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. 

 

 

 

 

  

 

Free Write A Little Girl

 

This is the last time the three writers will be together until February. We will still Free Write each week, but use e-mails and the internet to communicate.

Rather than use a photo or a sentence in a book, we spied an adorable toddler in the tea room where we were meeting and decided to use her as the prompt.After we finished we all said, we had more trouble with this one than most. hmmm

D-L'S Free Write

I put one foot in front of another. I've only been walking a few months. When I fall down Mommy or Nanny say "Whoopsie Daisy."

We have daisies in the garden. Nanny points to them and says, "Daisy. Rose. Chrimumbums."

 I like it when Mommy straps me in the car. We go to the tearoom. I get a chocolate cookie. Mommy rubs the crumbs from my face. I don't like that. I want to lick them off. I tilt my head. I tell her "Stop."

Sometimes we meet Mommy's friends. Auntie Phil. She bring Bobby. He's my age. He always grabs my cookie. I have to eat it fast so he can't.

Auntie Sally brings Annie. She's my age. She brings her bear. I bring my bear, We all play.

Here's the lady who brings my cookie. Yummy. 

Rick's Free Write

Not sure where the Mom was. (Or the Dad.) I assumed some adult was nearby. But all we could see was a toddler, maybe 14-15 months, dressed in all-white pajamas (is that practical?) by the window of the café, carefully, tentatively, easing her way past a potted plant that was a foot taller than her. She managed to slide by without knocking it over. And presumably reconnected with a parent (or nanny) because a few minutes later they walked out through the sliding door, the toddler now bundled up in a bright pink puff coat.

The little girl had probably been observing the Christmas tree in the corner. (The one we chose not to sit by, lest Sherlock think it was an indoor toilet.) Bright, multicolored lights, constantly flashing white lights, a plethora of colored bulbs, and the obligatory gold star on top.

It doesn’t feel festive yet, as the temperatures are warming. But if we need the holiday spirit, there’s always a Hallmark movie. 

Julia's Free Write

It was that time of year: the annual rush towards Christmas.

Christmas trees, wreathes and strings of light blossomed everywhere. It did help lighten up those dark grey days, but sometimes the forced cheer was a bit much.

Social engagements seemed overwhelming at times: but which friend or family member to snub? One couldn’t so didn’t, the end result being exhaustion.

Parents and grandparents were tempted to be out and about more, little ones in tow.

It was one of these who drew my attention the other morning.

In one of my favorite tea rooms she wandered, fairly well-behaved, in all directions. Not touching the tree in the corner, but leaving fingerprints along the window. Too young to be interested in whatever the adults were doing, she could have easily been the Christmas angel on the tree in the corner.

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/ 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Making a Boston Snow Angel

 

I'd been living and working in Switzerland for about a half dozen years when I realized I had reached the point that many ex-pats reach . . . Do I stay or do I go.

I loved Switzerland. I loved Boston.

Because I had six weeks vacation (by law), I decided to spend six weeks in Boston between December and January. 

I stayed with friends in a house I had once owned and invested sweat equity in. My girl friend and I discussed starting a language school. 

Boston is a wonderful city. It was nice to be on Wigglesworth Street again with its brick town houses. The T was at the end of the street, Harvard Medical and Dental Schools across the street with five colleges in a few minute walks and more a T-stop or two away.

The Museum of Fine Arts was a couple of blocks away. 

One night snow started falling, creating the winter wonderland I loved. 

Walking down the street in the early evening, some of the windows were lit and I could see Christmas trees already decorated. Some had candles in the windows. It was if a Christmas card had come to life.

Many of the three story houses had been converted into apartments that were rented by students. Those windows were dark. The students had gone home for Christmas.

Snow covered the brick sidewalk and the faux gas lights glowed. 

I hadn't made a snow angel for at least a couple of decades. No one was around. Not able to resist I flopped down and spread my arms and legs making wings and an angel dress. 

During my stay, the feasibility of starting the language school became less and less practical. I was also homesick for Geneva, Mont Blanc, the lake, the ability to go to France only four bus stops away, friends from many countries, the many languages. 

I pictured myself cloned, living in both places that I truly loved at the same time. Impossible. 

I thought back to the night when I made the angel that had quickly disappeared as new snow fell.  

Geneva, the day I returned had snow and Mont Blanc was majestic. I didn't make another angel. The one in Boston told me where my life should be. 

   

Liberal Arts? Business Degree? Apprenticeship?

 

Massachusetts University at Lowell on the Merrimack River.

If I remember correctly from a lifetime ago, I was walking along the Merrimack River banks on a break from classes at what is now U. Mass at Lowell. The school has gone through many name changes since I was a student.

We were both English majors with lots of history courses, basic liberal arts stuff. Our goal was to teach. Spoiler alert: she succeeded, I went on another career path.

Across the river was Lowell Tech, now part of UML. 

I loved my studies. We talked over what we were learning in many of the classes we shared. We prepped for exams together. 

Most of our profs were excellent. I savored what I was learning. I felt my profs unlocked past worlds. Even writing papers was a challenge that left me feeling alive. 

My friend and I discussed many things including the difference between what we were learning and either a business or tech degree. 

Since we both wanted to be teachers, what we were learning would be important. Many of our friends took education courses, which we didn't. I'm not sure about her, but I wanted to know what to teach. I figured I would learn how to teach later.

I never thought of how much I would earn. I cared only that I would love what I was doing.

I went to Tufts to take the courses for my teaching certificate. I had made a mistake. I disliked student teaching, even before a seventh grade student brought a snake to class. Since there was no way I could go to grad school, teaching in a university would be impossible.

Funny how life provides for things you want just not when you want them. 

Most of my professional career was in PR and marketing offering challenges. I also wanted to write fiction. 

In my thirties, I started a M.A. in Public Relations at Boston University paid for my company. Changing jobs, I no longer had funding. A couple of the courses I dreaded, especially statistics. Giving up that degree program was a relief.

Much later I earned an M.A. in creative writing at Glamorgan University in Wales. I adored every second of working with the "readers" all professional and published writers as well as my seven "cohorts." 

Because I was an older student I didn't mind fighting with my "reader" on my thesis on symbolism in John Irving's writings.  A quote from Irving let me prove my point. The degree allowed me to teach part time at Webster University in Geneva along with my corporate job. I loved the teaching this time. 

I also loved my day job's salary while the job itself was just how I had to spend my time to get that salary. It neither added or detracted from my life. It left me time and energy to write. I've published 19 books and lived most of my life with a passion.

An attempt at a Ph.D. failed. "My "reader" attacked everything I wanted to do. In my 50s, I wasn't about to spend the time and energy on what I felt was destructive to my writing. The novel, he said, would never be published. It was: it received good reviews.

I sometimes think back on the discussions along the Merrimack River and elsewhere. My liberal arts degree provided me not just with an education but a rich way of experiencing my life.  

I think of the senior loan officer at the credit union, where I worked for years. We once talked and said that most college graduates didn't work in the areas they studied. "I did," she said." She'd been a history major at Lowell. "I take loan histories." She too, felt her degree had enriched her life.

With the cost of university today that can lead to decades of debt, a degree that produces a certain level of income is more than necessary. But is that the most important thing?

More and more we hear how it is smarter to do an apprenticeship in a trade.

I think of one young man who became an electrician apprentice after high school. His friends, who are just graduating from university, are loaded with debts. I heard that he's making more than most of them starting out in business. Because he lived at home he has been able to think about owning a house. I've also heard he likes his work.

Since we spend most of our waking hours at work, what are we looking for? Money is necessary. But at what price?

 

 

 

 

Meet Women Who Beat Gender Limitations

 

 When D-L Nelson wrote, 300 Unsung Women,  she had no idea how consuming and rewarding it would be. Here's some things she discovered.

Q: What gave you the idea to write this book?

A: As a life long feminist, over the years, I discovered some very interesting women hidden in the fog of history. Also, I loved calendar books that give some information on a topic for each day of the year. 300 Unsung Women began as a calendar book.

Q: But there's only 300 women.

A: As I started my research, I discovered for some dates I couldn't find any women. On other dates, I could find many that should be included and whom I didn't want to eliminate. I then decided that 300 was a nice round number so I could include all the worthy women.

Q: How did you research the book?

A: Two things: One: the internet: There are sites listing famous people, although the number of men exceeded the number of women thirty fold. Two: Friends. I put out a call to friends for women they think would belong in a book like this. So many women and a few men, submitted suggestions. One woman, Isabel Richard, whom I knew in Geneva and now lives in Montreal, was incredible with the women she found.

Q: Is there anything you would do differently?

A: My goal was only to include women who had died. In many cases, I couldn't find birth and death dates. This was especially true of Canadian First Nations and American Indian women. I wish I hadn't deleted them. They would make a book all by themselves.

Q: Why did you format the book as you did?

A: Instead of dates, I used the area of the women's accomplishments. A majority of the women excelled in several areas. I listed those areas at the beginning of each bio.

Q: Did you have some favorites?

A: Oh yes. Florence Luscombe. Spoiler alert. I had interviewed her many years ago. She was an MIT graduate, one of the first in architecture and fought for women's rights at many levels throughout her life. 

Kato Lomb who knew 17 languages. Having fought to learn French, I'm jealous of her abilities.

Marie Marvingt who did it all: pilot, journalist, athlete and more.

There wasn't a woman that I wrote about, that I didn't want to sit down with and have a cup of tea and a long, long conversation. 

Q: Did you write them as you discovered them or after you had all the research?

A: I did all my research, then sat down and condensed the information into 200 words or less. That was difficult. Most of the women could be the subject of a book or movie. If I thought of a good sentence as I was doing the research, I wrote it down to use when I did the final writing. 

Q: Did you ever want to give up?

A: I often felt the project was keeping me from my fiction. Because so many women had given me names, I didn't feel I could let them down. Nor could I let my subjects down. There dedication to their work was inspiring which gave me an impetus to continue often with enthusiasm.

Q: There's no index. Why?

A: I grouped the women within the areas where they succeeded and then by number. That way, if someone wanted to do research into women who became lawyers, they could find all the lawyers in the book, as other areas where they accomplished things.

Q: What would you like readers to get from your book?

A: I started the book before Trump started erasing women's accomplishments, but I see it as more important after. What I would like readers to come away with is the appreciation, motivation, understanding of what it takes to accomplish one's goals despite gender barriers. I also would like the women I wrote about to have a new minute in the spotlight for their accomplishments.  

Q: Where can I get the book?

A: Order it from your favorite independent store or https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504

Visit http://dlnelsonwriter.com 

 

 

Peace Prize? Joke!?

 

The new FIFA peace prize is "to reward individuals who have taken exceptional and extraordinary actions for peace and by doing so have united people across the world." 

IT WAS NOT APPROVED BY THE FIFA COUNCIL's GOVERNING BOARD NOR BY THE 211-MEMBER CONGRESS WHICH DID NOT VOTE ON ITS

•  CREATION
• CRITERIA

Awarding any peace prize to Donald Trump is enough to make one vomit. At the presentation, he didn't wait for it to be given to him, he grabbed it off the tray and put the ribbon around his own neck.

The same day the prize was awarded, the new US National Security Strategy was announced. It says the US will back away from many of the international agreements that have held the west together since WWII because they are bad for the US. It also:

• Divides the world into spheres of influence.
• Discourages Latin America from working with other countries.
• Encourages the take over of Latin America and possibly Canada by US business.
• Leans toward Russia and white supremacy. 
• Undercuts needed regulations to business and climate protections. 

It will be called the Trump Corollary to the Monroe Doctrine.  

That Trump is anything but a peace-seeker except when he can get headlines is apparent. 

• He has threatened to take over other countries such as Greenland, Canada and the Panama Canal.
• Israel continues to kill Palestinians after the alleged cease fire that Trump takes credit for.
• The eight peace deals that Trump claims are in some cases illusions. 
• Sent military into US cities against Americans.
• Has boats attacked in international waters claiming he's stopping drug trafficking with no proof or reasonable possibility the boat could reach US shores.
• Killing temporary survivors against international law. It was not on Trump's orders, but he has backed the killing.  
• Threatening direct military action against Venezuela. 
• Threatening violence against American opponents.

Why did FIFA President Gianni Infantino do it? To guarantee that the US won't cause problems at the border for entering athletes? Trump did ask embassies to process those requests easily. But will border guards who stop/detain so many already be able to distinguish? 

Was there some sweetheart deal between Infantino and Trump, causing Infantino to act without the backing of the FIFA Council or FIFA Congress?

It isn't enough that Trump and his cronies have been bent on destroying the US now they are going for the world as the west knows it. 

If it weren't so serious one might think it is a bad movie starring Tom Cruise or a joke. 

Who is behind this change of the world order? 

Who will benefit? 

Do people realize how serious this is? 

Will there be any effort to stop the implementation? 

Will all the world news organizations jump on this weird award? 

Is it too late?

 

 

 

 

 

Pompeii vs. Mobile Phone

 

I do not deny that I hate phones, especially mobiles. I feel they are interruption of my life that cuts me off from life, experiences and people. It kills the here and now. It is a barrier between me and others.

When I picked up a new book, Haven't They Grown by Rachel Hannah, found in a Geneva kiosk those lovely places filled with books, on the first page, I read: "He's buried in his phone. I can't help thinking of it like that - as if he's stuck in the machine in his hand, unable to get out. Quite happy about it too."

It describes part of my marriage shown by an event that happened a few days ago.

Originally for my 80th birthday, I asked in place of a party, we visit Pompeii. With the July heat, we decided to postpone it until January, thinking that there would be less tourists. One thing, totally legitimate, after another kept us postponing the trip. Although, I've wanted to go since seventh grade when my Latin textbook talked of the city, we will probably never get there. 

I can live with that. I've filled several bucket lists in my lifetime more than any person should expect much less have.

Then a documentary came on television as my husband and I sat on the couch. He had the mobile in his hand (I wonder if that's why the German word for mobile is Handy). I tried to get him interested, but his eyes and fingers returned to the mobile so I gave up.

I know my husband uses the mobile for research for his work as a journalist. I know it's handy when we want to check something we are both watching. Its GPS when we travel is a miracle. On the other hand, I sometimes think that his hand will morph into a phone. 

The documentary was incredible with the different historians showing parts of the city and giving explanations that we would never have found if we'd been walking the cobbled streets.

However, if we had both been really there, we could have shared the experience. We could have shared it on this cold Geneva day in the warmth of our living room, by watching the documentary together. 

Instead, I went to Pompeii alone.  

I do believe in the overlapping circles for a marriage. There are interests that each person may have alone and some they share as a couple. I encouraged his love of golf, and because of forced golf lessons as a child, I speak golf and delighted in his pleasure as long as I didn't have to play. He humors my passion for all kinds of food. 

And there are so many things where we overlap that are a pleasure that I feel a bit annoyed at me that I was so annoyed that I went to Pompeii alone.