Our 100th Prompt . New Year's Eve

 

It's hard to believe that over 100 times Julia, Rick and I have done a weekly Free Write, sometimes together in a cozy cafe, sometimes in different countries. However, I trust Julia and numbers.

Happy New Year to all those who have read our Free Writes, the production of 10 minutes of writing, no stopping, no correcting.

It's interesting to compare what each of us has produced, some similar, some totally different but still within the prompt.  This time: fiction, memory, philosophical.

This last prompt of 2025 - New Year's Eve

D-L's Free Write 

Shirley knew she could still change her mind. She watched her husband, Brad, talk to his brother, Tom. 

She knew they were talking about the Boston Bruins as they did every New Year's Eve. 

Her sister-in-law Chrissy was showing yet more photos of her grandchildren. Shirley's son and daughter were off skiing as they had every New Year's Eve for the last three years.

Her bags were packed and hidden. The airline ticket for Japan was hidden.

The language school where she had worked for the last ten years wanted her to open a branch of the school in Tokyo. They had made sure to bring her Japanese to fluency.

"Stupid," Brad had said as Shirley studied the language.

He was a good man, had been a good father.

He lacked imagination. He hadn't wanted to go to Paris when her company had offered two free trips. "Too many Frenchmen. What'll I eat?"

His food tastes were simple. Read boring. Nothing yellow. Almost no fruits.

The divorce lawyer told her that none of those things were legal reasons for a divorce.

He would be hurt. She regretted that.

The two couples watched the ball descend in Times Square. The CNN announcers disappeared as Brad turned off the TV and her in-laws struggled into their coats for the one-block walk home.

As Brad turned off the lights, Shirley knew what she had to do. "We have to talk, Brad." 

Rick's Free Write

Garrett had never really established a New Year’s Eve tradition that lasted more than a couple of years.

When he was a kid, his parents would let him stay up to watch the Times Square ball drop with Dick Clark on TV, but he usually fell asleep around 1030 and was carried up to bed.

When he was married, he and his (X) wife would go to a movie with his brother- and sister-in-law. But then they moved to Texas. And even after Garrett and Melanie moved to Dallas too, the couples did not revive the tradition. The in-laws had gotten strange – something to do with his mother, but they were caught in the wake.

After he divorced and moved to France, Garrett and his new partner would join a large group of Anglophones for NYE, everyone bringing some nibblies or dessert. Some of the group would drive a few miles to a nearby tourist town, then take a train back to the village (a 5-minute journey). But Garrett begged off, heading home by around 1030.

There was still a ball drop, but now it was 6 am the next day, so they’d watch the fireworks from Sydney and Singapore before bed and set the alarm to get up and watch New York.

The biggest excitement now is trying to calm the dog during the local fireworks. 

Julia's Free Write

Out with the old, in with the new. I’m sure we’ve all heard that one. Sometimes associated with a change in our lives, sometimes with a relationship, sometimes with a major move.

And, yes, most often with New Year’s Eve.

Interesting how most of the world seems to think that, somehow, this time, the New Year will bring major changes, an improvement in the many things that have gone wrong.

Somehow human nature has us hoping for better, and at no time is that hope as strong as New Year’s Eve!

Only 14 hours left, so maybe I’ll see how much of the “old” I can still eliminate before the “new” turns up.

One thing will definitely remain: our Free Writes! 

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the top stories about the airline industry. He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.  

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

 

 

 

 

Hector's Restraining Order

 

Marianne's children thought she was crazy to sell her Victorian house in a good Cambridge, Massachusetts neighborhood to move to France.

It would be crazy to not do it, she thought. Her life to this point had been fine until her husband died six months before. Their marriage had been okay. He was a professor at Harvard, she had taught English as a second language in the Cambridge schools. They had raised Steven now 25 and Nancy now 23. Both kids were doing all right for their ages.

Marianne had loved France since she had been an exchange student outside Paris. Many summers the family had vacationed in France. She had dreamed of living in a French village and if not now, when?

She found a small house that fit her needs perfectly. Because she spoke French functionally, she went out to know the butcher, the baker, and there was a candlestick maker.

She introduced herself to her neighbors. Her next door neighbor Odile was a widow like herself. They became friends, sharing meals, movies and marche trips. Odile and many other people warned Marianne about Sophie, her neighbor to the right. 

Marianne would see Sophie in her garden or hiding behind a curtain and wave. Sophie would turn away.

The day Sophie appeared at her door, Marianne thought there might be a break through. Instead Sophie handed her two bills: one for 460 Euros to replace cement. Sophie said Marianne's cat Hector had ruined the new cement by leaving paw prints. The second bill was for 150 Euros to replace a duvet she complained Hector had peed on.

Marianne had intended to get a dog, a small one. When she went to the SPA (Animal Rescue Center) she had to walk by cages of cats to get to the dog wing.

Hector had been at the door of his cage. Marianne claimed he had hypnotized her into taking him home. His first hour he inspected his new home, declared that he would stay, decided which chair would be his rather than the bed she had bought him.

Hector also refused to use his kitty litter, preferring her garden near the rose bushes.

"Ignore Sophie. She can't prove it's Hector," Odile said.

Marianne did until she was served with a restraining order in Hector's name and a subpoena to appear at the French equivalent of small claims court.

"Fight it," Odile said.

"I will. I have no intention to sell my home over this," Marianne declared. 

Odile's brother was a lawyer and he went with Marianne to court. Hector was there in a cat carrier which rested on the Judge's desk. 

The judge spoke to the cat in a soft tone, a good sign according to Marianne's lawyer.

The Judge did a lot of eye rolling as Sophie's lawyer presented his case which included photos of the pawed cement and a wet duvet. "I'm sorry we couldn't bring the smell," Sophie testified.

Marianne's lawyer asked how Sophie knew it was Hector. She produced a small tuft of black fur. The judge held the fur near the cat carrier. It was slightly lighter than Hector's.

"Let me interrupt," the Judge said. "Did you get a DNA sample?"

"How could I? I would have nothing to compare it too."

 "Did you get a cast of the paw prints?" Marianne's lawyer asked.

"I've the photo," Sophie said.

"It's a small photo. No way can we compare it to Hector's paws."

The Judge declared Hector innocent because of insufficient proof.

The lawyer and Marianne celebrated over lunch at the bistro three doors down from the court. Over the weekend, he invited Marianne to a movie that they had discussed wanting to see.

The rest is history, as Marianne and the lawyer said on their third anniversary. 

Note: based on a true story. Names (including Hector's have been changed.) 

 

  

  

Bombing/Attack Guide Book

Trump Bombing/Attack Guide Book

 

Chapter One Excuses

Before bombing/attacking a country, it is necessary to lay the groundwork to convince people there is a good reason to do so. Repeat the excuse as many times as possible on the news channels, in print, at conferences or speaking engagements. Make sure the wording is identical. Remember Joseph Goebbels, " If you repeat a lie often enough, people will believe it, and you will come to believe it yoursself.

1. National security

Convince people that it is in the National Security to do the bombing or an attack. Ignore any facts such as the country lacks weapons/army, is on the other side of the planet.

2. Religion

Say over and over Christians are in danger. Make sure that there are no statistics to back it up. Hide any information from the Bombee that there is no danger to Christians. It's a good time to dump on other religions and reaffirm that America is a Christian nation even though it is not according to the founding fathers and the first amendment of the Constitution. 

In speeches demonize non Christian religions.

Create false fears of other religions and discourage any attempt at tolerance.

3. Drugs

Write speeches how the Bombee is running drugs that are killing Americans. Do nothing to help those already addicted. If they are "cured" than there will be no excuse to bomb boats allegedly carrying drugs to the U.S. even if it would be impossible for the boats to get that far. Never offer any proof of the drug smuggling but celebrate the "victory."

Chapter Two Resources

1, Before bombing a country, check to see what natural minerals exist. Plan to take the minerals.

2. Check to see how much oil the country to be attacked has. Plan to take over the oil. 

3. Capture oil tankers. Keep the ship. Keep the oil. 

4. Have cabinet members do television interviews and give them prepared answers to questions. Make sure they blame Biden within the first 82 seconds of an interview. If another  question is asked that doesn't fit the narrative, have the interviewee give one of the prepared answers to another question. Have those about to appear on news programs practice different ways to connect answers that has little to do with the questions.

5. Have lawyers standing by to bring suit against anyone, any news source, who contradicts or disparages the administration. Go for billions in damages.

Chapter Three Ignoring Anything Legal 

1. Ignore the Constitution.

2. Ignore Congress.

3. Ignore state laws

4. Ignore the judicial system including the Supreme Court if necessary.

5. Ignore the United Nations

6. Ignore any existing treaties -- better to declare them void.

7. Ignore international law

Chapter Four Ignoring Facts

Rearrange any inconvenient facts. The best terms to use are "Fake News" and "Witch Hunt."

Replace inconvenient facts with real "Fake News" to be repeated over and over (see Goebbels.)

Chapter Five Create Victimhood

Declare the U.S. has been a victim of other countries forever. (See Goebbels)

Chapter Six Create a False History

Make sure that none of the U.S. faults are ever taught to the next generation.

Work with "patriotic" groups to ban books and other information that might prove the correct narrative is never known. 

Erase historical negative truths.

Make believing in anything but the required narrative anti-American, fake news, a communist plot or socialism.

Use the terms "socialism" and "communism" that the average person will not understand what they mean. Make sure the public never understands.

Make sure people do not know where socialism works.

Make sure people do not learn how the U.S. compares negatively to other counties (education, health care, workers' rights etc.)

Call female reporters nasty and piggy to diminish them. 

Chapter Seven Control the Military

Remove any objectors in the top brass who feel their oath is to the Constitution and nor the president.

Make sure that the rank and file consider it their patriotic duty to fight their fellow citizens.

Chapter Eight Create Scapegoats

A scapegoat can be any group of Non-White Christians. Take turns labeling them. Example immigrants are from mental hospitals and the worse of the worst. Muslims are a good target. Make sure the statistics promoting any of these non-white or immigrant groups who contribute to American society are discouraged. Make sure their contributions are never revealed.

Chapter Nine Erase the Past

Remove the names of women and non-whites from the public record. The bigger the contribution take their names from plaques, public lists, etc.  

Note: visit https://dlnelsonwriter.com 

Handwritten note: Contact Nobel Committee about the 2026 Peace Prize-

 

 

Tea in a Bowl

The first time I drank tea from a bowl was when I lived with a French family outside of Toulouse. Earl Grey Tea made in a pot was the breakfast tea along with a fresh baguette and sometimes choclatines which was the local name for pain au chocolate.

Returning to Boston, I returned to mugs or cups and saucers for my tea.

Moving to Switzerland, I had a short story published called Shoppers. The wife couldn't adjust to the culture differences, but the husband wanted his morning tea in a bowl after they stayed with French friends who served it that way.

Later in my Third Culture Kids mystery series (TCKs have parents of one culture, move the kid to the new culture and the child becomes a hodgepodge of old and new. I claim I'm a TCK adult.) Annie, my TCK heroine drank her morning tea from a bowl.

Boy, did I argue with my editor(s) for them to leave the word bowl and not replace it with cup or mug.

 

Once I retired I spent more time in my "Nest" my studio in Argelès-sur-mer. I loved my Acapulco  bowl for my morning tea.

When I married - it took me 71 years to find my soulmate - he brings me tea in bed almost every morning. It's seldom the same tea. It might be Constant Comment imported from the States or Yorkshire Tea, a gift from a Brit friend. Sometimes the tea is flavored with vanilla or spices. Sometimes it's just tea. The aroma from the BOWL placed on my night stand is a wonderful way to start the day.

The bowl pictured at the top of the page we found at Jardinland, a chain that has lovely china dishes besides its plants, dog food, garden furniture and many other things. 

I let my morning tea cool and usually read a bit before separating myself from the duvet and mink if it's winter. I drink part of the tea from the bowl before gathering my clothes for the shower. The rest I will drink with breakfast or with my first daily writings.  

I also love my penguin mug which is in our Geneva flat. The apartment is furnished and has  a Villeroy and Boch cup and saucer. 

I discovered long ago if I see a set of dishes I love, it will be made by Villeroy and Boch. That German company has been making ceramic products since the mid 1700s. It also makes toilets. Members of the original family still work there, although it is no longer a private company.

Tea is not just a beverage for me. It carries with it a mystique, memories, comfort and more. Drinking it from a bowl or in a special cup or mug is just another level of pleasure. 

Note: Visit https://dlnelsonwriter.com 

 

 
 

Living with Margaret, Louise and Eleanor

 

I met Margaret Atwood almost three decades ago. Her collection of short stories Dancing Girls was on the shelf of my anthropologist friend's used book store in Argeles-sur-mer, France. I was hooked on Atwood's writing.

After that, I read every Atwood book that was at the English library in Geneva, Switzerland. I disagreed with the under-enthused reviews of Handmaiden's Tale. It turned out I was right when the book became a television phenomena.

I can't remember which of Louise Penny's mysteries I read first, but I know as soon as I did, I secured every book she wrote (now 20) and read them in order. 

They were more than books. They were a visit to the Canadian village of Three Pines. I've made friends with Clara, Myrna, poet Ruth and her duck Rosa. I've eaten at the bistro. I watched the leaves change color and snow fall. I watched the growing romance between Jean-Guy and Annie and celebrated the birth of their children. I love their dogs and wonder will I ever know for sure if the third animal is a dog or ferret. 

My husband and I have copied the Icelandic tradition of Jolabokaflod, (Christmas Book Flood) where we give each other books on Christmas Eve, then go to bed and read them, often sharing bits of writing that we love. We've been know to nibble chocolate too.

 

His gift to me were two new Penny books and Atwood's A Memoir of Sorts which I had planned to buy in the New Year, something I hadn't mentioned to him.

Thus I've been submerged in the books, still found time to make a Christmas pancake breakfast and savor his Christmas ham dinner that he copied from his childhood. 

There was time on Christmas Eve prior to exchanging our books to visit with village friends of French, Irish, Greek, Danish and Irish nationalities over a Canadian (pot luck) dinner.

In the morning I found time to share Sherlock's pleasure in his new stuffed toy, a duck, and watch a Grinch movie before I snuck back to Three Pines and Atwood's observations.

The rain has been almost continuous and torrential. When it stops, the wind blows with a ferocity, that I suspect our dog could become a kite at the end of his leash. When we open the door and he sees the rain, he goes into reverse.

Now to Eleanor Roosevelt. I bought the three volume biography of her life on my Kindle written by Blanch Wiessen Cook. I was half way through volume two on Christmas Eve day. Eleanor is now resting on my night stand. I will release her when I finish my Christmas Eve books.

Don't worry, I do have many other books in the ready, but these days of submerging myself when the weather outside is frightful, is another gift.

  

 

 

Christmas Chocolates Past and Present

 

I can define periods in my life by Christmas Chocolate. 

As a child, each Christmas we had a Whitman box. Sometimes it was a sampler, other years it was a tin with various scenes. During those years, I'd love to have been able to walk on those streets, visit the houses, be there...

My brother and I could take turns selecting a chocolate, but after biting into it, if we didn't like it, we didn't get a second choice. My kind-heated grandmother, however, cut all the chocolates in two so we could make wise decisions. Maybe it was a lesson in checking the facts.

 

For the past dozen years I have had an Advent calendar box, bought from Auer Chocolate. Each year, it is a treat to escape the late November chill and walk into the Auer store in Geneva, Switzerland. The aroma of chocolate is heavenly as I pick out the 24 black chocolates to put in the little boxes. 

No need to cut the chocolates out of fear not liking the filling. I know every one will satisfy us. We do cut them in two so Rick and I can share the savor of each one.

Rick and I follow the Icelandic transition of giving each other books on Christmas Eve, then go to bed and read them as we eat chocolate. This year our wonderful landlords, gave us a different kind of chocolate. They were delicious, but we have some left for today and tomorrow.

As for books, I now have all the Louise Penny series. Three Pines is my favorite Canadian village, but I can't be too hungry when I read them because of all the food mentioned.

He also gave me the new book of Margaret Atwood's essays. I will post this and then curl up and read.

What a wonderful holiday. To all my readers, happy holidays including good wishes for 2026, 27, 28 and beyond. 

Note: https://dlnelsonwriter.com 

 

 

Free Write 99 The Messy Desk

 

 

Our 99th Tuesday Free Write together. What a pleasure it has been. I would also say there have been almost as many cups of tea, espresso and hot chocolate drunk. Each of the writers have their favorite brew. 

There have been some groans as we discover the prompt, but we still pick up our pens and write for ten minutes. We share. 

Sometimes we are in different countries and bless the internet so we can continue. This week's prompt was inspired by a photo of Albert Einstein's desk.

Rick's Free Write

This is not my desk.

It could be.

What looks like disorder is not. Not to me. I know, pretty much, where to find a certain piece of paper. Or book. Or pipe (under a paper most times. Even though I don’t smoke.)

I worked with a similar soul at a university publisher in South Carolina. George said his stacks of books and papers was not a filing system, it was a ‘piling system.’

In the rare times when I get (formally) ‘organized,’ everything in folders, all neatly aligned in a filing cabinet, I can’t find anything!

My ‘system’ tracks with the way I write. I like to assemble all my research notes, interview transcripts, URL links, etc. and totally immerse myself in the topic.

This requires everything to be on the desk within reach.

At the end of the project, I may collect the documents and file them away. Or not.

My wife is the polar opposite. OCD, at least for papers within sight. She has almost given up on reforming me, conceding my desk will always resemble a war zone.

By the way, my computer is much the same. Multiple tabs always open. File folders in semi-organized order. (At least the computer alphabetizes everything.)

Slob or Genius? Ask Albert.

 D-L's Free Write

"Honey, while you're up can you get the data spread sheet from my desk?" Jim asked.

Julie sighed as she looked at the desk, not that she could see the desk under the piles of paper. 

"It's near my phone."

"I can't see your phone." She moved some of papers.

"Don't move anything."

Julie didn't say anything. At first There were several Excel spread sheets. "Does it have a title?"

"No, but it's next to the article on data collection."

From Julie's position at Jim's desk, she could see into her office area and her desk was visible. On it was a laptop, one blue folder and a card with a list written in ink. She did that in case of a power shortage. All her files were backed up three times.

Jim let out a long sigh, stood up and walked over to the desk. His hand reached out and picked up the spread sheet he wanted. "See. It's right here. I don't understand why you couldn't find it."

Julie said nothing, but chanted her mantra under her breath. "He's a good man. I love him. Desk maintenance is not a reason for a divorce" over and over again.  

Julia's Free Write

His desk, as usual, was submerged in papers and stuff. Over the years, he had learned though that if he tidied it, he couldn’t find a thing thereafter.

Amongst the papers were other objects, objects not necessarily found on a modern (read younger) person’s desk.

But even if he tried to not smoke, the pipe was comforting. The jar contained not tobacco, but his current favorite sweets – hiding there so that his secretary wouldn’t make remarks.

An old-fashioned clip board held the most important bits of his current task. One photo, curling at the edges was all he had in the way of clues.

“Life”* on the bottom of the frame was in direct apposition to his tasks: find the murderer.

Sherlock Holmes he wasn’t, but then again, his mom wasn’t really expecting him to explain the dead butterfly. His white shoes weren’t pristine anymore.

Notes:

*The word life was cut out of the prompt. 

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the top stories about the airline industry. He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.  

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

 

 

A Solid Gold Battleship

 

 

Trump announced he wanted a new battleship or ships named for him of course. 

Specs for the first ship include:

• 800 feet in length
• 30,000 to 40,000 tons displacement
• Twelve new nuclear capable missile launch capacity

Potential issues:

Who will build it?

Overcoming other ship building issues of the past.

Can the rail gun be resurrected?

Crew management issues? 

Wouldn't smaller and more be better than one ship?

Is it needed at all? 

 There are many better places $15 billion can be spent aren't there. 

What happened to waste, fraud and abuse? 

Will Trump tart it up covering the battleship with gold as he has done with the White House? 

Or worse is he planning an unnecessary war?

 

 

 

Stop Sending Me Ads Amazon

 

It's been a while since I've used my Kindle. I don't want Jeff Bezos to get a centime of my money. He hoards profits against his workers.

Although I prefer paper books over the Kindle, it's only a slight preference. Paper doesn't provide light when I don't want to disturb my sleeping husband and dog. 

The Kindle does have two advantages:

• Only one small thing in the suitcase when I travel rather than several books.
• Immediacy. I can get a book I want in minutes.

I prefer to use the English library in Geneva or order from my favorite bookstore Pages and Sips. I can't get good scones on Amazon like I can at P&S. Also supporting the woman P&S owner is important. 

When I want the book immediately, I give in as I did when I wanted the three volume biography of Eleanor Roosevelt by Blanche Wiesen Cook.

When I turned on my Kindle to read about Eleanor, adverts came up: things I never wanted, don't want now and will never want. Today, I got a dead bolt advert. 

They tell me shop now. I don't want to shop now. I just want to continue reading about Eleanor Roosevelt. 

Paper books don't delay my reading.  

Call me a COW (Cranky Old Woman) but if Kindle were for books only I'd be happy. 

Maybe someday I will find a device that is just for books.  

At least Amazon doesn't do pop ups in the middle of a paragraph. Maybe I shouldn't write that because it might give them an idea on how to increase their annoyance factor. Or maybe I should be more patient and wait to go to the library or my favorite bookstore.

 

History Repeats Itself

 

Guess the year that describes when and where what is written below happened.

Repressive reforms fell victim to a repressive crusade. Pacifists, anarchists, socialist, political dissenters were the target of a  massive campaign of arrests and reprisals. They were considered enemies. Foreign born men and women, American born unionists and thousands of innocent people were arrested without warrants and due process. Abusive newspapers were denied U.S. mailing privileges. Secret agents infiltrated union and political meetings. 

Secret agents infiltrated meetings, broke up meetings and some of the attendees were beaten. 

What is described above isn't the U.S. under Trump. It happened in 1919 under the direction of Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer, a Democrat. He  recruited Herbert Hoover, who spied on Americans for decades.

Palmer also held the Red Raids, supported by the American people although progressives fought him. His support came from the people who believed the propaganda about communists, socialists and - gasp - immigrants.

Now think of what is happening today in the U.S. 

ICE and violence against those who disagree with the administration is not that different. Maybe that is what Trump meant by making American Great Again going back to the time of the Red Raids where white supremacy was the goal, due process was a maybe do it, maybe not, and business and banks ruled without responsibility for the damage they caused. 

The major difference today is that with the internet information spreads as fast as people can check their screens. Whether the information is true or not and their reaction depends on their education or lack thereof.

I don't know if I feel better or worse to know that the awful things that happened in the United States in 1919 is repeating itself in 2025 and may get worse in 2026, 2027... 

The cliché that those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it is echoing in my head. 

Note: The photo is of an ICE agent attacking a woman in a court house. 

A French Village Christmas

 

My first Christmas in Argeles-sur-mer in the early 90s there was nothing showing that indicated there would be a major holiday: nada, rien, not even a candle in a window. 

Four decades later, ASM has become a December wonderland. All the village center streets are under a canopy of fairy lights. Decorated trees are outside each store. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDjY2q5VCzo is a video and if you watch it, I suggest you fast forward for the highlights. 

There were carols last night at Place de Gambetta (end of video), but our Swiss friends were at the door and talking to them over a cup of tea was far more important. We have shared so much over the years, concerts, meals, museums, picnics. We have ongoing jokes about sandwiches and snails. 

Although we missed the caroling, what a pleasure to walk among the chalets serving vin chaud, hot chocolate barbe de papa, tapas. I loved seeing children getting their faces painted, as they chatted with Pére Noêl in his hooded long red robe.

We know so many people in the village: neighbors both Catalan and French and people with second homes from Denmark, Sweden, Switzerland, England, Scotland, Ireland, Germany, etc. Many came for the holidays and were out and about. 

Rue de la Liberation was filled with old-fashioned wooden games, boxes with things to build, bowl, catch. Neither Rick nor I hit more than one peg with the rope circle, but the colored car race in colored lanes, I won hands down. I do need to confess it was because my dice throws were five and sixes while Rick's throws were much smaller. What fun, a highlight in an already extra good day.

The roasted chestnut man, scooped my order into a newspaper-decorated cone. A great hand warmer, but also a treat to eat when we got home. Geneva has chestnut sellers sprinkled on many of the city streets, but roasted chestnuts here are rare, making it an extra special treat.

Europe has huge Christmas markets in Frankfort, Strasbourg, Munich, Stuttgart. Here's a list https://europe.stripes.com/lifestyle/holidays/christmas-markets-europe.html Granted, the Argelès one is minuscule in comparison, but to stick my head out my door and be in this fairyland, is wonderful.

 

 

Coming Soon

 A novella

Sugar and Spice 

 Four nine-year old girls in a private school plot to kill a fifth-grade boy. 

Starting January 2nd, a chapter will be published every day.

D-L Nelson is the author of 17 books. Visit her website. https:dlnelsonwrier.com 

 

Free Write - Fettle

  

Julia gave us a single word "Fettle" as the prompt for our weekly Free Write. Note: we don't look that much as the drawing and Rick has a nice head of hair. However, the process of our Free Writing is the same. A prompt and write for ten minutes.

Julia's Free Write

OK she said to herself – let’s get started.

But what first on that interminable list of tasks?

Change the beds and get a load of wash in so that the next house guests would not feel like they were coming to a sloppily run boarding house. No, she had a week so down to the bottom of the list.

Tidy up the outside so that all would be nice for the winter? No, again down to the bottom: after all the sun comes up late and goes down early – ignore.

Or decorate the house for Christmas? Hey, tree’s up, the odd fake poinsettia out. Even a small real one, that she will probably kill before Christmas.

Oh, but the baking. A lot of people have become used to her baking… OK top of the list.

After all she had mettle.

Telephone’s ringing – what or who is more important?

10 minutes later it was back to the tasks at hand but first let’s put on the kettle. Well, quickly answer some e-mails too.

An hour later she was back to her list.

Right time to bake: she was in fine fettle!h

D-L's Free Write

Angela adored her grandmother, her very unconventional grandmother, Maudie.

From the time she was little, she loved going to her studio. "I'm in fine fettle today, fine kettle, fettle, metal." Grandma Maudie loved playing with words. "She would say "look at the book in the nook" or "Happy Lappy Birthday."

She showed Angela how to make things. The typical grandmothery things like cookies, but also things out of paper, paper clips, wood, wallpaper.

They designed clothes for paper dolls.

Although Angela loved being with her grandmother, her mother felt Maudie was a bad influence. Afterall, she wore paint-spattered jeans and a sweatshirt. Sometimes she used bad language. "Shit, pit, sit, mitt."

Angela's sister, Emma didn't like to go to her grandmother's. No Barbies to play with when she was young and boring music when she was older. Who would want to listen to Bach? Worse bagpipes.

When Angela got the call her grandma was really sick, she took leave from the Rhode Island School of Design where she was studying fashion design to go to Boston to take care of her. 

Grandma said, "go back, smack, lack," but Angela stayed with her grandma until the end.

At the funeral everyone cried, except Angela. She'd done her crying without witnesses. 

Grandma had left her studio and tiny house to Angela whose family moaned they hadn't been mentioned in the will, not that there was much to leave.

Angela knew her grandma had left her a huge gift. How to be true to yourself and how to enjoy each day of your life. 

Rick's Free Write

There once was a man named Fettle. Fred Fettle. Freddie to his two friends.

Mr. Fettle liked to walk. Long distances. To the grocery store. To the café. To the library. To the church. And especially in the countryside, along farm roads, up and down hills.

He didn’t own a car, and there were no bus services in his little hamlet in central England. So he walked. Sometimes all day.

Whenever Fettle encountered someone along the way, who asked him how he was doing, he’d tip his flat cap and respond, “Fine.” This caused some people to giggle.

One day, Fred Fettle decided to enter the Olympic Trials in the walking competition. He had no formal training, but he was sure that his years of walking everywhere were sufficient preparation. His friends, Ollie and Oscar, agreed and encouraged him. They helped time his walks between Derbyroon and Hallingate, which was about the same distance as the trial.

On the day of the competition, the other walkers all asked each other how they were feeling. “Fine,” said Fred. “Fine. Fine. And you?”

Alas, once the starting gun sounded, the ‘professional’ walkers left Fettle in the dust. He finished dead last. Nonetheless, he finished.

“Sorry, old chum,” said Oscar. “Yeah, sorry,” added Ollie.

“It’s okay,” said Freddie. “I’m fine.

About the three Free Writers:

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the top stories about the airline industry. He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.  

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

 

 

 

 

 

Amoebas to Epstein

 

Living creatures need to reproduce.

Even amoebas, split in two. Whether it gives them pleasure or pain is unknown.

Female seahorses deposit their eggs in a male pouch. "You take the kids, dear, I'm off doing my thing."

Mammals have their own habits. Many can only reproduce when the female is in heat and I suspect they enjoy it.

There can be frustration. After our in-heat German Shepherd rode in our Spitfire convertible, one or more of the hopeful males sitting on our lawn ate through the roof. By then our dog was in the house wistfully looking out the window and asking to go out to her followers.

I watched a male cat strut off after mounting a female, who lay down. I swear she was smiling. Also made me think of the lyrics from the song You don't bring me flowers anymore. "After loving me late at night, you just roll over and turn off the light."

Now to the human species. Most humans want sex at various times from infrequently to as much as possible. 

Sex, a 100% natural thing, has been burdened with all sorts of rules. The Catholic church said it was for procreation. Virginity, which has more to do with who is the father of the offspring, than anything else, is considered major in many religions. 

The arrangement of a couple also varies from don't you dare to  what my partner doesn't know, won't hurt him/her. 

I wonder what arrangement my middle-aged colleague had with his wife when I chose to have lunch in the Pâquis area of Geneva. Although it's the red light district, it is also home to several five-star hotels, families, top restaurants, the American Church, a past Swiss president and the English library. It stops at the lake. My colleague was walking off with an obvious hooker. 

How did I know it was a hooker? In cold weather no one shows that much of a body. Also I'd seen her many times before standing on the street trolling for clients.

His eyes met mine. I didn't greet him. Neither of us ever mentioned it, but in every meeting for the next four years we worked together, he not only agreed with me, he was a cheerleader.

This brings me to Epstein.

Sex between consenting partners  is one thing and should be okay. Incest and rape is not okay. 

When I look at the photos of alleged leaders in different areas be it politics, business or education with Epstein and women, I feel sick. The older women may be there by choice or not. The younger ones are not.

I see men who are like little boys with a toy, a toy that will be damaged. Whether or not the toy could be repaired is in doubt. Even with reparations that toy will always carry scars.

These men should NEVER be allowed anywhere need a leadership role not because of some religious rule, but because leaders should not damage others for personal pleasure. 

 

The Nine Sluts Club

 

Both my daughter and I are were card-carrying members of the former but short-lived Nine Sluts Club.

What was it?

A middle-aged friend was dating a man  who felt she should not have had much (or any) of a sexual life in her 30 years of single life some of which took place in the free-love 1960s. To her that was a red flag of an unrealistic man as well as one who would never accept her as she was. She wondered if her experiences were different from other women's.

What's a woman to do then?

Call her friends together for an evening of wine and cheese to discuss their sex lives. Eight of us in age from mid twenties to early sixties were game.

The evening was set for my friend's cozy apartment. It was called the Nine Sluts Club.

Each woman wrote the number of partners they had had during their lifetime on a piece of paper. No names. The smallest number was two, and the writer admitted who she was. No one felt that she had to apologize for being happily married.

Other slips had numbers from five to double digits. One had 30+ although I can't remember the exact number.

Not because of the wine, but a sense of sisterhood grew as we told stories of various experiences. Everything from lack of ability to weirdness that where they did not want to participate. "All he wanted was to listen to my fantasies," one woman complained.

Because we all knew each other and had for some time, despite not mentioning names, we could guess whom they were talking about, but maintained secrecy. Others credited some of their partners with excellent experiences.  

The women admitted different levels of interest at different times in their lives, usually depending on what else was going on. 

Although there have been studies on sexuality from Alfred Kinsey's first published in 1948, this lacked any pretension of scientific research. It represented another phenomena of women sharing information on a part of their lives. 

The club did not meet many times, although the women would meet from time to time in various combinations as they had before. 

 

 

 

GPS Lies and Other Adventures

We change countries regularly between Geneva, Switzerland and the South of France. The trip takes between six and eight hours depending on potty, dog walking and food stops. Sometimes, we investigate something of interest along the way.

On moving back to Geneva last month, we decided to stop in Meaux, France (pronounced Moo). Rick is researching WWI for a book and there is a WWI museum there. 

That trip predicted to be six hours took 12.  

The signs "A7 Autoroute coupe" were ominous. How do you cut a major highway in half? We followed the other cars off the exit.

Often when there's a traffic jam on an autoroute we take the national roads, which has led to many interesting discoveries. This time we discovered more villages than we wanted.

The GPS led us over the Rhone River ten times by count. We went in the wrong direction multiple times. 

Despite it all, we reached our hotel. 

The next morning the GPS woman's voice in the clipped British accent told us to go right. We saw some lovely scenery twice, the second time after we realized she'd lied to us again.

We joked that she must be punishing us for all the times we didn't follow her directions. Should we have shared our secret plans? 

We noticed that the tourist signs in brown, yellow etc. which are ubiquitous on the French autoroute were four times more plentiful than on our usual trips. Wonderful...we learned about châteaus, national parks, regional products and historical people that we might never have known about otherwise.

It was even nicer when the rain stopped. I was thrilled to see a sign for Paul, my favorite sandwich place as we passed a rest stop. These stops have an assortment of places to eat or buy food.

We decided to stop at the next one for a Paul sandwich.

The next few? No Pauls! We settled for an alternative, but after buying satisfactory sandwiches we saw a Paul at the next and the next and the next that we passed. C'est la vie.

When I first moved to Europe 35 years ago, the French concept of a sandwich was a semi-stale baguette, a piece of cheese which probably had been banned in this wonderful cheese-producing country and maybe a piece of ham which had dried accidentally. Over the years, the French sandwiches have become varied and good. 

We reached our hotel, a converted mini-château whose grounds included a tennis court, stables, gardens, tennis courts and a swimming pool under a beautiful blanket of colored fall leaves.  

We watched a young man practice his rope twirling skills as we walked the grounds in the last afternoon mist.

Constantin, the receptionist, gave us a choice of languages to speak among his four. mother tongue Russian, English, French and newly learned Spanish.

He also gave us a tour of the building. 

The various sitting rooms with fireplaces and comfortable furniture, art work, wallpaper that belongs in a château, chandeliers, the multi dining rooms were empty. We are out of season. 

We commented on the many statues of Napoleon. "Oh," he said, "The owner is a descendant of Napoleon. My history-loving heart almost burst with happiness.  

We are now preparing to go back to France for the holidays. I wonder what adventures await us. 

 

 

Capitalism, Communism, Consumerism

 

 

 My life Experience with the 3Cs

This is a hodgepodge of my experiences with the 3Cs during my life.

I'm huddled under my fourth grade school desk waiting for the all clear siren. I wonder if a little girl my age is worried about a nuclear bomb coming from my country? I don't want to bomb her, why would she want to bomb me. I go to bed at night wondering if a nuclear bomb will kill me before morning. 

McCarthy is allegedly "saving" the country from Communism. He also preempts my kids TV shows.

I'm living in Stuttgart with my husband. He's doing required Army service. Some rubble from WWII remain. Many years later when I visit, they are rebuilt. 

Most people in our German apartment building are hostile to Americans. They knock on my door to tell me how sorry they are about Kennedy's assassination. There is a candle light vigil down the mountain into the city. There is less hostility.

I watch the Berlin Wall fall while living in Boston. I feel hope for a better world order.  

While living in Geneva Switzerland, Arabs, mostly women I see regularly in hijabs, express their horror to me about 9/11. Before they didn't speak to me. We will communicate warmly from then on. The change in attitude is a flashback to the change in Germany after Kennedy's death.

I become friends with Czech neighbors who work at their Geneva consulate. I regularly find half a Czech bread loaf hanging in a bag on my door many lunchtimes, flown in on the diplomatic pouch that morning.

The Czech couple invite me to Prague. They talk about life before and after the break up of the Soviet Union. They suffered politically when their daughter defected to Germany. In a restaurant a waiter admits he speaks fluent Russian, but minutes before he had "not understood" his Russian diners while being overly polite. My hosts says that is normal.

I'm a bad consumer in a society choked with things. I don't want the latest whatever. I consider having a car an annoyance, but I needed one for my reverse commute, Boston to suburbs for work.

I loved my two-bedroom Boston condo. I like living in an attractive place where I can enjoy the dusty rose of my bedroom, the cheery yellow of my office annex, my red and white kitchen. I like pretty clothes but do not want my closet crammed. I have one brown Scottish plaid wool skirt since seventh grade that only wore out in my mid-forties. I want just enough not too much.

I don't understand the need to replace, replace, replace with the newest anything when the old works. The waffle iron my grandmother bought before WWII and gave to me made great waffles. I only got rid of it when I moved to Europe in 1988. 

I met a Russian woman when I walk by the Geneva UN building. We talk. We bond. She invited me to her St. Petersburg, home and arranged for an in-depth historic-cultural tour including subways, theater, ballet, churches. She made a great cucumber salad. We talk books, history, family and pets, her cats, my dogs.

I stood in the room where Rasputin was attacked, felt the door he ran through before throwing himself in the River. I touched the history I've read about.

I walked through Fydor Dostoevsky's home. I imagined him sitting at his desk writing. He had been exiled to Siberia earlier. I had read enough Russian history and literature to understand the need for change for the majority of the people.

Like most people, I'd loved Dr. Zhivago and named my daughter Lara, only added an L. 

I often pass the house where Lenin lived in Geneva. The first meeting of The International was held in Geneva in 1866.

I question a society where everything goes to the top. I do not think an oligarch needs 25 bathrooms while his workers are on food stamps. I feel a manufacturer should build safety into its products. I've read where coal mines with unions have less accidents than those without. The planet's resources are being destroyed in the name of profit. On and on and on.

The theory behind Capitalism and Communism are excellent The problem is the men who are at the top pull the strings of those below to maintain their power. They lie, cheat and destroy the lives of those who are not at the top. 

At the moment the U.S. is in danger of imploding giving way to the billionaire class. Its president is demented and immoral. Russia is under the denomination of a man who doesn't care who he kills or what he destroys. He is influencing U.S. policy.

An ideal society is where there is an equal playing field. Never will things be totally equal. A person who is tone deaf will never be an opera singer any more than a person horrible at math will be an engineer. But there should be ways for people to live a dignified life. 

There will always people who want to accomplish more than just eating and having a roof over their heads.  

Too many people hate people who are different from them. They think if they suppress them they will be better off. They often use religion to justify their cruelties. It takes more energy to hate.

The powerful, be they Communist or Capitalist, manipulate those below. 

A society that gives people chances and helps those that can't help themselves, is overall a better place for all. 

I'm not a Communist, although the principles could be good if they had not been corrupted.

I'm not a Capitalist, although the principles could be good if they had not been corrupted.

I'm not a Consumer that would gladden the heart of many a business. I'm a selective user of what exists. 

Will the world ever be better? I'm not sure there are enough good humans, kind humans, to keep the bad humans under control but we can try.