller man wins but that's not true. Trump is three inches taller than Biden. I hope it isn't true for this year's election and the shorter man wins.

Twenty presidents have been six feet or over. The shortest president was the well-educated James Madison at five foot four. Most of the founding fathers who became president were under five foot seven. How their height influenced their personalities, would be an interesting study, but hard to conduct through the mists of time.

I realize I feel a shiver of intmidation when I meet really big men.

I interviewed former Mexican president Vincente Fox who is six-six. The thought of his height bothered me more than his role.

When I entered the room, he was staring out the window, lost in thought. I walked over to him and tapped him gently. "Down here," I said. He laughed.

I realize being a woman is a disadvantage to being taken seriously. Being short adds to the problem. Once, when lobbying at the Boston State House, a politican asked "Why is a cute little girl like you need to do this?"  At least he didn't pat me on the head.

Height is determined by genetics and by environment. Well nourished children, regardless of heritage, will reach their full height potential. How it changes personality and self-perception is only one factor.

Note: Check out D-L's website www.dlnelsonwriter.com

Julie Andrews was right

 

"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens..." The song from Sound of Music lists Julie's favorite things. Along with her list, here is mine:

Cuddling with my husband and my dog at the same time or different moments.

Flowers for their color and the design of their leaves. Some are beautiful, others like Birds of Paradise are interesting.

Most colors . . . but especially dusty rose, baby blue and purple.

Getting into a prewarmed bed on a cold night.

A conversation with a stranger on a bus, in a restaurant or anywhere.

Disappearing into a novel where I live with the characters (writing or reading).

My handmade pens with their stone barrels and the way they feel in my hand. Watching words come out of the nib on paper.

A hot shower on a cold morning.

Learning something new.

Seeing the people I love happy.

The smell of popcorn popping.

Some of the handmade furniture in my flat. I imagine the person who carved the desk and painted the tiny cabinet blue with a basket of fruit.

Lobster. 

Watching the wind in the trees or snow falling.

Note: visit D-L's website www.dlnelsonwriter.com

 

Freedom FROM Religion

 

We are told we have freedom OF religion. 

What needs to be emphasized is the need for freedom FROM religion. 

Louisiana decreed that the Ten Commandments be posted in all public schools through university.

Never mind that posting the Ten Commandments is probably unconstitutional, but who knows how the current Supreme Court will rule. It is no longer a reliable body to protect citizens from the government or each other.

History is laden with damage done by religions that want entire populations be subjugated  to  a religion, a my god or gods are better than your god or gods approach: wars, inquisitions, crusades, destruction, witch burnings and executions abound. 

I would not want to live in Oliver Cromwell's Christian world any more than I would want to live under the Taliban.

My country was founded by religious fanatics and their descendants seem to be alive today.

I'm happy I grew up in modern Massachusetts not in Pilgrim/Colonial Massachusetts when rigidity included having a church refuse an organ because music was evil...And there were those witch burnings supported by church fathers. . .

The idea of making sure that the Ten Commandments hang in every classroom to promote Christian values is at best, abhorrent.

For those that wants to ban books because children might be traumatized, the Ten Commandments could bring up topics that should not be discussed with younger children.

There may be children from religions that don't have these archaic rules, although some do have merit such as not killing, stealing and telling lies.

Take the graven images. Will children who do stick drawings be punished? No more photographs or art work, good or bad, if it is the image of a living creature.

And if the kids are from families that don't go to church on Sundays just because they don't want to? Will this traumatize those kids? Will they worry about everlasting damnation?

What about kids who are from Seventh Day Adventists families, Muslim or Jewish families who have different holy days? Will they be scared?

What will kids think of their parents who swear? Will that mess up the honor your father and mother commandment?

Bearing false witness means that every politician that lies about his or her opponent should be punished. Will kids see nothing happens except maybe or maybe not being reelected? Will that stop little Ian or Emma from saying the other child stole the cookie that they, themselves, stole?

As for idols...should we ban superheroes? Movie stars?

What do you do about President 45 who commits adultery? Isn't a third grader too young to know about adultery?

I don't think many kids know what coveting is. 

Merriman-Webster defines covet as a transitive verb "to wish for something earnestly" and as a intransitive verb as "to feel inordinate desire for what belongs to another." 

I suppose the coveting commandment could be used to teach the difference between transitive and intransitive verbs. 

When society is so unequal, it would be hard for a child not to covet someone or something. With all the commercialism and keeping up with the Jones in current society, coveting could be considered a daily practice.

However, not killing, robbing and telling lies are good things to teach. Will have a paper hanging on a wall change behavior, make kids more religious?

I could see a wonderful teaching moment if the following were also posted:

• The Five Pillars of Islam
• The Five Precepts of Buddhism
• The Five Principles of Shinto
• The 613 Jewish Mizvot
• The Rastafarian Commandments
• The Dharma of Hinduism

Realizing that there are many religions in the world, might create a more open minded, educated population and reduce conflict and the arrogance of trying to force one's religion on others.

I am happy for people who have found comfort in a religion, any religion. Just don't inflict it on others.

Note: Check out D-L Nelson's website at www.dlnelsonwriter.com

Summer Solstice

 

In Switzerland today we will have just under 16 hours of sunshine and tomorrow, there will be even less. It's the summer solstice. The earth is turning from the sun.

Throughout time, different cultures have marked the day with festivals. 

May and June have been unusually cool and rainy. As we walk the dog by the fields, we see plantings peeking out from the ploughed fields. I have no idea if those tiny green sprouts are corn, tobacco, beets, sunflowers...

Living in the country next to a major city is the best of both worlds. The beauty of nature is a reminder of life beyond that of paltry humans. This is lost in the rush of city life.

I remember one night walking down the hill through the vineyardstowards the lake. The silence was shouting. Above the stars did what they always do -- twinkle. What a tiny dot in the life of the universe you are, they were saying to me.

There's talk about orange rain for Switzerland today. The Sahara has donated its sands riding winds and then mixing with rain. I don't know if that includes Geneva. I hope so for it would be a unique way to celebrate the solstice.

Note: Visit D-L's website at www.dlnelsonwriter.com

 

 

 

Free Write Out of Time

 

After several weeks of doing a Free Write from two different countries, Julia, Rick, (Sherlock) and I were sitting outside of our village boulangerie. Before we started writing, we caught up on our lives while devouring tea (me), croissant (Rick and Sherlock), espresso (Julia), juice (Rick) and the bakery's special cinnamon roll (me). 

Julia picked the prompt, the wooden barn at the end of the plaza (see photo).

D-L's Free Write

The wooden barn had been built by Joseph Mentzer, a Swiss Farmer, before his marriage to Maria at the turn of the century -- 19th to 20th century, that is.

He also built a house next to it and long-since gone. They had raised their two sons, Pierre and Wilhelm, and their two daughters, Jeanne and Antoinette there. They also raised sheep and chickens.

Maria spun the sheep's wool and made rugs which she sold.

Pierre took over the farm, and later so did his son.

In the 70s, apartments appeared on the land the family had sold. 

A bakery opened in 2010.

The current owner of the house and barn was from Brazil. He worked in nearby Geneva in finance and knew nothing about the previous owners.

All he cared about was would the satellite dish beam the signals he needed for his electronics into the house. He worried that the bike rack used by the apartment residents would interfer with his Mercedes, Porsche and Ferrari  as they went in and out of the barn, which he used as a garage.

Rick's Free Write Centreville

Centuries after the Roman village had been buried by encroaching nature, this wooden farmhouse became the first dwelling in Vandœuvres, a tiny commune on a hillside near the cosmopolitan city of Geneva.

Farmer Jacques was willing to deal with the slopes of the fields and the huge rocks that others wouldn’t, so he got the land on the cheap.

When he died, sometime in the late 19th century, his estate was bequeathed to the commune and became the grounds for a new mairie, a school, a boulangerie, and a pizza restaurant. Now very upscale.

A century later the Roman ruins were discovered, and excavated, at least partially, because the stone church stood over a large portion, and the elders were not willing to move the eglise so the ruins could become a tourist attraction. Instead, having mapped the building outlines, they filled in the ruins again and created a virtual exhibit on a website, which no one ever watches, except maybe me.

A century in the future, they’ll probably excavate the ruins of the farmhouse, and wonder what those metal contraptions with the wheels were, strapped to metal posts, next to massive holes in the ground which still stank of discarded food.

Julia's FreeWrite Out of Time

Sitting on an outside terrace – finally neither too wet, nor too hot – he enjoyed his 15-minute break sipping a fresh espresso.

Within his immediate eyesight, he realized that there was a total disjunction of items and buildings: here an old stone house, with satellite dishes, there an old wooden structure, below both not only a bicycle rack but also the most modern of trash collection bins.

What would he find in the old cement structure? An elderly couple? Nope, as he was watching the door opened and out strode the most modern of businessmen.  

In the wooden building? Animals, a storage dump? Through a broken window he peeked only to see stacks of perfectly modern safe boxes. Now who would think of robbing in such a place?

No more time for inquiries as he needed to get back to his job as a nuclear researcher in CERN – the European Nuclear Research center outside Geneva.

Julia has written and taken photos all her life and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

Rick is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices. com

 

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at: https://dlnelsonwriter.com

 

Mr. Monk and Me

I've been binge watching the Monk series. Living in Europe, series sometimes reach me late, but NETFLIX allows me to catch up.

Do not think I'm being nasty to people with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). I'm not.

Mr. Monk has traits I see in myself and sometimes drive those I live with to humor me or drive them into annoyance.

I like things neat and balanced. For example, take these two shelves. The beige blanket makes me unhappy, the green happy.

I'm grateful to my husband for folding the beige blanket even if he doesn't want to leave the edges nicely or almost nicely folded.

And while things in my medicine cabinet are lined up a certain way, his clutter (my OCD showing through) mess up the countertop.

I hate clutter. My theory: if you're going to use something, take it out, use it and put it away. Don't take something out on Monday to use Thursday.

And I like things aligned and symmetrical. Like Mr. Monk, I will constantly move things a centermeter to make them more balanced.

I find dishes in the sink abhhorent unless they are soaking. In France we have a dishwasher, and I don't understand why, when dishes have to be put in the dishwasher, why not do it when you put them down. 

In Geneva we don't have a dishwasher, but still many dishes can be washed immediately. Still when my husband considers dish washing as much his responsibility as mine, I am grateful.

When I put my toothbrush away in its glass, I run my fingers down the handle. That way water doesn't accumulate in the bottom of the toothbrush holder. And I tend to take things such as towels, cloth napkins, etc. from the bottom and put the clean ones on top, so they will be used evenly.

 

Now before you decide I'm batshit crazy and ready to go into OCD-rehab, look at my closet. I am incapable of keeping any closet or drawers neat. What it does do keep me humble and able to laugh at myself while sympathizing with and appreciating those I live with for putting up with me.

And I'm on the last season of Monk. I'll miss him, my buddy in over reaction to disorder.

Note: check out D-L's website www.dlnelsonwriter.com for her list of novels and non-fiction books.

Fortune Telling

I'm reading Searching for Caleb by Anne Tyler. The main character is a fortune teller. It triggered my memories of having my fortune told.

I do not believe in fortune telling, but I've experienced some coincidences that did not change my opinion but made me a bit less sceptical. It's fun to think about.

My mother invited a fortune teller and a few friends to have their fortunes told. The fortune teller was a man in his middle forties dressed in weekend casual. We were all seated in the living room on the couch and in regular chairs. We sipped wine and ate the nibblies, my mother had created.

He had nothing for me, but he told Betty she needed to change her job. She worked as a receptionist for a car dealer, had no holidays, no sick leave and low pay.

He spent the most time with a man who asked if his plans would work. The yes was unqualified. 

Three days later my mother called to tell me the man had kidnapped his daughter from his ex-wife and the police thought they might be in The Netherlands. I never found out what happened after that.

Three work colleagues and I went to a fortune teller for fun. 

She asked me who Jimmy was.

"My father."

"You call him Jimmy, not dad, papa or father. You are worried about his health."

I did call him by his name and had talked to him earlier. He was just back from Jamaica where he had been taken ill.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine."

He was.

The next experience was years later. I was living in Boston and had a Yugoslavian exchange student. I'd been mailing dozens and dozens of CVs to companies in Europe. 

It was a hot July day when we went to her house in Marblehead. A breeze from the Atlantic was welcomed.

She lived in a basement flat of a two-story house that was welcoming, modern and beautiful. She, herself, wore a shirtwaist dress. Her hair was a stylish shoulder length cut. I suspect she was younger than I was.

She didn't ask me any questions, but launched into a prediction that she could see a major change in my life and she could see me in a building with green shutters.

The next morning I faxed a CV to a Swiss company. Within minutes, I had a phone call. After a series of lengthy conversations where the company's owner determined my German was weak and my French limited to bonjour and au revoir, he asked for references. 

I was later told that my former colleague, the CFO where I'd worked for years, gave me a glowing reference. My only drawback was that I wasn't very tall.

The next weekend I was on my way to Geneva.

Approaching the building where the company was located, I saw its green shutters.

I got the job and moved to Switzerland in September.

Maybe the green shutters had given me confidence, but my future boss said it was because I washed the tea cups, showing that attitude was what they wanted. It had been an all day interview. 

For the three years, I worked there, my boss teased me about "not being very tall." I never told him about the green shutters.

Note: Visit D-L's website at www.dlnelsonwriter.com

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

 

I've been lied to all my life: by companies, news sources, governments, sales men and women, people in authority and sometimes friends and family.

I no longer take things at face value.

I began to suspect lies when my girl friend was doing a paper on articles in woman magazines before and after WWII. Before, the joys of working were prevelant. After? The joys of being a housewife. A lie or manipulation? Does it matter?

Likewise when I was doing a paper and researching it at the Boston Public Library. I wandered into the periodical room and enjoyed browsing old magazines from the 40s and 50s. They were many ads with doctors saying how a brand of cigarettes was good for your health. We know that was a lie.

The history I learned in school was only part of the story, the part that made America look like that shining beacon on a hill. Kids now are being lied to with stories of happy slaves.

I agree with Michael Moore as he reputed the lie that we were told in school about our "permanent record." I was a good girl in school, but worried about pulling a chain attached to my "permanent record" for the rest of my life. Likewise my good grades were only good for getting into university, where I learned to dig deeper into what I was told.

Vietnam was a lie. As was many of the governments the US supported. How many Americans have been lied into protecting their country? It does not negate their service, but makes the price they paid for a lie even more expensive.

I do regret I never demonstrated at the School of Americas in Fort Benning Georgia, where the U.S. trained Latin Americans who later did what they could to keep the good little workers for companies in poverty like United Fruit.

Oil companies lied to us about their part in climate change.

The one that really bothered me was baby powder. I loved it. Slathered my daughter with it. Fortunately, nothing bad has happened. The good is that they are fined billions for the damage their product did.

I listen to Trump and credit him with an active imagination but not an alliance with truth. His lies about a non-stolent election, has done great damage to my birth country.

He is not the only politician lies. More than one work with "alternative facts" as Kellyanne Conway called them.

I would think by now, the politicians know they are on the record with other contradictory stories. I suspect they think it won't matter, people aren't paying attention.

I know from being a journalist that selecting which facts used can shape a story if not a lie, a misrepresentation. As a fiction writer, I wanted to do that in the case of some stories, but I resisted. I thank my first editor Fred Cole for stressing accurate reporting.

In my personal life, an ex-husband lied to me and some alleged friends have over the years.

Who do I trust? My current husband, my daughter, a few friends, some teachers, a boss or two. I don't trust the society I live in. 

It's sad.

Note: Check out D-L's website www.dlnelsonwriter.com

Accident of Birth

 

 

The hospital at Auschwitz. 

Published in Medical Review Auschwitz.

I'm reading Gisela Perl's I Was a Doctor in Auschwitz. It is not yet seven in the morning, and I've my laptop in my comfortable bed. My husband has already brought me Earl Grey tea and a biscuit.

Outside, I can see the wet patio and the plum tree in the garden.

The contrast to the horror of what I'm reading about the four-hour long roll calls, the lice, the hunger, the filth, the smell of the crematorium's fire is beyond striking.

I learned about Perl in my research for my book 300 Unsung Women, which is in its final editing before being sent to a publisher. The book has short bios of women who did remarkable things by breaking the barriers of their gender.

My husband and dog are still asleep. Today, we will go to the village marché for fresh veggies. 

The contrast of my life washes over me in comparison to the suffering of the people not just in Auschwitz, but also in Gaza. They have have lost everything without the basics of living. 

Things I take for granted like a warm bed, food eaten for pleasure not just survival, a shower, a toilet are denied others. Unbelievable cruelty and violence of some people rained onto others makes no sense.

My good luck is an accident of birth denied to people who lived or didn't through the concentration camps in WWII, but is ongoing today in other forms in Gaza, Ukraine and too many places in Africa.

I don't feel smug, just an overwhelming sadness that throughout my life the inhumanity of some to others has never stopped.

Note: Visit D-L's website www.dlnelsonwriter.com to check out her 17 other fiction and non fiction books.

 

A day in the life of a writer - me

 

7-8:30  Read American Woman by Katie Rogers while Rick walked Sherlock.

8:30-9:30  Toilet and read I was a Doctor in Auschwitz by Gisella Perl, one of the women in my 320 Unsung Women book, showered, dressed, made breakfast of oatmeal, blueberries and banana and a few chocolate chips. Yes I know brown ceral should be a no-no.

Did a few misc. household things. Our flat is small so clutter control is important. I don't write well in clutter.

9:30-11:45  Final editing of my anthology The Corporate Virgin.  All I need to do is the back cover and give it to Rick for editing. He'll find all the typos I missed.

Add 15 email address for marketing my 300 Unsung Women book when it's published.

11:45-13:08  Errands with Rick and Sherlock. We dropped off the trash at the dechet, bought gas, picked up prescriptions, bought misc. at the little store and a roasted chicken from Max, a stand that sells chickens every Wednesday. At the book exchange kiosk, I found a book on cultures and a Margaret Atwood's Amazing Grace.  What thrilled me was the previous reader had made notes in the margins. I love seeing what other people thought when they read what I am reading. It's almost a conversation. I thought I might have read it, but when I checked my books-I've-read list, it isn't there. Good.

We let Sherlock walk among the fields behind the school nearby. There were no llamas today, but several billy goats in their place. It was windy and cool but the sky was a beautiful blue with cotton puff clouds.

We stop at the boulangerie with the red life-size cow statue in front for bread and at the farm store for Coca-Cola.

13:08-13:45 Lunch. I made a salad, Rick cut up the chicken for us including Sherlock's share. 

13:45-15:16: I watched Season 7 Episode 15 of Monk and Season 1, Episode 8 of New Amsterdam on Netflix. I'm working my way through both series.

15:16-17:00 Both Rick and I returned to our writing projects. I worked on my novel Grownup Twins. Rick worked on his book.

17:00-18:30 Listened to Democracy Now and surfed other news sites from several countries to get an overview of the world. Depressing at best.

18:30-till bedtime: Ate leftover bulgar from yesterday's lunch along with a peach, played with the dog, did emails and Facebook messages. Rick and I watched Midsomer Murders with Sherlock curled up between us.

 

Free Write Roman Statue

 

Almost: This week we are all within a few minutes of each other, but a sick pup made us rerturn to doing the Free Writes indivually. Julia came up with the prompt.

Rick was unable to participate this week, but he assures me he will be back next week.

D-L's Free WriteWrite

Megan could hear voices through the school board's conference room door, only she couldn't make out what they were saying.

What had been she been thinking? 

Okay, she wanted a change of life from her art studies in Boston and Paris. She had thought finding a job teaching in a small New Hampshire village would provide that, give her money and even more important, time to paint without the interruptions of cafés and get togethers..

She should have known that when during the interview, they had asked her questions about what church she attended, what she thought of gay marriage there might be a mismatch.

In retrospect, she should have known her wishy washy answers rather than tell them the questions were illegal would lead to trouble.

She loved her third graders. She combined drawing, painting with a bit of art history.

Her big mistake was to show photos of sculptures. She should have stuck with Camille Claudel and had the kids make up stories about the work.

It was the David like statue that did her in. Marybeth's mother came in the next day saying she had no right to show her daughter pornography. 

Four other parents joined forces and thus there she was at the school board meeting fighting for her job.

The door opened and the chairman ushered her into the room.

She sat opposite the five-person board, three women and two men.

Mr. Volare, the chairman, a paunchy man was in his late forties, she guessed.  Using her last name was not a good sign. 

She was right. She would be allowed to get her own art supplies from her classroom before leaving.

 Julia's Free Write

Memories surge to the fore: memories of those long-ago days – days of student travel, of trains and railway station benches – of 4a.m. arrivals and a couple of hours of snatched sleep on hard benches before searching for cheap lodgings.

Once in Florence they had stayed with the nuns in cubicles, which were open on the top. Listening to the snoring at night didn’t make for peaceful nights, but they were young.

That same trip they spent hours looking for the famous Michealangelo statue of David. No Italian, side streets and many a false move, led to mid-afternoon. When they finally found him it seemed underwhelming but find him they did.

Imagine all these years later rediscovering a miniature replica in an Italian friend’s living room. First an Italian sharing her late husband’s birthday, then upon his demise, in one of his closest friend’s living rooms: some things are simply meant to be!

Julia has written and taken photos all her life and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at: https://dlnelsonwriter.com