Happy International Credit Union Day

There is only one credit union in Switzerland, but there are co-operative banks, the next best thing. To join a credit union, one has to fit within the common bond, a requirement of credit unions everywhere be it community, employer, religious or social group, etc. The UN common bond is to work for the UN or to be a family member of the employee.

I used to joke, I would ask a UN credit union member to marry me, so I could join and switch from my bank.

In the U.S., I worked for two credit unions: Polaroid Employees Federal Credit Union and Digital Credit Union. The later has grown from Digital President Ken Olson being member number two because he wanted an employee to be number one, and making a small deposit, to over a billion dollars since its founding in the middle 1970s. I was the third employee of the credit union even before it was a credit union, Digital Equipment paying our salaries while we set up the employee benefit. Once up and running we happily became DCU employees.

Later I wrote for Credit Union Times as their international correspondent and then for seven years was publisher of Credit Union Newswire for Canadian credit union executives with 50 issues a year before I retired.

Today is International Credit Union Day, and I encourage anyone who is tired of bank fees and unhelpful attitudes to try and find a credit union to join. By their very nature, profits must be returned to members as higher interest rates, lower loan rates or services. Products can be as sophisticated as a mortgage or as simple as waiving ATM fees.

Credit unions began in Germany in the mid 1800s. In other countries credit unions sprang up to often serve the unserved.

As an experiment in Ireland, all I had to do was say “credit union” and I had a barrage of stories from listeners on how their credit union had helped them. One of their founders was Nobel Peace Prize winner the late John Hume. I had the good fortune to interview him twice, once over a beer and once four years later. He remembered me as he shared that being part of the credit union start meant as much to him as the prize. Both made lives easier for the Irish people.

Credit unions aren’t always small. VanCity in Canada and Navy Federal in the U.S. are among two of the world’s largest credit unions with over a billion dollars in assets.

Credit unions often run programs to help their communities from participating in clean ups to sponsoring community events. The emphasis is on the personal touch. One credit union in Canada has a D.O.G. Director of Greeting, which is a Saint Bernard in each of their many branches, creating a homey atmosphere as members do their banking.

Regulation country to country varies. In England, regulation limited their growth. In Africa they brought banking to villages with technology ahead of the industrialized world.

I’m not unhappy with my co-operative bank, Raiffeisen, which bears the name of the German credit union founder. I no longer can marry a UN employee to join their credit union without upsetting my husband. I still wish there were credit unions in Switzerland.

Happy International Credit Union Day to the 82,758 credit unions in 97 countries serving 404 million people. If you get a chance, join one.

I love my bed

 

No this post doesn't include anything about sex. I may discuss personal stuff in my blogs, but not that.

It is about how much I love my current bed as well as others I have slept in over the years.

In another flat, when I was recovering from chemo treatments, I spent most of my time in bed with Tummy, the landlady's cat, by my side. He would appear at the window, his mouth open, meowing, which we couldn't hear. As soon as we let him in, he took up his position as my comforter until evening.

During that period I read a lot, researched my book Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel and helped my ex-boss with his book Busted, about his experiences in prison, a good man goes bad goes good again story.

The photo at the top of the blog is of another bed, the one in France. We've brought out our Korean mink in preparation for chilly nights. We have the electric undersheet to prewarm the bed. 

Something is wonderful about putting on PJs at night, slipping into the warm bed with a book, my husband and the dog. We read, we cuddle, we talk. It is especially lovely when the Tramantane blows or the rain makes its own music on the skylight.

After a bathroom trip in the middle of the night with my feet on cold tiles, getting into the warm bed is a secondary pleasure almost as great as the first time each night.

When my husband snores, he has a device that stops it. He only wears it when needed. I often wonder if George Clooney, Brad Pitt and heart throbs from any era snore(d).

Mornings, my beloved husband brings me a bowl of tea. Lazy cow that I am most mornings, I will stay in bed and read while he takes the dog for his morning walk. (In Geneva, I am more apt to go with him at least every other morning. The country- side is so beautiful.)

I hope that the last minute in bed is the only traumatic moment of the day when I throw off the covers and put my feet on the floor. It seems lately there's one trauma every day usually related to some electronic thing reminding us "they" are in control.

Not a morning goes by do I forget how many hundreds of thousands of people in Gaza, Lebanon, Ukraine and other places around the world do not that this luxury. May I never take it for granted.

Visit www.dlnelsonwriter.com

 

 

 

 

Today's prompt from Rick was a tiny statue of a little boy and a man. The three participating writers are in two countries, France and Switzerland, but each regarded the prompt and spent 10 minutes writing. Next Tuesday it will be Julia's turn to send a prompt.

Rick's Free Write Man and Child 

They had been constant companions in the boy’s formative years – trips to parks, playing soccer in the huge backyard, chomping ice cream cones in summer and feeding the animals at the zoo. 

Best buds. 

He missed Garrett’s infectious laugh. They rarely talked these days, and only then on Zoom when the lad happened to be visiting his parents. He was in university now, more than halfway through his degree, and before long he’d be out in the business world. With his multiple talents and charming personality, he could end up anywhere. 

They had moved away when he was 10 and the old man 60 – to another state halfway across the country. Without the means to travel, visits were rare, twice in a decade. They’d become almost strangers. The old man sat in his apartment, the dog by his side in the recliner, and continued to whittle the wood, a skill he had acquired in a free class at the community center. 

“That’s quite good on the body forms,” said the young instructor. “But why no faces?” “Because… because… I’ve forgotten what he looked like.” 

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

D-L's Free Write -- Later 

Sebastian slammed the wet clay onto the board to remove any bubbles. 

He didn't usually do statues. The bowls, vases, plates he made were on the shelves awaiting shipment to exclusive shops in Boston, Washing, D.C., New York. 

He made the father first, using a knife to make it look like it was a wood carving. 

Maggie appeared at the door of his studio. "You need to go to bed." Her skin was blotched, her eyes red. She wore mismatched PJs.

"Later." As he shaped and reshaped the boy he heard conversations in his head. "Play with me, Papa." 

 "Later." 

"Read to me, Papa." 

"Later." 

Maggie was at the door again. "You really need to come to bed." 

"Later." He could not put faces on the man and the boy. 

Maggie was back. Her blotched skin was covered by makeup. She clutched dark glasses in her hand. She wore a somber black dress. "The car will be here in 15 minutes to take us to the church." 

He knew there was no later. 

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

Julia's Free Write

"Dad, tell me a story-" This was often my little boy’s plea – so here it is, leaving out the quote marks. Well son, a long, long time ago I lived near a river, a river where logs floated by quite often as we weren’t far from a logging mill and that was the quickest – and safest – way to get them to the mill. 

I grew up watching them and dreaming of the day that I could be a logger, like my grandpa, he was so solid, never said much, but when he did it was always worth listening too. 

He would tell me of his journey across the seas and finding a job as a logger as that was all he knew how to do- He and his brother worked side-by-side, taciturn both of them, but getting the job done. 

What must it have been like to work hours every day in the woods, to risk a tree falling on oneself, to risk cutting if the saw was not just right. 

As I grew, I too had a fascination for wood, but as I had had a more classical education, I only carved for a hobby and not as a proper job. 

Although my statues and carvings are definitely “proper”. You see the one in the corner? That’s you and me – something for you to treasure forever and to accompany you when I am not always by your side. Use it as a reminder that your father loved you and chose to fix that love in wood. Sleep now, son, the statue is watching over you. 

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

 

In the Beginning

Then

May 11, 1961 President John F. Kennedy approves sending 100 Military advisors to South Vietnam.

 Now

14 October 2024 The United States is sending one of its most advanced missile defense systems and about 100 U.S. troops to Israel. 

As the song says, "When will they ever learn?" 

U.S. citizens are paying for genocide then and now.

Bronze Baby Shoes

 

When we found our dog's puppy harness, I suggested to my husband we have it bronzed like my baby shoes had been bronzed.

I have no idea what happened to the shoes, although they were on display throughout my youth. 

A high school friend mentioned her baby shoes had been bronzed too. 

My brother, born seven years later, did not have his shoes preserved in metal for prosperity.

Recently, when at an antique fair in Switzerland, I saw a single bronzed baby shoe. The dealer had no idea why. He just knew it was American.

I explained that it had been a fad in the 1940s. He was grateful for the information, even if he was disappointed that I didn't want the shoe.

Many of the shoes were preserved forever by the American Bronzing Company, started in the 1930s by Violet Shinbach. I remember being in many of my friends' houses growing up and seeing their bronzed shoes. Millions were made before the company closed in 2018. 

My daughter's (born in 1969) shoes were NOT bronzed.

The process is a multi-step process:

• A special formula stiffens the shoes
• Laces are tied.
• Before electroplating, the shoes are coated. 
• They are placed on a plating rack up to four hours.
• A high luster is accomplished by polishing. 
• A protective coating is applied. 
• The shoes may be mounted on a base or not. 

My husband gave me one of those strange looks when I mentioned bronzing the harness. I told him I was kidding.

Thank you in marriage

 

Should a wife thank her husband for helping with chores, was the basis of a recent lively discussion. There were two schools of thought.

• Yes...he has helped
• No...he is part of the household, he isn't helping
  

I'm of the yes school taking exception to the word "helped" and not just because a woman is in charge of the house. And part of me says, he's part of the household.

My husband and I share household chores.  I make beds, do dishes, laundry and clean. He makes beds, does dishes, laundry and cleans.

I do the ironing most of the time, he takes care of the car all of the time.

We share cooking. My days are Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday afternoon. His are Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday morning.

Either of us can decide "to cook" at any local restaurant, to a point the wait staff of a restaurant we frequent might say, "Oh, it's your day to cook, Rick," even when it was my day.

Both of us thank the other of what is done regularly.

Why?

Because whoever "helped" contributed to the smooth running of our household. Their efforts frees the other one to continue writing, reading, watching something on television, take a nap, whatever. When two of us do the chores, it gives us time to spend together in doing non-chore things.

I can be OCD about some things, and I try to  control it when he does whatever I would do differently. Years ago where I worked, four women colleagues and I were talking. One complained how her husband folded laundry. Everyone verbally jumped on her.

"He folds laundry. You should thank your lucky stars," one of my colleagues said. That colleague considered herself lucky when her husband carried his glass, leaving hers on the table, to the kitchen .

Of course, there are times depending on work schedules, illness, social commitments that one will shoulder more of the responsibilities. That shift can be on either spouse. That should provoke another thank you.

Thank yous say "I recognize what you are doing and I appreciate it." It shows the action was NOT taken for granted. It never hurts to accompany the thank you with a kiss.

Visit www.dlnelsonwriter.com to see D-L novels and non-fiction.

Behind a Free Write

 

As a writer, I find free writing to a prompt is a great way to stimulate my other writing. I free write regularly with two other writers. We take turns thinking up prompts and then write non-stop for ten minutes. Perhaps it will be helpful to other writers to see how my mind worked on our latest free write.

Millicent, that was the first time I've ever used that name and have no idea why it popped into my mind. or Millie as her friends called her, sat on the park bench looking at the wooden statue This recreates a scene I experienced in Aosta when my husband and I went there for a weekend.  scene as she ate her egg salad sandwich I was debating making an egg salad sandwich later and drank her tea from her thermos I imagined that Millie was staying at a BnB and where she made the sandwich. In reality, the shops that sell sandwiches in Aosta would be more French in style. A ham and cheese baguette might have been better, but the object is to keep writing.

She talked to the statue. I used her comments to give more background. I had decided not to do straight tell.

"You've aged well." When Millie fell in love with Marco, he was in his early 20s.  I do believe what a writer doesn't say can still be in the piece.

"What have you done since I left Aosta?" Seemed like a normal question for her to ask.

"I had to leave to start my last year at uni." This explanation sets the approximate age Millie was at the time she fell in love with Marco. I debated using the word uni versus senior year of university. I wasn't sure whether to make Millie an American or a Brit at this point. If I were to expand the free write, a piece of flash fiction into a longer short story, I would need to work this out, but again with a 10-minute limit there was no time.

"I became a lawyer, married, had three kids, five grandchildren. I'm a widow." This is a quick way to give Millie's history since she left Aosta.

She had fallen in love with the Italian village of Aosta during her junior year abroad decades before.

She'd fallen in love with Marco Siragusa. He had looked so much like the statue, only he was younger. I wanted to make the first two paragraphs parallel.

That was 52 years ago. I could give the exact time that has gone by. In a longer piece, I might show how the village had changed, the people, etc. She could notice all the mobile phones or the Neptune statue rusted with age.

At first she'd written daily, then weekly, then monthly then not at all. He'd sent two postcards. Did Marco love her as much as she loved him, was she just one of the many students he romanced or was it that he couldn't write well? If he had written, would Millie have gone back to Aosta when she finished her degree? Again free writes in a ten-minute session don't allow for that.

Did Marco still live in the village of his ancestors? I wanted to show that Marco was a local.

***

At the tourist office a woman told her, "The Artist Guido Conti still works in his atelier." Had I had more time, I would have gone more deeply on Millie searching for Marco at the town hall, the library, the local church, but I sent her straight to the tourist office to ask about the statute.

***

Millie smelled the smell of freshly cut wood as she approached the door. Inside, sawdust filled the air.

Guido had white long hair fastened in a pony tail. He removed his goggles and mask. Guido is probably as old or older than Millie but as an artist he can continue to work as long as he lives and is healthy. I would have liked to have gone into why there was no plaque on the statue, but again, within the time limitation, it wasn't possible.

"Yes, that was Marco," he told her when she asked.

***

Millie's last stop was where Marco now lived in a nursing home. He didn't recognize her, but he didn't recognize anyone. A rather realistic ending. I could have staged a great reunion if he recognized her, but I left him mentally incapacitated.

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Two of her books, The Corporate Virgin and 300 Unsung Women are in the process of being published. Check out her website at: https://dlnelsonwriter.com