Thursday, June 04, 2026

Floating Petals

 

Two champagne glasses. A petal in each.  

It was the 11th anniversary celebration of our official marriage. Since Bartavelle is our favorite all time, all places restaurant, a meal there has meaning besides incredible food.

I say our official marriage for a reason. In Switzerland and many other countries only the ceremony performed by a city official is valid. A couple can marry 1000 times in a church, but it has no legal standing. Rick and I had exchanged vows 13 years before in a commitment ceremony attended by 40 friends from seven countries. It counted the most for us.

Bartavelle had served a meal for our out-of-country guests the night before the commitment ceremony. One friend mentions it whenever we eat together. "It's good, but it isn't Bartavelle."

The owners of the restaurant are artists. Thibault, the award-winning chef, is an artist in food. His wife Stephanie is an artist not just in all-things restaurant, but in painting as well. We have several of her works in both France and Switzerland. One of our patio walls, features a mural.

Our celebration meal was no exception to the fantastic food. Except there was an exception to the exception.

As Rick and I chatted, I looked at the champagne glasses, the petals made their way to the top and down and up and down, swimming gracefully among the bubbles. 

Stephanie may not have known it, but the petals in champagne was a symbol of our marriage. Even with ups and downs our relationship has been like a fine champagne. 

 

 

Wednesday, June 03, 2026

Free Write: The Empty Garage (almost)



Julia's Free Write

Empty!

Her head was empty.

It had been a bit of a struggle the past few weeks: her little boy ending up in emergency; followed by her husband’s mild stroke, never mind her best friend’s heart-breaking diagnosis.

Then there was the world situation.

Yes, there had been good times – and would be again. She’d weather the medical crises, she’d ignore the world for a while.

What she could no longer ignore was the empty refrigerator, the ever-diminishing supplies in both freezer and cupboards.

A shopping trip was no longer something to be put off so she started the list (she was good on making lists, then forgetting them and so ending up with items lacking every time), ready the bags.

During the short drive she emptied her head, enjoyed the beautiful fall day and arrived five minutes later at her favorite mini department store.

Miracle of miracles, the car park was almost empty!

D-L's Free Write

Marilyn clutched her note and text book to her chest as she entered the parking garage. 

Only one car. 

Hers.

It was after 10 p.m. 

She was exhausted. Her alarm had gone of at 5:30. She'd worked all day, then gone to her statistics class. God, she hated statistics. 

Afterwards she went to the university library to research her psych class paper.

She thought of all the Midsomer Murder shows where women were killed in empty places like this garage.

Three rats ran under her car. Yuck!

She forced herself to unlock her car door. Although not religious, she prayed the rats would stay away from her. 

Before she could start her car, another car rushed into the garage, slammed on its brakes, opened its door and shoved a body, a bloodied body out and sped off.

She didn't move until he was gone. She grabbed her phone and dialed 911. 

Rick's Free Write 

 "I’ve staked out the dad’s car but I think I may have been made,” Jacob said, reporting in on the hour. “No one came back to the car, and the magasin has been closed for more than 30 minutes, and there are no other vehicles in the garage, not even an employee scooter.”

“Hang there awhile longer, Jacob,” his handler said. “They may be monitoring the garage exit to see if you leave.”

“I’m concerned about the cameras in the garage. I’m going to have to ditch this car soon.”

“You shouldn’t have been so obvious. You should have left when the last car took off. Didn’t I teach you anything?”

They had been watching the parents’ house in the Geneva suburbs for a month. They were certain Garrett and Melanie were hiding out in the region and would try to make contact.

They had lost their trail in Argelés after the fire. But they had picked them up from facial recognition in Grenoble. So they were confident Switzerland was their destination.

“H-h-hold on,” stuttered Jacob,” I see a shadow moving.”

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the airline industry  top stories . 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/ 

 



Sunday, May 31, 2026

Sunday Morning

 

 


A photo of Mille et Une (1001), a tea room two street corners from our front door. The 13th century church bells are ringing. The church is where we turn the first corner.

After buying our freshly baked bread and veggies from the friendly green grocer and baker, we sit at 1001.

We are greeted by the owner. 

Normally I'd have tea, but it's hot so I select local apple juice. Rick sticks with his normal hot chocolate.  

There's breeze countering the heat. 

We people and puppy watch walking by.

My husband and I chat. 

True luxury is this. 

Happiness is this.

  

Saturday, May 30, 2026

Coat Hangers-A Death Becomes a Symbol

 

Joannie told about hearing her mother’s screams from the bedroom and

when she went in to help, she saw her father with his hands around her mother’s neck.

 

During the Vietnam War on 8 June 1972, an iconic photo was taken. It showed naked nine-year old Phan Thi Kim Phuc running away from napalm bombs.

A picture is worth a thousand words. The anti-abortion movement uses photos of fetuses to make the point that babies are being killed. 

Not used as often, but still seen on posters at pro-choice protests, is an equally discomforting if not shocking photo of Gerri Santoro on the floor, next to the bed in a Norwich, Connecticut, motel. She is naked, in the position of a frog, blood coming out of her vagina. Her head is turned to the right. Her right hand is covered with what might be a pair of underpants. Her purse is in the lower right-hand corner of the photo.

She is dead.

She bled to death after her boyfriend failed to abort her 8 June 1964. The medical examiner ruled her death was caused by an air embolism from an unskilled surgical procedure. 

Why Gerri Needed an Abortion

Gerri Santoro was 28, married, the mother of two daughters, Joannie and Judy.

She might have passed into oblivion if Ms. Magazine had not printed that photo in April 1973 along with a story about abortion. According to Roberta Brandes Gratz at Ms., they thought the woman was anonymous.

Leona, Gerri’s sister and a Ms. subscriber, recognized her sister. Her first reaction was horror at her sister’s exploitation.

Over the years her opinion changed.

In 1993 she participated in a pro-choice march carrying a sign with that photo and the words, “This was my sister.” Gerri’s photo, when she was a smiling, healthy woman, was on the other side of the sign.

Leona participated in a documentary called Leona’s Sister Gerri, made by Jane Gillooy (See my post in a few days) in 1995. Her daughters, brother and best friend, Joyce Garboni, also appeared.

Gerri was one of five girls in a 15-child family of Ukrainian descent. They lived on a Connecticut farm.

Leona described her sister as a kid who loved to climb trees. A brother remembered Gerri rushed through morning chores to be able to get to the bathroom first to have enough hot water.

Joyce Garboni was her best friend from the day they met on the school bus. During high school, they worked nights at a factory making condensers for radios, which gave Joyce enough money to buy a 1949 Dodge. The girls would cut classes and change in the car from the school dress code requiring skirts into jeans. Often, they went to the Windham Diner.

Joyce planned to marry in September, after graduation. Gerri kept saying that she would beat her friend to the altar even though she didn’t have a boyfriend.

Then Gerri met Sebastian (Sam) Santoro at a bus stop. They married 18 September 1954, one week before Joyce did.

The saying, “Marry in haste, repent in leisure,” applied to her marriage. What Gerri didn’t repent were her two daughters, Joannie and Judy.

Sam had been put in an orphanage along with his brother when his widowed mother could not cope with four children. His mother kept her daughters, which may have explained his treatment of women. The reason behind his actions did not make Gerri’s beatings any lighter. His daughters were not exempt: Joannie and Judy often had a belt applied to their behinds, far too much, according to Gerri’s brother.

Joyce told how negative Sam was about everything, liked by no one.

He worked in a meat room and was subject to terrible headaches, which Gerri used to explain his negative attitudes.

Sam believed if they moved to the better climate in California, it would help his headaches. Although Gerri was reluctant, she gave in, driving herself and her daughters across country after Sam had settled there. Joannie remembers how much fun her mother made the trip.

California did not improve her marital situation.

An Abused Wife Looks for Happiness

Joannie told about hearing her mother’s screams from the bedroom and when she went in to help, she saw her father with his hands around her mother’s neck. When Sam saw Joannie, he told her they were playing a game, an excuse that she heard more than once. Her mother seemed to go along with it, although Joannie wasn’t convinced.

Coming home from school in the spring of 1963, Joannie found their car packed. The two girls and Gerri returned to Connecticut without saying goodbye to their father.

This period was a happy time for Gerri’s daughters. Joanie remembers how much she loved the bedroom in her grandparents’ farm house where they lived without their father. She loved how her mother came in mornings and rolled up the shade, the flowers, the smell of the grass.

Judy’s memories of that time were how her mother always smelled of Juicy Fruit gum.

Gerri found work at the Mansfield Training School where she met Clyde Dixon. They became lovers.

Joyce said she understood why. He was everything Sam wasn’t, a talker, pleasant, except he was also married. 

Looking for an Abortion

Gerri found herself pregnant. She asked Joyce if her husband could get her some ergot, a fungus that grows on rye which had been used through the ages by midwives and doctors for abortions. She claimed it was for a friend.

Joyce believes that the ergot wasn’t for a pregnant “friend” but for Gerri. Over the next few weeks she debated confronting Gerri. The day she decided to do it, she went to Gerri’s house and found her friend not well. When Gerri told her that the “friend” was no longer pregnant, Joyce dropped the subject.

No one knows if Gerri was ill from the ergot or not. We know she did not abort the baby.

Time was running out. Sam had written a letter saying he was coming home and he wanted to take the girls to the beach for two weeks. Gerri expressed fear that if he found out she was pregnant by another man, he would kill her.

Clyde Dixon talked with Dr. Milton Morgan, who told him how to do an abortion and loaned Dixon the instruments. They decided that 8 June 1964 would be the day.

Joanie remembers her mother leaving that night. She begged to go with her. When her mother said “no” Joannie hid under a blanket in the backseat of the car. Her mother saw her and sent her back into the house.

No one knows where things went wrong. When did Dixon abandon Gerri? Was it when she started to bleed out of control? Was it after she died?

Leona, who had been at her brother’s that night, came home to be told that Gerri had called her and was crying, but said she would call back later.

She never did. 

The Children and Family Suffer Too

The girls remember being told that their mother had died in a car accident. Joannie said it didn’t make sense because the car was in perfect condition. The story changed to being hit while walking. Only later did they put it all together.

When the photo of Gerri on the floor of the hotel room became public, Joannie originally reacted negatively to the treatment of her “beautiful mom,” but later she became active in the pro-choice movement, marching in pro-choice events.v

Judy admits having an abortion as a teenager. She says she believes abortions are wrong and she will have to answer for what she did. At the same time, she is not willing to make the choice for any other woman.

The film shows Gerri as a loving mom. The girls talk about her always making their Halloween costumes. Joannie says she does the same thing today for her own children.

Clyde Dixon spent a year in prison and returned to his wife and family. He died in 1979. Sam Santoro died the year previous.

Note: This is a chapter from my non-fiction book Coat Hangers and Knitting Needles, about abortion before Roe v. Wade. Over the next few weeks, I will publish all the chapters. Borrow freely if it will help reinforce anything that allows women to control their own bodies, a right that is systematically being taken from American women. 

Dame Carcas is Calling

 


My first visit to Carcassonne was in the 1980s when I was researching Heretic and Lovers. Although the book won a prize for an unpublished novel, no publisher bought it. However, the section about Jacques Fournier, later Pope Benedict XII, found its way into my novel Murder in Paris

The area has been inhabited from Neolithic period through the Romans and served as a place for traders.

Sculpture of Dame Carcas at the city's entrance.

The myth was that the original fortified castle was occupied and ruled by Dame Carcas. When the city was under a long siege, people were starving. Carcas gathered all the grain she could find, fed the last pig and threw it off the castle walls.

Thinking that if the pig could eat well after such a long seige, the army gave up and left. Dame Carcas was so happy she rang the castle bells. The army head was told "Carcas Sonne," Carcas calls, and thus the city got its name. 

In the 1200s, the city was a Cathar stronghold.

Viollet-le-Duc redesigned the city but was much criticized for using slate tiles.

Today the city maintains both a medieval feel and that of a tourist center. 

I've visited with guests too many times to count, even staying at one of the ancient hotels. Always while there, I make sure I eat cassoulet. The recipe follows at the end of this blog.

Driving my daughter to the Toulouse Airport last week so she could get a last look before her next visit, we stopped at the Aire de Carcassonne. French autoroutes have wonderful rest stops. Some include cultural areas with poetry, tributes to artists of all disciplines, play and picnic areas and of course toilets. Some stops also have restaurants and stores to buy food and souvenirs.

We stopped for the view of the city across a large field. There were also many decorative tiles with historical information.

Cassoulet Recipe

IngredientsQuantity
Haricot beans1 pound
Pork shoulder or butt1.5 pounds, cut into pieces
Bacon4-6 slices
Sausages (e.g., Toulouse)2-3, sliced
Onion1, diced
Garlic4-5 cloves, minced
Carrot1, chopped
Diced tomatoes1 can (14 ounces)
Vegetable broth4 cups
Red wine1/4 cup
ThymeFresh, a few sprigs
ParsleyFresh, a few sprigs
Allspice1 teaspoon
Salt and pepper

To ta 

  • Set the oven to 250°F (120°C).
  • Simmer the haricot beans in water for 20 minutes-
  • Drain.
  • In a large bowl, toss the pork and bacon with allspice, salt, and pepper. Some cooks add lamb here.
  • In a Dutch oven, layer the beans, vegetable broth, diced tomatoes, onion, carrot, garlic, and the seasoned meats. Add thyme and parsley in a bundle for easy removal later.
  • Cover the pot.
  • Bake for 2 hours.
  • Stir in wine.
  • Uncover.
  • Bake for an additional hour until everything is tender. 
  • Dame Carcas, I'll be back soon for cassoulet. Maybe in the fall after tourist season.

    Friday, May 29, 2026

    House Calls

     


    As a child in Reading MA when I was sick, Dr. Halligan came to the house. He looked like an oversized leprechaun with thick glasses. He had a well-worn, black leather bag containing thermometer, stethoscope, and a black, rectangular case that zipped. Inside were tubes of little pills. One was baby blue, another soft beige.

    House calls ended when I was a teenager UNTIL I had breast cancer in Switzerland. A nurse came to my house each day to give me a shot at 16 CHF ($20) a visit payable on my insurance. 

    When I fell in Southern France and needed 9 stitches in my head, a nurse came to my house each day to clean them until they were removed.  

    When Rick was walking Sherlock one morning, he met a woman, a vet, whose practice was all house calls. She gave him her card.

    Sherlock has been having skin problems. He has had tummy problems for all his eight years. Although we love our French and Swiss vets we decided to give her a try.

    Today she arrived at our door and whisked out her computer and quickly gathered all the necessary information. She made friends with Sherlock, approved most of the Swiss/French vets' recommendations but also made a few adjustments while making suggestions we haven't tried. She will be back next week for follow-up.

    Will it work?

    Stay tuned. Film at 11. 

    Thursday, May 28, 2026

    I Was Wrong

     


    I don't want to read books written by a favorite author with some other writer. Sorta like having lunch with a best friend and have another person bust in and interrupt.

    Thus, when I started Mad Honey by Jodi Picoult, whom I adore as a writer, I was a chapter into it before I saw that Jennifer Finney Boylan was also a writer. By then I was hooked.

    The books I like best are those I live in. I've been a librarian at the American library in Paris in WWII. (I actually did a reading there, but right before Covid) I've eaten bread in Roman times, walked across the Pyrenees escaping the Nazis, lived in Palestine. In New Hampshire, I raised bees in Mad Honey.

    Besides the story and as a writer, I was intrigued in how the two writers worked together. They told me in the notes. Try as I might I couldn't figure out who typed the original words, corrected typos, rearranged sentences, added a detail.

    Several characters, flashbacks worked on two levels . . . for me as a reader while admiring them as writers, craftswomen.

    I want to fly to New Hampshire some day when I can reenter the United States, and sit down with the characters. I want to ask Olivia, Jordan, Asher, Ava what has happened to them since the book ended.

    It's 8:55. My husband is walking Sherlock the dog and buying fresh bread from the boulangerie. I'll shower, we'll have petite dejeuner before going to l'Hostalet for our morning tea and hot chocolate. We may see neighbors who will join us. This is not an interruption. 

    My husband and I need to get back to our writing at some point. Olivia, Jordan, Asher, Ava are still with me, a reminder that I was ever so wrong about jointly written books.

      


       

    Wednesday, May 27, 2026

    Free Write --The Wine/Champagne Glasses

     

    Rick's prompt was a photo of glasses. Champagne glasses? Wine glasses? Why a spot of light? What did they represent? 

    Rick's Free Write

    When the waiter set the two glasses on the table, there was a flash of light, the afternoon sun reflecting through the liquid. I took it as a sign that we had made a good choice to sit and chill under a thatched umbrella. Not because it was too hot. Indeed, it was just right, to channel Goldilocks. A respite from the weeks of borderline terrible weather. Wave after wave of rain and gloom and leaky skylights, followed by days of Tramontane winds, cold air rolling off the Pyrenees at highway speed-limit rates. It seemed winter would never end and we were already in May. This was the first day of decent temperatures, dry, only a slight breeze. The perfect time to re-start our personal café culture of people-watching.

    Turns out it was our one day of Spring, as the whole of Europe has now fast-forwarded into summer with record-high temperatures. Two weeks ago the forecast for the entire summer was for nothing more than 30C. Today 36 in the village, 39 for some places nearby (+100F). How could they get it so wrong?

    In the heat, the villagers shift from their normal turtle pace to snail. The heat saps the energy. Even the dog gets more lethargic, and he sleeps most of the day under cooler conditions. Maybe he’ll bark less. (And on cue, off he goes!)

    Julia's  Free Write

    Imagination can be a wonderful thing, but it can also be a terrible tribulation!

    There they were: at a crossroads.

    This summer, ok, late spring - but since the climate has gone bonkers it felt like mid-summer already – taking a “break from it all”.

    Life had been a bit rough lately and it was time to reflect, to look at the options, to discuss the future – or lack thereof – and to try and make some decisions.

    At this point, seated on a terrace, the story could go anywhere:

    y) a break-up of a friendship; an engagement; a marriage

    b) a celebration of any of the three above? As in the beginning of a friendship; a proposal of marriage; a wedding celebration

    c) simply two same-sex friends finally catching up

    d) two just-became-of-legal-age kids celebrating with their first out-in-the-open Prosecco?

    You can see a writer’s problem – too much imagination!

    And that with only the shadow of champagne glasses! 

    D-L's Free Write

    She filled his wine glass.

    She filled her glass.

    They picked up their glasses. 

    Santé

    Cheers

    Good Health 

    They barely touched their glasses.

    He looked at her eyes. He saw whom he imagined long ago. What he had seen was there but wasn't,

    She imagined in his eyes what she had seen in him long ago, but now saw nothing like it.

    Neither were bad people.

    After five years they just wanted different things.

    What now? she asked.

    Call our lawyers, I guess.

    Sad.

    Rick's Free Write

    Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the airline industry  top stories . 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/