Free Write - On the Church Steps

The photo for this week's prompt. was taken in Girona, Spain where Game of Thrones, was often filmed. We were on a tour showing where scenes had been shot and then how things like major water was added or streets were changed when Rick spotted this photo opportunity.

Rick's Free Write 

For two people who had been up all night, they looked remarkably fresh. But why the red rose? The white dress?

They couldn’t have been at a wedding – you don’t wear white in competition with the bride.

Maybe a company dinner, very upscale, celebrating sales success. Worth a suit and tie and fancy dress, but not too fancy.

The setting was semi-romantic, the huge colonnade which framed the church doors in Girona. And served for a grand scene – albeit enhanced with computer imagery – in the Game of Thrones, with the sea lapping the bottom of the seemingly endless steps.

As they explored in the early morning, they caught the eye of an enterprising photographer, who asked if she could shoot them. Still tipsy, how could they resist?

The couple was not a ‘couple,’ merely co-workers sharing a drink… or four… in the dark little bars in the hilly streets. They had told each other too many personal secrets through the night, so they would avoid each other at work for the next several days.

Until they noticed their photo on the front page of the photographer’s website.

D-L's Free Write

Photographer: Smile

Bride standing on the church steps: I won't vomit. I should have eaten a cracker.

Groom: This is the decent thing to do, but my life as I imagined it is over.

Bride: I always dreamed of a flowing white wedding dress.

Photographer: Now Mr. Groom, lean against the pillar, hands in pocket. Look relaxed.

Groom: Relaxed. Hah!

Bride: Look at him. Pretend you love him. I can act this. I can. At least my mom's happy I'm getting married. She'll be over the moon when she hears she'll be a grandma.

Groom: I offered her money for an abortion. Never thought I'd do that. I did wear a condom. Maybe get a DNA test after the kid is born.

Photographer: Just  a couple more. Interesting between the smiley shots, they don't look happy. So many couple whose weddings I've shot are divorced. Too bad it's not a tradition to take photos as the leave a divorce court.

Julia's Free Write

Ah, at least this day was going well.

It had been a long time and a lot of hard work.

They had met – just aged 15 – but were inseparable from that day on.

Once through high school, she had followed family tradition and become a teacher whereas he had returned to the family farm.

They had kept in touch for awhile then it all petered out as there was too much against them – in particular both families.  For hers he wasn’t “good enough,” lacking a university degree, for his, she was too “highfalutin’” and would have ideas about his station.

They both dated others, but none of either’s relationships went anywhere.

At a chance high school reunion (theirs had been a very tightly knitted class) they had re-kindled their friendship and the relationship deepened into something more.

About a year later, they both snuck off to Europe not telling anyone and got married.

Weren’t their family and friends going to be surprised when they got his photo and announcement of the happy event, via WhatsApp!

About the 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, 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/ 

 

 

 

 

I'll Put The Kettle On

 

In more than half of UK dramas and books, someone will say, "I'll put the kettle on."

How true it is I discovered when I was first in Switzerland. I was home in my tiny mountain village when the telephone rang on a Saturday, It was a friend from Boston telling me a mutual friend had been stabbed to death in her home.

She'd managed to call the police. The cop on duty thought it was a hoax and did nothing. When the chief listened to the call the next morning, he sent someone to investigate. The woman had just died and probably could have been saved.

My two Japanese chins were of little comfort and I decided to go up the mountain into the office even if no one would be in.

However Caroline, who is very English, was in, catching up on paperwork. She looked at my face and asked what was wrong. When I told her, the first thing she said was, "I'll put the kettle on." Of course the tea couldn't have brought my friend back to life, but the tea upped my coping skills.

It doesn't have to be a murder to make (stew, brew, steam, draw, steep -depending on your region) tea.

When I'm still in bed mornings reading, and my husband is in the kitchen I can hear the kettle bubble. I know he'll bring me my bowl of tea. What type is a surprise and that is a lovely way to start the day. The aroma of regular tea, spices, caramel, mint or vanilla waft their way over to my bed. I don't always finish it immediately, drinking it with breakfast or taking it to my computer.

This Sunday we were at our Swiss neighbors. They were leaving our French village the next morning to go to their Swiss home. Usually when they are down here, we manage to share a meal, an exhibition, a concert, a light show, something or somethings). This time we were inundated, in the good sense of the word, with people we'd not seen for far too long and they were equally busy. No time to get together.

The solution was a cup of tea and a fruit tart he'd made between packing chores. Since we are all Swiss where promptness counts, we arrived exactly as the church bells struck four. The tea was Earl Grey, her favorite. We may see them in Switzerland later this year.

Growing up our tea kettle whistled. Here our tea kettle is electric. What matters is there is a kettle to put on and tea to share.

  

What a village can do...

 

Argelès-sur-mer, France is a village of 10,779 people, triple the number from when I bought my Nest (studio) in the late 1980s. 

Two weeks ago it had a Medieval fete where walls went up recreating how it looked in the 1400s. There were merchants, residents and visitors dressed as they would have back then. Displays of ancient crafts, music and more went on for the weekend.

This past weekend was the Fêtes de la St. Côme et St. Damian, where giants danced with the locals, parades, music, fireworks, correfoc (fire runners who shoot long fire streams from their bodies) and a picnic for over a hundred were just a small part of the three day-celebrations. The giants are an annual feature although it is only the saints that belong to the village. This year they have new halos. The rest of the giants who represent many professions and ages come from other villages and as far away as Barcelona.

One of the giants had a long string of pacifiers which she gave out to any small child who might be frightened. Such thoughtfulness.  

Because I'm undertall, I often have a wonderful view of people's backs, although I can hear the music or whatever is going on. It doesn't diminish the wonderful feeling of sharing the fun with neighbors and strangers. 

Our home in the middle of the village which means we can pop in and out when we hear the music, follow a band, stop for a tea, coffee or glass of wine at any of the cafés. 

Rick and I wandered away from the main activity to sit at l'Hostalet and some of the giants, music and dancers came to us. At the table in the middle of the bottom of the photo (six o'clock) is me and my friend Karrie is to the left in her blue sweater. I'm that little white dot. A great view, no backs.

The only downside was locking ourselves in the bedroom with loud music so the sound of the fireworks would be muffled for Sherlock our dog.

What fun. That a small village can regularly produce such entertainment is in itself a miracle.

 

Why Bring Top Military To One Place?

 

A scary article in the Washington Post. "Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has ordered hundreds of the U.S. military’s generals and admirals to gather on short notice — and without a stated reason — at a Marine Corps base in Virginia next week, sowing confusion and alarm after the Trump administration’s firing of numerous senior military leaders this year." CNN International has also covered it.

Why?

He wants to only keep the ones loyal to him? Will they have to swear allegiance to Trump over the Constitution?

Will ICE arrest the disloyal on some pretext that they have the right?

Are they going to be reassigned throughout America?"

Why are they leaving their military and bases all over the world without coverage?

 

Women Who Won

  

"My father kicked me four or five times a week...and almost kicked the art out of me. He thought art was a sin." Augusta Christine Fells Singer (1892-1962) She became the first African-American woman artist elected to the Association of Women Painters and Sculptors.

Virginia Hall Goillot (1906-1982) A spy with a code name. Despite an artificial leg she walked 50 miles and ran a spy network during WWII in southern France.

Mary Fields (1832-1914) A freed slave she was the first black woman to be a Star Route Post deliverer. Her route was in Montana and she often needed snowshoes to deliver the mail.

These and 297 other remarkable women are featured in 300 Unsung Women by D-L Nelson. They met gender barriers in disciplines closed to women and accomplished amazing things.

Note from the author: Available at Barnes and Noble and at other book sellers, the book serves both as a reference and hope that women, can break out of stereotypes even when others try to shove us back. Look for it at www.barnesandnoble.com/ and/or visit my websitehttps://https.dlnelsonwriter.com/

Please consider buying a copy.

Free Write Woman in White

Note: Even Julia, who suggested this prompt, found it a bit difficult. All three of us have been regular riders on the E Bus.

Julia's Free Write

It was her lucky day.

Sitting in a coffee shop of the expensive, plus kind, she was there to meet a young friends on home leave.

Weather – and coffee – just right, she spent the two minutes waiting idly watching passers by.

Then she saw her: the woman in white.

Middle-aged, but in white from head to toe, including a hat that wouldn’t have been out of place in Ascot.

Questions and conjectures flowed. A wedding? Perhaps her own.

A Mexican funeral? But hey, they were in the wrong country. A costume party- At 4 p.m. in the afternoon-

The mystery was further compounded when she simply took a bus – one that would end up near the border.

Eccentric? Crazy? A date? We’ll never know as it didn’t make the news.

Rick's Free Write

Could it be her? Was that Melania? The current and former First Lady of the White House?

Or just her doppelganger in the white Spy Vs Spy (MAD magazine) hat?

You get all kinds riding the bus. Cleaning ladies heading out to the suburbs for the day. Shop clerks to and from the store. UN trailing spouses with not much to do other than window gazing.

Unusual though, to see such a formal hat, paired with a long white coat.

Maybe Madame Trump tired of the pomp and ceremony of the ‘royal’ visit and decided to hop over to Switzerland to maybe meet some real people.

Was she looking at a text from Donald?

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? Thank you for your attention to this matter !!!”

She had no idea of the bus’s destination. But “village” sounded nice. She liked village people. She grew up in a village. Long before she ended up trapped in a political bubble.

Nah, couldn’t be.

Shall we ask her?

D-L's Free Write

People were staring at her. She'd removed the veil from her white hat. Her white suit was not a typical wedding dress.

She wondered what happening at the mairie where the civil service was to take place  followed by a church wedding.

Her father would be furious yelling about the cost. It was him who pushed her to marry his Vice President to "cement the business."

He'd fought her going to art school, saying it would be wasted money. 

She had her MBA but took art classes when she could find the time. 

If she liked Tom, her fiancé, maybe she wouldn't have had that moment of panic. After saying she had to use the toilet, she called her friend Janice who lived just across the Geneva/French border.

"Take the E Bus to Hermance," Janice said, "I'll meet you there."

As the bus passed through Vesenaz, Collonge, Corsier, she felt herself relaxing. She would go to Paris and paint. 

She wished she could see the faces of the attendees at her non-marriage. 

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/ 

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, 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 

 

 

 

 

 

This Morning This Day To Be

  

Mornings, when we don't have to go out by a certain time, are wonderful.

My dog greets my husband who is checking his emails. Rick, not Sherlock, had brought me tea as he does most mornings. This morning it's caramel flavored, but it can be any good flavor. I let it cool before the first sip. When he brings it in a special bowl, French style, I usually save some for breakfast petit dej.

As all mornings, there's so much I want to do during the day, an impossible to-do list to a who- are-you-kidding list. 

I stare at my Japanese painting on the wall and almost smell the waterfall. I look through the sheer red hearts to the patio.

I want to spend the day living with the characters in the book I'm reading. What will happen with Astrid, her mother in prison and Claire? That's what I love about reading, getting lost in other lives or learning about something I didn't know. I finish the chapter and put in the metal book mark bought at the Montreux Christmas Market last year. 

To me, special pens, notebooks and bookmarks are treasures. Especially the pens. I imagine the pen maker polishing the stone or wood and fitting the tip. I've met two of the craftsmen and one of the craftswoman who made the pens. One craftsman had photos of his workshop. With all my pens I have the memories of buying them. They will last several lifetimes. I used one this morning to make my shopping list making the writing of the list less mundane.

I wanted to write this blog, which dear reader, I'm obviously doing. I need to post yesterday's Free Writes. Julia has sent hers, Rick and I still need to do ours. It was interesting. We'd all ridden the bus that was photographed as the prompt.

I want to work on my Sugar and Spices novella. I've an idea on colors for the sketch of the wooden carousel from the Medieval Village Fete a week ago. The carved handmade leather cover still thrills me. There's also the memory of talking with the artist who proudly talked to me of his work. He spoke so proudly of both the notebook and his broken English. I want to use it to practice my calligraphy. The other notebook, I decorated with foxes is for my journal haikus and sketches.

Today is the marché almost outside the door. I need to buy things for lunch, my turn today and there's a recipe with brussel sprouts and sausage I want to try. I need to buy olives, tapenade, saucisse, chips, paté for the apéro tonight. We've invited two friends who are leaving. We only see them for a couple of weeks every few years and enjoy every minute with them. This year the man had brought two books which he wrote. I've thoroughly enjoyed them.

We may stop for tea/hot chocolate at l'Hostalet, Mille et Une or Cedric's when we find friends already there. Most likely I'll have a conversation with the man who is my late father's doppelganger, his mother and sister.

Rick went out to buy a baguette for tonight, but also a round loaf for petit dej. I'm thinking of avocado toast. Sometimes the bread is still warm from the baker's oven.

The laundry is running. Each morning there are so many diddly squat chores such as hang laundry, empty the dishwasher, make the bed. The shower, drying my hair, putting on minimal makeup, water the plants, put away this or that.  Like the writer Douglas Kennedy, who admitted he needs these things done, I do too before I sit down to write.

A morning like today I put away my book, knowing I wouldn't get back to it till tonight. I also know what I will do during the day will be mostly pleasure. Astrid, I will see you in about 12 hours.

Fighting Depression: Holding onto Sanity

  

 

When I wake each morning, I learn the latest damage done to my birth country.

Today's was the stupidity of charging $100,000 for Indian visas when the U.S. could use their talent. This will hurt American business because they lose the technical skills Indians provide. India supplies a good percentage of doctors, one who save my father's life.

This week has been about Jimmy Kimmel and the censuring that gets tighter and tighter combined with Trump saying the late night show host had low ratings when they were the highest of the late night shows. Just one more lie in the thousands. I did read that Disney who was part of the process to kick Kimmel off the air has lost over a billion in shares. 

The beatification of Charlie Kirk with medals, his coffin flying in Air Force 2, statues planned, his birthday a day of remembrance, etc. is sickening. Even right wing Americans have held tributes in Paris. 

A tribute to a white supremacist, hate monger and proponent of women's limitations are things that would make me ashamed to be a citizen of any country that prioritized them. Anger and depression surge through me that I feel I have to say it doesn't mean he should be shot. Killing proponents is not acceptable in a civilized society, but how civilized is America today?

I find I need to really concentrate to see the good around me. 

• Happy seven-year-old boys flying toy planes in the Place de Republique
• A little girl, maybe age three, dressed in stripes strutting next to her father
• I sit under the Mulberry Tree sipping tea at l'Hostalet
• I spend time with special friends I don't see that often
• Cuddling my dog Sherlock
• The grapes on our grape vine are ripe
• Rain on the skylight
• Smiles from my doppleganger father, who is with his mother and sister. We chat.

 

I need to concentrate on my creative self, my novella Sugar and Spice which I'm writing, the new book of drawings of the wooden carousel, maybe a haiku and art work in my foxy notebook. I'm neither an artist nor a poet, but it helps alleviate the heaviness of watching the destruction of my birth country. At least if bad news comes thru my laptop, my writing words are there, too.

There's other things like slipping into a pre-warmed bed on a cool night, getting lost in a novel where I feel the characters are real. The same feeling of characters being morphed into real people to a point that I can decide to spend time with Amber, Jasmine, Crosby etc. whom I watch Netflix.

Once all these little happy-making things flowed like a river. They've slowed to a creek. Instead of just looking at the fast-moving water and being moved by its strength and beauty, I need to take off my shoes and dip my toes in, admiring the stones. 

I tell myself, "I will be happy at all I have." I am not living where the military is occupying my city. I'm not having a forced migration before the bombs come. I live where there is free speech and am a citizen where I can vote on all sorts of things including when something parliament approves and the people dislike.

But hovering in corners of my mind is how the U.S. is self destructing and I can't stop it. I think of my daughter and my husband's grandchildren stuck there and I worry what their lives will be like in a fascist dictatorship with a faltering economy.

I take a deep breath and try and push those thoughts from my mind. I will not give into depression. I will not give into depression. I will not give in...

 

 

Buyout

 

 

In reading Buyout by Ray Green, I think I've found a new genre: Corporate Lit. It is different from all the other genres I read in fiction and non-fiction.

It reminds me of my years working corporate. I wanted to teach English/history, but I didn't take the education courses that would have meant certification. I wanted to learn what I would teach and didn't want to waste a minute on learning how to. That would come. Except it didn't.

As a result I needed a job. I saw an ad, answered it, got it, making me think that all I had to do to find a job was to apply somewhere and the job would be mine. Silly me.

The job was to write four newsletters a month about new business in four geographic areas.

In those pre-internet  days, I scoured newspapers from my areas, found what I was looking for, did more research in business directories, then wrote short articles on my IBM Selectric with proportional spacing. They had to be typo free before they went to the printer in the basement.

The owner, a former salesman, started the business from his home. In the beginning he had his family working around the dining room table, stapling the newsletters together. When I joined, there were three other editors, an administrative staff of four and a printer. All equipment was state of the art at the time.

He was a Republican who thought the kids killed at Kent State got what they deserved. On his good side, he did allow the women to wear pant suits, didn't fire me when I got pregnant and on top of our two weeks vacation annually gave us two days off each quarter when the calendar meant no newsletters were being printed.

He also believed that during snowstorms, each person should decide their own safety. Thus, I did miss bad snow days because I lived 11 miles away and Route 128 could be treacherous. The printer lived across the street and made sure all was well in the building.

He gave the words pompous and the phrase Male Chauvinist Pig new depth. Years later we were at a business dinner. Everyone stood up to introduce themselves. He had brought his wife but when she started to stand, he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her and said, "This is my wife."

One time he had a call from a subscriber asking for more information. He said, "I'll ask my research department and get back to you." He rushed down the hall grabbed a directory, talked to the editor for a couple of minutes, and ran back to his office and calmly said, "My research department has told me..."

I can only imagine how different it would be today with internet research capacity. I would have loved spellcheck. The printing and mailing departments would be non-existent. Maybe AI would be used at some level. 

The company was eventually sold and has morphed into a sales training and consultant company. I'm sure my boss would have been thrilled.

In all my later jobs there were degrees of idiocy. Only a couple were good.

When I was hired, along with my then current management team to start a credit union for a major tech company, I tried to not duplicate the idiocies. I tried to build an environment that served the clients (members) and staff. Fortunately my co-managers were of the same mind. The credit union is now over $1 billion. I have no idea what it is like to work there. I know I'm still a member and despite a couple of glitches feel they are better than any bank.

I didn't find much improvement in working for two companies overseas. The greatest thing about retirement, is I don't have to deal with corporate other than as a client. However, I'd love to see other fiction books based on corporate life the same way there are spy novels, mystery novels, chic lit, etc.

 

  

I'm Terrified

 

I'm terrified for and about the United States of America.

Jimmy Kimmel was the last straw that pushed me from being really afraid to terror. Governments that are dictating what major news corporations can and cannot release to the public have passed dangerous. 

I'm terrified because it was bad enough when Trump called reporters "mean" and "nasty" and refused them access. That has continued. Not that what was said was true, but at least reporters had a chance to ask questions. 

I'm terrified because it all comes down to money and those who want to control the lives of millions not just in the U.S. but around the planet.

I'm terrified because military troops are now occupying some major cities with more cities targeted.

I'm terrified that the president only serves himself and his half of the population who believe in him.

I'm terrified that the president thinks he is liked around the world. He isn't. 

I'm terrified because government officials who did their jobs have been replaced with total incompetents. Or worse - some are competent at destroying the things that made the country safe such as RFK, Jr.

I'm terrified because research projects are being cancelled that could save lives.

I'm terrified because universities are being intimidated and although education has been weakened over the years, they were the last hope of an educated electorate.  

I'm terrified because people swallowed the lies such as waste, fraud and abuse only to NOT see the waste fraud and abuse that is going on with golf trips, White House building projects and more.

I'm terrified because people are losing their farms. Who is buying them?

I'm terrified because protections people had are disappearing and being snatched off the streets.

I'm terrified at the inhuman conditions in prisons and ICE detention centers. 

I'm terrified that the country thinks it has the right to annex other countries such as Canada and attack boats which may or may not have anything to do with drugs. 

I'm terrified that a person who preached hate, white supremacy and everything I don't believe in is more honored in death. I feel I have to say, I don't believe in violence and shooting people who disagree with me, but with all the mass murders and gun violence that exist in the U.S., the focus is immoral.

I'm terrified when being against genocide and speaking out can ruin your life. 

I could go on and on and on.  

As a history buff, I know the U.S. has not always been on the side of good and propaganda has been spewed since its founding. There have been good and bad presidents. There have been groups that have had only themselves at the expense of others, but the U.S. has survived.

I'm not sure the U.S. will survive this reign of terror. And I'm terrified that so many people support what is happening.

 

 

Gifts

 

I would hate to be someone trying to buy me something special. I am a person who the less I have, the happier I am. For me each second I have to spend in a store is hell. And although I often sit in the car and read when Rick goes in, I am thinking, don't buy anything, don't buy anything or if you do just the one thing you went in for that we/you need.

There are exceptions, however: books, memories and art work. Our walls are full of paintings done by artists we know and love. 

There are some gifts that have been outstanding. They create memories far beyond the gift.

For Rick's and my commitment ceremony in 2013 we received this doll-house-size piece of furniture. Look at it closely. 

There's a duplicate of the cover of my first published novel. In the drawer is my photo. So many tiny details. The artist that did it has become a good friend, not because she made this, but because her spirit is able to think up something like this. And that little desk has a place of honor on our bookshelf. I treasure it.

A dear, dear friend, a family member of choice and I do exchange presents. Both of us feel we already have enough of everything. We try and find things that will amuse and please. She outdid herself at my last birthday with a pair of socks. Look closely and there are lots of books. Reading is life's blood to both of us. But there are also words "Shush I'm Reading." But although I have unusual socks, I never expected to have a pair with my avatar and name. 

My daughter has been great on finding things I will love. One year it was a Larry Bird T-shirt. However, the years she brings me a package of raisin cinnamon bagels and a can of brown bread from Boston, are treasures. She has also been known to get me a favorite hair conditioner that I couldn't find in Switzerland. And my annual Cryptogram book is a reminder of her for the year it takes me to solve the puzzles.

 She also made a tapestry for me with each panel meaning something special. 

My husband also has a way of surprising me. A sweatshirt with a Japanese chin, a painting that I'd admired. He hung it when I wasn't looking. And sometimes it is a special cookie or a chocolate from Auer Chocolates in Geneva. One or two. It's the thought. My morning cup of tea before I get out of bed, that is a gift and I don't care how often he does it.

I love giving gifts. I looked for almost four years to find a carved statue of Guillaume Tell and I'm still looking for a real cross bow for my husband. If I find something that will please the sock giver, I grab it. 

Sometimes as I walk by a store, something in the window says "Buy me for (fill in the blank).

 

A gift is not more valuable because of the cost. It is the thought. I think of my grandfather, one of the world's least romantic men, picking one lady slipper for my grandmother every spring. That flower said I love you.

Visit D-L's website https://dlnelsonwriter.com 

 

 

 

 

 

Free Write - Chairs

This week's Free Write finds the three writers in Switzerland and France. The photo taken in a French village was emailed to the writer in Switzerland. 

D-L's Free Write

"Shit!" Miriam said as she passed the four chairs outside the antique shop. The owner stood in the doorway.

"How much?" she asked. 

Two hundred euros each, 700 for all four. They're over 100 years old."

"Really? Strange. I made them, and I'm not close to 100." She smiled. "I can prove it. I'll show you every flaw." She picked up each chair and pointed out each chip and where every measurement was just a little off. "Where did you get them?"

"A young woman sold them to me. Last week."

"Was her name Angela Flannagan?"

The owner blanched and nodded.

"My daughter-in-law. I made them for her." Miriam had spent months on the carvings and had ruined two pieces of expensive leather to get the seats and backs just right. She hoped the gift would improve their relationship. She didn't want to be an interfering mother-in-law, but suspected that her very existence was interference to her daughter-in.law. "I want to buy them for what you paid."

***

Miriam arranged the four chairs in her sun room. Then she invited her son and daughter-in-law for Sunday lunch in the sun room

When the couple walked in, she asked, "Do you like the new chairs? I found them in that antique shop on Grove Street." 

She never mentioned them again, nor did her daughter-in-law. 

Rick's Free Write Mystery of the Chairs

They appeared out of nowhere. And disappeared almost as fast. Most likely discarded from an apartment. Most likely scavenged by someone who thought them useful. People did that in the village with “good trash” – set out items to get rid of, hoping someone would cart them away. Saves a trip across town to the decheterie. We’ve done the same with stuff.

At first we thought the chairs might have to do with the medieval festival on the weekend. Handmade of wood and leather, carved symbols on the cross bar.

They might have gone well with our carved Henry 2nd and Elinore chest. And our carved “wine cave” chest. But they were too low for our dining table, and we already had sturdy chairs on the patio.

Odd that they were different sizes, two taller, two shorter. For adults and children perhaps.

I imagined them in medieval times at a feast for the king and dukes of Majorca,

Or maybe… in another century, as the seats of the condemned, waiting to be fitted with electrocution caps. But why four? Crime spree?

Julia's Free Write

It was wonderful, simply wonderful.

To be back in his childhood, his youth and young adulthood.

He looked around the house, the workshop where his father spent his days.

He could smell the wood, the leather. He could see himself as a toddler picking up shavings and scraps. Then he was a child, still picking them up but now able to put names to them.

Suddenly, he was a teenager, apprenticed to his father, the carpenter and his uncle the creator of all things leather.

His mother wanted him to go to school, but it held no interest for him. He was happier weekends when he could be in the workshop.

Still, he persisted for his mother’s sake, finally ending up with degrees in designing and woodwork.

Home again, his dad and uncle paid him a small stipend to help them build.

 

Abruptly he awoke – in his fine house, the house where he had crafted the cabinets, the shelves. The house in his home village to which he had brought the wife found during his studies.

What brought on the dream?

Ah yes, those four leather chairs on the flea market wall: chairs probably made by his father and uncle! Were those his tacks?

About the 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, 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/ 

 

 

Move the UN from New York

 

As difficult as it would be, the United Nations should leave New York and the U.S.

According to https://ccnworlds.com/why-is-the-united-nations-headquarters-in-new-york/ the reason the UN is in New York that in 1946 the location offered "strategic location, international access, and symbolic significance."

The goal was  "to promote peace, security, and cooperation among countries. Placing its headquarters in New York City was a strategic decision made in 1946 by its member states. New York provides a central, accessible location for diplomats and international representatives"

"The city’s robust infrastructure and vibrant international community support the organization’s operations. The headquarters complex, located in Manhattan, stands as a symbol of global unity. Hosting the UN enhances New York’s status as a global diplomatic hub, fostering international dialogue and collaboration. This choice reflects the city’s and the nation’s commitment to global peace and cooperation."

This is not the case now. 

Delegates from Palestine to the UN General Assembly this year were refused entry to the United States. As a result the Assembly was moved to Geneva. Look at how many times the U.S. vetoed what would help the world in many different ways. Usually only one or two countries vetoed the resolutions.

4 Reasons that the UN Should Move

Reason 1: Diplomatic access is a must for people working at the UN. The U.S. can't be trusted to grant this.

Reason 2: The US should not be the site of the UN because it is working against the basic principles that the UN was established.

Reason 3: The US tariffs have  affected the world economy negatively.

Reason 4: The U.S. President's threats of sending the National Guard into U.S. cities, means the headquarters and its agencies are working in a militarily-occupied zones. Although UN employees work in danger zones as part of their work, it is wrong to have those at headquarters live under those conditions. They might put troops in New York. They are already in D.C.

List of US-based UN Agencies

		United Nations Security Council (UNSC) Former Inter-Agency Committee on Sustainable Development Inter-Agency Network on Women and Gender Equality Inter-Agency Working Group on Evaluation International Civil Service Commission (ICSC) Panel of External Auditors of the United Nations the Specialized Agencies and the International Atomic Energy Agency United Nations (United Nations Secretariat) United Nations Board of Auditors United Nations Capital Development Fund (UNCDF) United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF) (moving to Nairobi in 2026) United Nations Communications Group United Nations CyberSchoolBus United Nations Development Fund for Women (UNIFEM) United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) (moving to Nairobi in 2026) United Nations Fund for International Partnerships (UNFIP) United Nations Geographic Information Working Group United Nations Information and Communication Technologies Task Force (UN ICT TF) United Nations International School (UNIS) United Nations Joint Staff Pension Fund (UNJSPF) United Nations Mine Action Service (UNMAS) United Nations Office for Project Services (UNOPS) United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) (moving to Nairobi in 2026) United Nations Resident Coordinators Network United Nations Sustainable Development Group (UNSDG) United Nations System Chief Executives Board for Coordination United Nations Women (moving to Nairobi in 2026) WomenWatch

They might also want to consider moving the IMF and World Bank Group out of Washington, DC.

Countries are still pretending that the U.S. is a trusted partner. World leaders flatter the U.S. President to keep on his good side.

Unfortunately diplomacy, probably from the days of the cave men, pretends things are fine until it is too late and a situation that could have been controlled early on flares out of control. We are at that starting point. The U.S. does not deserve to host the UN because it is often at loggerheads with its beliefs.

Visit https://dlnelsonwriter.com 

 

 

63 Years Ago Today

  

63 years ago today, I was wearing my favorite yellow dress and running around Reading MA trying to elope without my mother finding out.

My soon-to-be husband had driven from the Naval School of Music in D.C. His best man Steve and my bridesman Kenny had gone to the Methodist Church across the common to find the minister. I was trying to convince the town clerk not to notify my mother and he agreed not to do it immediately, but he would do it.

I didn't plan what I'd be doing 30, 40 or 50 years to celebrate. I was more worried about facing my mother and where my husband would be sent on his next assignment. 

I was also worried about how my mother would take it. Not well. She tried to have the marriage annulled, but since we were living in Germany, she was unsuccessful.

The marriage lasted a not-awful seven years. It produced my fantastic daughter, whom we co-parented well together until she was 18. Our divorce allowed us both to live the lives we were meant to live, very different from what they would have been had we stayed together. 

High school crushes and innocence are not necessarily the best recipe for a good marriage. 

Even if that marriage failed, like Edith Piaf, Non, Je ne regrette rien.