Not AI

There's a reason for the next six examples.

1. Marjorie walked into the room.

2. Marjorie saw three people in the room as she entered.

3. Two men and a women looked at Marjorie as she walked/entered the room. (Note to self: decide between entered and walked later)

4. Marjorie felt a blast of cold air from an open window as she opened the door and entered the room. (Note to self: add a few  words to describe what's outside the window. Smell of cars???)

5. What were people doing in the cold room, Marjorie wondered as she entered.

6. Rather than enter the cold room, where two men and a woman sat, Marjorie closed the door.

I'm a writer with 20 published books. https://dlnelsonwriter.com. Don't count. My newly published anthology The Corporate Virgin still isn't there.

I'm always working on some piece of writing. Characters and scenes are always with me.

I can rewrite a scene many ways. I can change a character's appearance at will, but it is all from my mind, not a computer eating electricity someplace. 

There are days when the words rush out of my brain into the book-to-be. Other days they have to dragged away from my brain cells, kicking and screaming. Or the words hide and I need to search with the ferocity of the FBI looking for a wealthy kidnapped child.

This is why I write. I write. I write. I write, not some algorithm.  

When I need to check a fact, I sometimes find a whole new story line or an interesting fact that I will explore later unless I take a break to explore it.

When I don't nail it, it focuses me to be better for the next day's writing. When I do nail it, I celebrate in many ways from a piece of black chocolate to a love fest with my dog, a cuddle with my husband, a glass of Coke Zero or even champagne, a walk where new ideas are triggered and I absorb what I see and it makes my life richer.

AI can be useful, but it doesn't replace the human mind. The art work with this blog was computer generated. I would never have done it if I had planned to use a real artist. It is not taking work from a REAL artist, which I am not. 

Writing can be frustrating, satisfying, joyful, tiring and any other adjective a human can think of. AI is not human. I want human.

Trump: Liar of Ignorant?

 

Trump has claimed the U.S. is the only country that allows mail-in ballots. He's either a liar or ignorant on what the rest of the world does or both.

Since 2006, when I received my Swiss citizenship I will have voted 80 times, 76 by mail and four in person.

When I took my oath of citizenship, the next voting package was already waiting for me on my seat. 

The Swiss mail a voting package to every citizen in the language of their choice: French, Italian, German and Romanish. The format is identical year after year including the colors red for Federal and White for Cantonal. See the photo above.

This package includes: 

• Information on the proposal by the sponsor of the Initiative or Referendum. With enough signatures on petitions voters can say if they want a law be withdrawn or a new issue can be put before the entire country.
• A copy of the law or proposal
• The recommendation of Parliament and why on each item
• How every party, and there are many, agree or disagree
• A list of where to vote, although voting stations are only open a couple of hours because most people vote by mail. In many villages coffee, tea and biscuits or croissants are served. 
• A return postage-paid envelope
• A numbered verification card to sign

As a voter, there are many sources of info on the issues. Results are usually tallied by late afternoon with results being reported on media and else where.

• The voting package
• Television news including round-table discussions
• Newspaper and magazine articles
• The internet
• Posters created by the pro and con parties. They are identical for all languages and are posted in every village.

Saturday I read the package. Sometimes it's hard going. I checked what the parties were saying. Sometimes that helps. What's hard is when the far right and far left agree.

Sunday, tomorrow, I'll rethink it one last time, mark my ballot, sign the verification card and put it in the envelope.

Monday, I'll mail it well in advance of the mailing deadline. The votation in person would be 8 March.

To see a map of other countries that allow mail-in voting. https://www.newsweek.com/map-shows-countries-mail-ballots-trump-vows-ban-voting-format-2115167

For Saturday lunch, to celebrate my 80th vote we had fondue and champagne from the cave in Môtiers, the first Swiss village where I lived 1990-1993. It just seemed right.

Note: Legally they can't call anything not from the Champagne region in France, champagne, but it seemed more appropriate that I celebrate 

Dogs in Restaurants

Many Americans are aghast on their first trip to Europe when they discover dogs in a restaurant, café or tea room. At least in France, Germany and Switzerland it's common.

Sherlock goes with us more than not. At the tea room Mille et Une where we'll have a second morning tea or hot chocolate, he's often part of a doggy conference. 

There are three other dogs who are regulars, especially Nelson (no relation), a black French bulldog. Nelson, like the other regulars, knows that Rick has doggy treats and comes over to let us know his mouth is ready and willing to accept what we offer. 

Depending on the dog, they may be off leash, asleep under the table, or checking out their friends, two- or four-legged.

L'Aurea-B at the end of our street is owned by Cedric. Not only does he know we want Coca Zero with most of our lunches, he always has a plate of sausage and/or cheese for Sherlock. When we walk by, Sherlock wants to greet Cedric who then heads to the kitchen to find a treat for our dog. 

Along the French Autoroute from Perpignan to Geneva, a route we take regularly, most of the rest stops do not allow dogs. However, when a new rest stop is built with elaborate food courts, dogs seem to be welcomed.

In some restaurants Rick will order something he likes to share with Sherlock. In others we order something for our dog. Before it was sold, Sherlock enjoyed the children's menu at Flowers. We ate his fries and his ice cream dessert that came with his meal.

Once at the Bureau, which is like a Scottish pub, we ordered a hamburg patty for our dog. The waitress. who was bilingual, switched to English: "Are you serious?" Since we've seen other dogs in there, we were probably the only one that requested a dog meal.  

We often eat out rather than take time out from our writing to cook and clean up. It is nice to do it as a "multi-species family."                    

I see little difference between cooking a meal with a dog at my feet who will follow me to sit by the table than having a dog(s) in a restaurant. In our village there are many restaurants all within a short walk of our front door. After we eat, we can multi-task by combining our meal with a dog walk. Sherlock has yet to object.

Dentist vs. Shopping

Two appointments, back-to back-days, four plus hours in the dentist chair. Since it was the same procedure both days, it was a bit like Ground Hog Day only better. 

As a teenager, dentist appointments were torture. No Novocaine. And I was uncomfortable when the dentist wiped his fingers on the paper bib over my barely budding breasts. 

Flash forward to my wonderful dentist today, despite his discovering the two huge cavities consuming two teeth under fillings put in by Dr. Horrible Dentist over 60 years before.

My dentist has the name of a city near our place in Southern France. He's Swiss as I am now. 

He explains what he's doing in his perfect English. He shows me X-rays.

Once in the chair, I know if I feel even a quiver of pain, he'll stop and give my mouth another shot.

Above the chair is a television screen. The nature film the first day was all about penguins. I adore penguins. The second day it was African animals. I was tempted to ask him to move his head as he bent over me blocking 10% of the screen.

There was music in the background, including the late Daniel Levy singing from the musical Dix Commandments, a favorite song.

Although he speaks English with me, I understood what he was saying in French to his assistant, a dental student. In the corner, a young woman in a white coat took notes. She was studying to be an assistant. His dentistry lecture was fascinating.

Instead of waiting days for a crown, I loved that he showed me a computer screen, where he designed the crown which was ready in less than 20 minutes. 

People question my sanity when I say I preferred that to going to a shopping mall.

I hate malls. They are basically the same, same stores, almost the same merchandise, stuff I neither need nor want. If I have to go to a mall, I want to go only to the store, find what I want within minutes. If I can't find it and no clerk is there to help, I try and figure out how to do without it and leave. I try not to feel sad at the precious minutes of my life that were wasted or the 30 things I would rather have been doing.

Often at a mall, my husband goes in. I read in the car, or have a tea in a cafe with a lovely pastry. I'll do a bit of people watching.

I know I sound like a COW, a Crabby Old Woman. One of the advantages of COWdom is doing what I want without needing approval of others.

Mimosa Triggered Memories

 

The Mimosa is telling me spring is on its way. The florist has a cart piled high with the flowers, sprigs selling for 3.50 Euros. If I would go into the forest, mimosa covers huge trees. One would almost need sunglasses to look at them.

Growing up in New England, I loved the seasons, especially autumn with all the bright red leaves. Winter with its snow for building snow forts and pouring hot maple syrup on snow to make candy was fun. And listening to the radio for no school announcements even if Reading was low on the list read alphabetically bring back good winter memories. My daughter had it easier when we lived in Boston with its B. Now it's online.

Daffodils, iris, roses, violets all took their turn in our garden.

Living in France and Switzerland the markers are different.

Southern France doesn't offer much in snow. But spring is marked with mimosa and artichokes, which I love. My husband? Not so much.

There are carnivals even in small towns, refreshing because there's nothing commercial about them but done by the locals.

The road to Ceret village is a sea of pink flowers that will turn into cherries. Marché merchants will have tables and tables of cherries in a few weeks. 

For this blog, I decided to post the photo of the cherry-decorated butter dish. We bought it on a cherry-buying-musée visit. Their museum has beautiful Picasso pottery, many impressionist paintings and usually some interesting exhibition.  

Bags of walnuts from Grenoble appear in October as do Christmas lights hung to turn the village into a Christmas fairyland. I know it's early but the same company does all the surrounding villages and has to start early.

I also love the Swiss season markers. If plan well I can manage to enjoy seasonal events in both countries. Someone once called me a cake eater from wanting my cake and eating it too. As far as reveling in seasonal changes in two places I do cake eating very well. 

When I first moved to Switzerland, I was told about the beautiful falls. Hmm... yellow leaves are beautiful, but I still miss the New England reds after three decades.

There's always the first fondues and raclettes of the season. The Canton of Valais has a special dish with the first pressing of grapes, apples, cheese and maybe sausage (locally made of course). The same area is a great producer of apricots in the spring.

Butchers and restaurants announce La chasse est ici. The hunt is here. As an almost vegetarian, I will always feel sorry for Bambi's mother, less sorry for the boar hanging at the butcher's. We have boars in France as well. More than once, they've dug up the small garden with its memorial to the soldiers who died in the wars.

Where I worked, when the Nouveau Beaujolais arrived, we would have a company-wide apèro with the first bottles and other goodies.

Geneva does not have much snow, but it is a short drive up a mountain find sit.

We can see more snow on Mt. Blanc and the Jura in the late fall. All along the lake Christmas trees of all sizes are for sale and Christmas markets with its chalets filled with handicrafts (I've found beautiful handmade pens several times. I swear I write better with them.)

In Geneva, there's the Escalade https://www.facebook.com/GenevaTourism/videos/1986569191851031/ where the city goes back to 1602 to celebrate the city defeating the French who were trying to scale the walls. Lots of hot spiced wine and hot vegetable soup which is a reminder of Mère Royaume throwing a pot of hot soup on the attackers, long enough to give the soldiers time to arrive. Chocolate marmites with marzipan veggies are on sale every where. 

Only in the first couple of months each year can we buy carnivals, a fried and sugared dough. There's some on my counter as I write this, The kettle is boiling for tea.

Throughout the year there are fêtes and carnivals from the simple Fêtes des Fontains in the Vals de Travers where neighbors decorate their nearby fountain to large celebrations like Bern's onion festival.   Zwibel Märit  https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?q=onion+festival+bern&&mid=43278CA44C30DD6041BE43278CA44C30DD6041BE&FORM=VAMGZCt. 

So many of the fests and festivals are a celebration of a country's patrimony but they attract people of many nationalities who enjoy the richness of shared cultures.

Free Write - If it Were History

 

Julia, Rick, and D-L take turns in offering weekly prompts. This week Julia made a change from the usual photo or sentence that we use to get our creative flows going. "Give me a word," she said to Rick. 

He hesitated, then said, "History." 

Julia worked it into a sentence, "If it were history..." 

Julia's Free Write

It was a beautiful sunny day, mid-morning and before recess. He was bored. Why, oh why was he stuck here, listening to his classmates drone on and on, reciting times tables.

It was a mixed-grade class, so these were the older kids: himself he was glad that he had finally caught the trick of adding 10 to any other number and writing it properly.

Then there was reading and writing. He had always loved books and words so that was almost fun. Even his grandmother thought that he wrote well – high praise indeed from someone so old that she hadn’t even had a tablet or cell phone when she was in school!

Spring was just around the corner so looking out the windows was somewhat distracting; watching the buds and leaves starting to form or unfurl.

Was it not almost time for the bell and recess!

Now, if only it were history: he loved hearing about the “olden” days; the re-constitution of naval battles or even medieval times and the clash of swords.

If only it were history: that he would enjoy.

D-L's Free Write

Dr. Goler* was called before the university president. "There's been a complaint about your course."

Dr. Goler tilted her head.

"You aren't teaching the approved curriculum," he said.

"I didn't agree to it. I showed the committee documentation that proved it wrong. They rejected it."                                   

"That doesn't matter."

Dr Goler looked at the president. He was a good-looking man in a business suit and a graduate of some podunk Southern religious  college.

His appointment?

It was bought by a hefty donation that pulled the college back from bankruptcy.

"Okay, I'll teach the approved shit." Dr. Goler almost never used bad language.

During her 2 p.m. Wednesday class, she taught the approved material.

Five minutes before the class ended, she told them, "Tear up what you just wrote. What I just gave you was fake history." She handed out a paper to them with her original lecture. "Real history, provable history, is what I just gave you."

She knew she needed to look for a new job.

Rick's Free Write

History is a record of things that happened and real people. Unfortunately, history is written from the bias of the historian. And subject to revision by other historians or politicians who control what gets cancelled or overwritten to suit their ideology.

But what if, in the future, possibly the very near future, almost nothing is real? If words and images and sound and video are non-real, artificial? And we can’t tell the artificial from the real?

Is it history? Or is it simulation? And if you are interacting with AI, for example an online chatbot avatar, is your side of the discussion or sensual experience real? Or imagined?

Some years back, I took my grandkids horseback riding. A real experience. But it was raining so I didn’t get any photos as keepsakes. My daughter remarked, “If it’s not on Facebook, it didn’t happen.”

We’re rapidly reaching a point where we can’t trust anything. Certainly not the government. Probably not social media. Maybe only our closest family and friends. And even then…

And now we can’t trust history.

*I used the name of a late history professor history. She was the best history teacher, I ever had.

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/ 

To become an Alien

 

There is a new move for the TSA to consider/call every non-U.S. citizen entering the United States an alien...not a tourist, not a business person but an alien.

Welcome Aliens - Not.

It's enough those from many countries need to pay an extra fee. Never mind the billions of dollars that are being lost.

If I were to go to the U.S., which I will not unless my daughter is dying, I would be considered an alien.

Î am also Swiss. I am also Canadian. I renounced my U.S. nationality because the U.S. with its FATCA laws made financial normalcy as an expat anywhere in the world, almost impossible, even something as simple as a deposit/withdrawal account. 

There is a great feeling of sadness. This is my birth country that I'm watching self-destruct, that are hurting its people and with its anti-climate stance the planet. 

I grew up in Massachusetts during what would become a golden age. Not that there weren't major things to be corrected, but I saw the passage of civil rights legislation and laws that gave me a better chance at the good things which as a woman were denied me. Climate problems were recognized. Improvement seeds were planted for international co-operation and some were budding. It was a start. 

The future is visualized by the current U.S. administration is for the white male world that will do anything to enrich themselves and the rest of humanity be damned.

The Hamburger that Wasn't

 

Sometimes I teeter on vegetarianism. Sometimes not.

Every now and then I eat at McDos, the French nickname for a well known hamburger chain.

When my daughter was a toddler and my mother took us to eat at a nice restaurant, my daughter threw a tomato slice over her shoulder. It landed on a bald man's head. 

I knew she needed to learn how to eat properly in public, but with a limited budget we went to McDos.

Living in Switzerland a few decades later, I'd be writing in my second floor bedroom. My housemate would be working in her basement office below. Infrequently on a Sunday, I'd get a text, "Wanta sin?" Translate McDonald's. We would.

That's all history. It's been a long, long time since I've eaten at any.

My husband Rick and Sherlock, our dog, were driving back from Southern France to our Swiss home, a six-eight hour drive. There are many good Autoroute food choices, but many don't allow dogs. To add to the hunger problem on Sundays many non-Autoroute restaurants are closed.

We were really, really hungry. We decided on McDo to buy something and eat in the car.

The drive-up was easy to find, and we stopped at the first to check out the menu. A voice kept ordering us to move up. At the next drive-up the order taker did not understand our French and turned us over to an alleged English speaker. At least he tried.

We gave up on parts of what we want to order, corrected the order more than once. We were told our number was 14, and finally advanced. Food was in my future, I thought.

I was wrong!

Next problem. There were no signs, on the ground or on the building where to pay, so we followed the line that might lead us to pick up. The car in front of us stayed, stayed, stayed after the cars in front of him received their bags from staff. 

I went inside to check. One of the employees told me where to pay, but the kid at the counter didn't want my money. He couldn't find any order 14. I had to go to the pay-up line outside. He gave me instructions on how to find it. 

My stomach was growling.

We finally found the right window, reordered because they had cancelled our order and paid. We received two bags marked 14 and found a parking place.

Oops...my smoked hamburger was a chicken wrap, barely edible, the French fries limp, the Coke watery. Rick's hamburger was passable. There was some other drink we didn't order. List 14 was correct, but the items weren't. 

We'd bought a Happy Meal for Sherlock. Our spoiled pup loves hamburger. He ignored it. 

All we could do was laugh.

We drove on, hunger abated. "At least there's a game with the Happy Meal," Rick said.