This and That

I am about to transfer my life back to Geneva, taking the night train that lets me sleep to the gentle swaying of the bed. There’s lots of planned activities: a play, an 80th birthday party, a master writing class and the end of the year writing dinner with readings at the Café du Soleil.

I’m looking forward to seeing my housemate Julia and lunching with different friends. I have missed walking along the lake and as interesting as the Pyrenees are, they lack the majesty of the Alps. Even after 15 years of Swiss life the Alps shock me with their beauty. When once I thought I would take this beauty for granted, I was wrong. I will never stop marvelling at my good fortune to live where exceptional beauty is considered normal.

I want to eat filet des perches, tailleul bread, sushi (I know that’s not Swiss), to visit the library and to have Munchkin the cat curl up on my bed or lap as I am writing at the computer. If I am lucky I will see Phoenix, the remarkable Jack Russell of a Swiss friend. This is a dog who when on a walk gets tired, sits by a bus stop refusing to budge. I can report, he doesn't always chose the right direction, reassuring me he is only a dog genius and not competition for Einstein. I want to see the progress on the rebuilding in front of the UN and read the Tribune de Geneve in paper format not electronic.

Rather than buy any more food, I decided to treat myself to magret de canard in Banyuls sauce at Les Flowers. My favourite place next to the plant surrounded stone fountain was free. Eating alone in a restaurant has never held the horror it does for some women. In a way I can concentrate on the good taste in a way I can’t when forced to participate in conversations.

A very pregnant woman waddled in. She wore a form fitting dress. Many pregnant French women in no way camouflage their pregnancies. I thought of my Victorian grandmother and her generation of women who did not leave the house when their stomachs began to protrude. Even when I lived in Germany in the 1960s, I seldom saw a heavily pregnant woman.

My maternity clothes were loose fitting dresses, far prettier than my mother’s tops and skirts with the elastic insert over the tummy.

As the pregnant woman lowered herself into her chair, it struck me as pregnancy has gone from something to hide to something to flaunt.