MAGA

How has Trump made America great again?

Millions unemployed and 100,000+ dead from a disease, and a pariah on the international stage.

That's not great.

Was America ever great?

Parts of it were. I grew up where it was "great" in a small New England Republican community. There were no homeless, no race problems.

There were financial differences. The family that invented the ace corners for photographs had more money than the shoemaker's family, but they were only poor in comparison, not the hungry, living with rats poor.

The Seventh Day Adventist family was not allow to have their laundry open on Sunday in place of their Saturday Sabbath. That was as close to religious intolerance seeping into law. Yes, Protestant kids were expected to marry into their own religion as were Catholic kids.

A bit of tribalism existed based on ethnic backgrounds depending on if you name had an O' or ended in an O for example. Never mind endings in stein, eau, etc.

We did have two black families, neither of which were integrated into the community. One family was headed by a man who owned the gas station. One was Bill Russell.

I thought every family had enough food, a car, a job, a chance to be anything they wanted. They could get the education and training they needed than set up their own families. Everything was possible if we just worked hard enough.

Unlike in most families, my mother was not a housewife. She was a trend setter. She worked first having her own business than as a successful journalist.

She never saw the need for the feminist movement because she never had let anything stop her from what she wanted. In a way, it was a role model for me, that made me push boundaries, but still as an educated white woman, doors would open that would be denied others. I only had to put my foot in to stop it shutting. Unlike my mother, I saw the need for a movement, so women like my mother, women like me didn't have to jam that foot in the door.

Only later did I learn about the treatment of Indians in the founding of the country, of sharecroppers, KKK and slums. I learned about the fight for unions that reduced the sweatshops.

Only when I read biographies and history books that went beyond the propaganda taught in schools did I learn that the America I grew up in, was not all of America or even most of America. There was a hidden underbelly.

I would like all of America to be somewhat like my childhood America, where everyone has a nice roof over their heads, a good education. Where when a person goes for a job the only thing considered are the qualifications.

I want to see an America where people feel they don't have just rights but responsibilities to the society as a whole. I look at the trash left on the beaches when people were allowed back on them. I see people screaming about wearing masks that might save other people from dying.

I want to see an America where truth matters.

I want to see an America where differences can be celebrated not used as a political weapon to keep others down.

I want to see where people are willing to share not just hoard.

I want to see America made great for the first time.

Silly me.

dog toys

Sherlock, our rescue pup, is one of the lucky ones. He found a home where he is adored and pampered (spoiled rotten is a better term).

He not only gets lots of lap time, playtime and good food, he has plenty of toys.

Two of his favorite toys, Lambchop and BooBoo were in the animal hospital waiting for repairs.

It took months, because when we went from our Geneva home to our French home for Easter we forgot them. Then we were stuck in quarantine until May 11 and when we got back to Geneva, I needed thread.

This morning surgery was completed.

We were curious if our dog would remember his once favorite toys. As soon as he saw them on the top of the chest of drawers he reacted pretty much like he does when a favorite friend shows up at the front door, tail wags, jumping and a welcoming bark.

They were back to their old games in second. I am not sure how soon I will be doing surgery again, but my thread and needle are ready.

Pens

Long before minimalism became the IN-Thing, I was a minimalist. I wanted nothing in my life that wasn't one or more of these three things: useful, beautiful, contained a memory. I never want two of things if one will do. I prefer to have things that can do double duty. Scissors replace a lot of household tools and do a better job, for example.

On the other hand I have a weakness for pens. I won't use the normal pens you buy by the dozen. They add clutter.

I want a pen that when I pick it up even for something as simple as writing out the grocery list it will enrich my life.

One example, the one in the photo, is the hand-made stone pen above. Rick gave it to me for Christmas 2018. I had spotted it at a Christmas marché in Ferney-Voltaire France when I was with my French "daughter" and her family.

I have other pens including a silver feather pen bought at auction with the World Council of Credit Unions where the proceeds went to help finance small business development in Africa.

My wedding pen was a silver fountain pen, presented to Rick and me by the mairie where we married. I have a set of wooden calligraphy pens.

Mostly I write by computer, but my special pens, add a whole dimension to my life, rather than an annoyance for an ordinary chore. When I have the occasion to write a thank-you or condolence note, rather than send a Jacquie Lawson computer card to type out a message, it adds a dimension. Although most of my writing is on the computer, when I free write in a café, a pen slows my thought process.

A Bic will never add a happiness dimension to my life while doing the simple task of jotting down words on a sheet of paper.

Absinthe

My first glass of absinthe was served to me by my landlord who had invited me to dinner along with his wife-to-be. It was 1990 and I had just moved to Motiers, a tiny village in the Vals de Travers. 

They spoke no English, I spoke no French, but he had been helpful in my settling in, taking me to a local fête, offering me a corner of the vegetable garden to plant. I watched as he poured a little in the glass, put a sugar cube on top and poured water over the cube melting it into a glass.

What a lovely ritual I thought. I sipped. Licorice. I hate licorice. I was polite and didn't spit it out. I was trying to integrate into my new country.

The next day at work when I told my co-worker about it, they told me absinthe was created in the Vals de Travers with Motiers being one of the producers. It had been illegal since 1909 but was still being moonshined all over the valley.

Absinthe is made from wormwood, anise, fennel and other herbs. It is a pretty green giving it its name, La fée verte of the green fairy.

Although popular with some of the famous artists like Hemingway, Joyce, Baudelaire, Picasso, Proust, etc., conservatives disapproved. It contained a chemical that made it somewhat addictive leading it to be banned country by country around the world where it was sold. Recent studies show the claims were exaggerated.

My cousin who lived in Garmish, Germany was fascinated and asked if I could buy some for him. I did, but I put it in a Ricard bottle. It too was a licorice tasting drink, which I found equally vile. I had no problems throwing the Ricard away and I figured if the bottle was examined by the police for any reason, I wouldn't be prosecuted for bootlegging.

Later in the 1990s,  a revival began and it is now legal.

Visiting my old home of Motiers today, I saw that the grocery store had become an absinthe store. Another place had become an absintherie, using the letters rie much like boulangerie for bakers or boucherie for butchers.

I'm sure the moonshiners of old are not the businessmen behind the local sales. Throughout the world there are some 200 brands, I've been told. I'm happy for them, as long as I don't have to taste it.

Human Capital Stock

 Fortunately my daughter in Boston is employed unlike millions of American. Sunday White House economic adviser Kevin Hassett on Sunday called laid-off employees "human capital stock." He wanted people to return to their jobs regardless of the dangers of the Covid-19 pandemic.

There have been times my daughter, through no fault of her own, has been unemployed. I always thought of her by her name or as my daughter during those periods. I realize now I was wrong. She was Human Capital Stock (HCS). 

Or perhaps even as an employed American she is still HCS. Should I stop thinking of her as an individual who makes me laugh often, who does beautiful needlework, who is generous. As HCS can she still love ice cream? 

Wait a minute -- after 9/11 George Bush told people to go shop making people consumers rather than citizens. Is being HCS a demotion?

A veteran's death

American Cemetery Florence, Italy

Growing up I never really knew my father's side of the family. My mother was too much of a snob to want us to have anything to do with those foreigners. They were French Canadians who had migrated to New England in the 1920s.

As an adult I got to know my aunts and uncles and my cousins. I discovered that they were not ignorant foreigners (all were naturalized, but were fun and very loving people).

I met most of them  for the first time when my father gave me a surprise bridal shower. I was about to go overseas to join my new husband who was stationed in Stuttgart, Germany. I opened envelope after envelope of money and looked around the room trying to identify who Aunt Evelyn or cousin Marilyn were.

Over the years, I got to know most of them, some became close. We've visited back and forth.

Lately my cousin Carol (whose daughter was born the same day as mine was) has been sending me information she has about the family. She was aware that pre-pandemic I was planning to visit my father's birthplace and the island where my grandfather had been in charge of lighthouse. That trip will mostly be postponed.

She sent me information about my Uncle Joseph, my Aunt Bert's twin. He was killed September 29, 1944 and was buried in the American Cemetery in Florence. I have the information I need to visit his grave.

I wish I could tell him about everyone in the family, of the things they did, the kids that were born, of life that went on afterwards, of the holiday get togethers with tons of food, of my dad's boat, of how happy Bert was when she moved to Florida in retirement. Or maybe that would be cruel, because it was what he had missed, of what war had robbed him of.  This is Memorial Day weekend. My Uncle Joseph was only one man of the hundreds of thousands who have died for the United States since 1775. How wonderful if there were never any more.

	31138333
Rank	Staff Sergeant U.S. Army
Entered Service From	Massachusetts
Date of Death	September 29 1944
Buried	Plot D Row 5 Grave 17 Florence American Cemetery Florence American Cemetery Via Cassia S.N. 50023 Tavarnuzze (Firenze) Italy

Beauty, Lake Geneva

Rick takes Sherlock out early mornings while I snuggle in bed. When he showed me this photo taken this morning during their walk, I began to think he got the better deal.

We are less than a two-minute walk from the lake--longer while Sherlock stops to sniff and pee. No matter what season, there is a gasp factor at the beauty.

Three days ago the Bise created white caps that looked like schools of oversized dolphins swimming toward the city. Today, the water looks flat enough to walk on.

Two of my stupider moments when I moved here was not to realize that the lake had many moods and that it would produce great eating fish.

In winter it can be angry enough to throw water across the streets running along side a sharp contrast to a summer's day when the water is so clear the indentation of each rock can be seen under the surface. I had a friend once that swore the lake had to be artificial it was so clear.

The lake has a surface area of 580km/224 sq.miles with an average depth of 154.4meters/507 feet. The maximum depth is 310meters/1,020 feet. A drop of water crossing from the East- Montreux to the West -Geneva can take 11 years, I've been told.

Prehistoric dwellings have been found underwater not far from shore and there are ships that have sunk to the bottom.

The "facts" about the lake can arouse my interest, but it is the sheer beauty that gives me ahhhhhh moments almost every time I look. I admit my eyes have become spoiled by its beauty.

Abortion fakery

I was consumed by the topic of abortion prior to Roe v. Wade in the year it took me to write Coat Hangers and Knitting Needles. My goal was not to make money but to send it to every Pro-Life leader and legislator I came across. I have done that thanks to the help of my daughter.

The stories of women trapped in unwanted pregnancies and what they were willing to do to end them were horrific going back to ancient Egypt when women used crocodile dung in their vaginas. I lost sleep I was so moved by their stories.

 The stories weren't just about the dead women, but their families: children raised without a mother, sisters lost, parents who outlived their daughters. 

I can say I don't like abortion, but I am a realist that knows a woman who wants one will find a way to get one. A rich woman can go wherever she needs for a safe one: a poor woman will resort to whatever she can either to back alleys or dangerous mechanical or drug means.

I've watched in horror as politicians, mainly men, some of whom were later revealed to have paid for the abortions of their mistresses (not all) deal with the wombs of women where they have no business.

Yes, women are in the Pro-Life movement, but in sending out the books, the majority were sent to men.

Now it has been revealed that Norma McCorvey, the plaintiff in Roe v. Wade has flipped her stance again. She was not a good poster child for the cause, but I felt sorry for her. Her life was a series of disasters. Even when she flipped and became a spokesperson for Pro-Life I felt sorry for her. She seemed only to be wanted, an undercurrent in so many of the interviews I watched.

Now, in a deathbed confession she admitted that she was paid to change her position to the Pro-Life stance.  There is a new documentary where she says, “I was the big fish ... I think it was a mutual thing. I took their money and they’d put me out in front of the cameras and tell me what to say. It was all an act. I did it well, too. I am a good actress. Of course, I’m not acting now.”

Two of the religious leaders involved in promoting McCorvey spoke in the documentary. One had regrets, the other did not. 

Rev Flip Benham said, “She chose to be used ... That’s called work. That’s what you’re paid to be doing!” 

Rev Rob Schenck said, “For Christians like me, there is no more important or authoritative voice than Jesus ... What does it profit in the end if he should gain the whole world and lose his soul?’ When you do what we did to Norma, you lose your soul.”

I sent both Benham and Schenck my book. They did not respond, nor did I expect them to. 

Their cause is an attack on my gender and seems more like a power game.

To all Pro-Lifers, I have a message -- Leave women alone. Take your energies and put them to make it possible for more women to keep their babies if they are undecided for economic reasons. They need affordable day care, food, medical coverage as a start. They need to be able to get birth control at places like Planned Parenthood so a second unwanted pregnancy won't happen. And if it does, give them the alternative of a safe abortion.

Passports

9/11 was a scary time. For once if something happened to my beloved stepmom in Florida or my daughter in Boston, I could not get to them from Geneva, Switzerland. The air lanes over the U.S. opened very quickly, however and the panic passed.

The pandemic has created a similar situation. Even if we are allowed into another country, we may not be allowed to reach an airport or cross a border by land to get to the airport. For example, many people who live just across the French/Swiss border on the French side would have to change countries to use the Geneva airport. Part of the airport is considered French territory but it necessary to go through Switzerland.

And even if they did cross the border, the number of flights are reduced.

My stepmom has since passed away but my daughter still lives in Boston and if she had a crisis, despite my Swiss passport and ESTA form, I could not get to her.

If I had a crisis, she could not get to me.

She told me there is another layer of potential problems. Right before the pandemic closed the world as we knew it, she sent her old passport in for renewal. She hops across the ocean frequently, but she had no immediate travel plans.

We just read an article that they've stopped processing passport applications, although they said there were some exceptions for emergencies. I suppose if I were in the hospital we could get some kind of documentation, but even if she escaped the U.S. there's no guarantee she'd be allowed into the country nor the hospital.

It's not like we can talk to one another on FB and say, "Why don't you come to dinner tomorrow night?" and we rush to the airport for an overseas flight, but there's comfort in knowing we can. 

Only now we can't.

Lexington

"Well, I think it is bloody stupid." I have my first line of my next book about events leading up to and including the battle of Lexington and Concord.

I suspect most of it will be from the point of view of two British soldiers, but there's a man who makes fire buckets and his daughter, Bostonians, who are creeping in as is the couple who just moved to Boston so he could be the head of the consulate. A brand new Park Ranger keeps saying she wants a role too.

There is tons of research to do. Normally, I write in order, but I think it is important to get the ideas down knowing that there may be hundreds of changes, rearrangements and writing tossed.

There was one novel I wrote covering several decades. I wasn't sure whether to do it chronologically or go back and forth starting from present day.

I finally wrote a summary of each chapter on a different file card, then divided them into chronological order, divided them into piles A and B. I took one from pile A, one from pile B, one from A, one from B except in a couple of cases when I did two or three from one pile. At the end there were a few As left over which were all current time. Then I rearranged the chapters on the computer to match the pile order. When I read through the manuscript it worked.

This may be the case with Lexington.

I also am keeping a file on the characters as I think of them, although I am not sure where they will go. In a way it is a bit like the auditioning for a part.

And I am contacting people for information, following up on things I found on the net.

I LOVE BEING A WRITER!

 

 

Anniversary

 The marie where Rick and I became a legal couple

Five years ago today Rick and I, accompanied by our witnesses/friends/family of choice Julia and Scott to legalize the marriage vows we had made before 40 families and friends from seven countries two years before. We passed the wine press to enter the marie (village town hall)

In France, Switzerland and many other countries, the only marriages that have legal standing are done at whatever city hall prevails.

We were greeted warmly and shown in to a room that had been set up for the event. It included a table where two officials sat. The four of us were in chairs on the opposite. A huge bouquet of assorted flowers was on the table. 

We listened to the women official read our duties and responsibilities as a couple and family in a room. We had to repeat some of these things. Rick, who at the time knew little French never believed that he agreed to a long list of household chores.

We signed the documents with a beautiful silver pen the woman handed us. As we went to leave, they presented us with the flowers and the pen.

Our marriage lunch was at a favorite restaurant where the manager offered us a bottle of champagne. During the meal Julia and Scott started speaking German, which I thought strange. Julia seemed very worried about how and when Scott would be home that evening, but my German wasn't good enough to be sure I understood.

Later I understood. Julia had arranged for a surprise reception. Her house were full of people we all cared about.

Rick and I have had many anniversaries. One goes back to the seventies when we met at a conference in Missouri. Another is when he came to Geneva in 2012 and via LinkedIn asked if I wanted a cup of coffee. What a cup that was as was the fondue,,, We could add other milestones as well because so many of our days are a celebration of our really good lives.

Almost Normal

 "Robbert wants to come," Rick said.

We were settled in our Swiss studio, each engaged in our writing projects.

Robbert, RB2 or Father Robbert, is a friend of almost 30 years. We shared a company flat 1990-1993, We officiated at each other's marriages. In fact he met his wife through one of our weekend trips to Argelés. I've described him as the brother I always wanted.

At 16H a masked man appeared. Strange not to do the two or three cheek greeting depending if we were in Switzerland or France nor a hug.

We decided to go for coffee at the post-tearoom-mini-grocery in Corsier Village at the edge of the vineyards. Unlike the photo above, there are tables and chairs.

Sherlock settled in Rick's lap and from his perch he could greet the two big white dogs or maybe they were small ponies, that wandered over. They seemed to know Rick keeps dog biscuits in his pocket.

How good it was to catch up. RB2 is currently working in Zurich and goes back and forth to Southern France like we do. So often we are in one country and he is in the other, that being in the same country at the same time is a treat.

The owner likes to speak English and we joked with him about tea choices. Only when he wanted to close, did we leave.

Our next stop was a farm where we could let Sherlock run. One of the crops I didn't recognize, another was what looked like wheat. One field was full of wild flowers all delicate pinks, yellows and whites.

By now it was dinner time and we headed for Marroniers, a restaurant that over the last decade I've eaten hundreds of times. This is the first week it has been open since the shutdown. It didn't matter that they were out of gazpacho. The goat cheese salad was good. 

RB2 had an hour and a half drive back to Neuchâtel where he is currently staying. We discussed when we might overlap in a country again. It could be a month or several months.

This was our first café sit, our first restaurant meal, our first sharing with a friend at a table since the shutdown in March. It felt WONDERFU almost normal.

Why almost?

We usually don't wear masks with friends, although we removed them to eat and drink.

And although RB2 and I and more recently with Rick have shared some of the best and worst things in our lives, we never before shared hand sanitizer.

Lexington, a new book

Sometime in the 70s, I first saw the grave of British soldiers at the

North Bridge at the Minute Man National Park in Lexington, the site of the first battle of the Revolution War. It was a battle before there was a Revolution but made Revolution inevitable.

I've made many visits to the Park over the years since then and I always stopped at the grave and thought about the two men buried there. 

• Who were they?
• Why did they join the British Army?
• Did they have wives?
• Children?
• How were their families notified of their deaths?

I always thought their stories would make a great novel, but over the years I've written other books www.donnalanenelson.com
Periodically, I've dipped my baby toe into research about the men.

I've just sent my new novel Day Care Moms off to my publisher and was casting around for a new subject. 

Playing with the internet I found this blog https://boston1775.blogspot.com/2020/

Then I found a Facebook page for the Park's Ask a Ranger https://www.facebook.com/events/620217615243130/ 

Click, click, click... now is the time. The two sources would be the start of my research which I suspect will take several months.

Like any novel I start, I have a rough idea of characters and plot often added to when I can't sleep in the middle of the night. Three nights ago I wondered what if I added a current character, a woman ranger.

I found someone within the Park system who will answer email questions. Half of me wonders on Rick's next trip to the US, should I go and go back to Lexington and the many museums there. I can spend some quality time with my Kid at the same time--and hopefully use her car to go to Lexington and Concord.

Once I lock down the British side, should I go to the UK? Naturally the travel will come after there is some semblance of normal travel arrangements. Maybe it will be a chance to use the Chunnel.

Meanwhile in my head, various personalities are saying, "Use me,"
"Use me," "No, use me."  This often happens in my writing. In
Murder in Caleb's Landing, a woman who was supposedly in a scene for a cup of coffee, became a major character, a subplot and created a theme for the book, but that's part of the creative process, isn't it?

I never feel quite so alive when I am in this stage of a project. Having just finished the tedious chore of trying to eradicate every typo in Day Care Moms, I need the excitement of a new project.

Going home

The Swiss duoane (border crossing)

Lockdown in Southern France was over. We were ready to go home to Switzerland. According to the new pandemic regulations we could travel 100K. Switzerland was over 700K. hmmm

As a Swiss citizen, a legal resident of Switzerland I would be allowed into my country. Rick as my husband with a Permis B, a resident permit, would also be allowed. As just an American maybe, maybe not.

We wanted to make sure we had the proper documentation for the douane (border) as well as if we were stopped by the French gendarmes. So we prepared for all eventualities:

• Marriage license (with different last names - it is proof we're married) This is a several page document
• Attestation of our wedding
• Passports
• Identity Cards
• Copy of our apartment's lease
• Sherlock's passport (includes vaccinations)
• My Certificate of Loss of Nationality (American)
• Copy of my notification of acceptance into Swiss nationality (with my accent it might make them question why the canton accepted me)
• The required travel form that did not include a category to go to Switzerland which had only become available on line Monday night. We gave the number of the adjoining French department.

We had no idea if we were allowed into Switzerland if and when we would be allowed back into France (which since has been changed to June 15 but like everything with the pandemic things can change again and again). I am a property owner in France and we have a registered business in France but we are not legal residents.

With all the restrictions, I tend to think what people went through during WWII when they wanted to travel and needed all kinds of paperwork.

Determination of legal residence varies from  country but most require 6 months--it has to do with tax regulations. To get permits to live in another country also varies but mostly it includes the money to support one's self be it independent or through a company. Visitors in the Schengen (EU or EU treaty countries) region may stay for 90 days but then must leave for 90 days is the most simple way to explain what we dealt with before Rick got his right through our marriage to live in Switzerland. 

Any friend who wants to site down for a glass of wine with us after we are again allowed such activities can hear our entire story of changing countries. Maybe make that a bottle of wine and a six course meal and we will still give you the shortened version

I am a French property owner and we have a business in France but that does not give me the right to be called a legal resident which could have made it difficult to go back to Argelès. We figured it could be anything from weeks to months before the border between France and Switzerland would open. Just in case we prepared more documentation which included.

• Electrical bill for our French apartment
• Proof of our business status
• Everything from entry into Switzerland
• Car registration and insurance (French)

So armed with almost every document we could think of, we loaded the car.

• Computers and electronics
• Summer clothes (not sure what we had there)
• Papers we tote back and forth
• Rick's hickory clubs
• Iron cast fry pan
• Two of his mother's quilts
• Paintings we want for the walls
• Sherlock's toys
• Sherlock
• A picnic lunch

One the way out of town we passed Mamie Rosemarie who blew us kisses through her mask.

We were worried about certain things:

• Once we passed 100K would we be stopped (66 on the license plate) and the butterflies decorating the car is a give away
• Would the aire toilets be opened and if not what would we do? Aires are rest stops with places to picnic, enjoy the scenery, exercise and toilets which are usually quite clean.
• Would the many cameras mounted on bridges pick us up
• How closely were they monitoring the 100K limit?
• When we got to Switzerland what would they ask us. (We had prepared our story)

The weather was rainy with about two spots of sunshine until Grenoble when the mountain views were their usual spectacular selves. The clouds seemed to gather on different levels on the mountains. For the many times we have made the trip each time they seem different. Beauty abounds on all the trips.

Because of all the rain in the past month there was a lushness that we'd not seen before.

We stopped to eat our tuna fish sandwiches. Sherlock poked his head between us. "What's cha got?" he seemed to be saying.

Rick offered him a doggy treat. He spit it out. Rick tried touching a treat with the tuna. He licked the tuna off. Okay, okay, he's spoiled rotten. We gave in and gave him a small bit of tuna. Since he has a tendency to get car sick, we tend to underfeed him on the trip, but had he been starving his attitude toward the doggy treats would have been more receptive.

We saw ONLY one gendarme vehicle, lights flashing on the opposite of the highway.

The last leg of the trip is the French countryside outside of Geneva. We decided to cross the border at Anières, which is a tiny village. We figured the main crossings would have more people and be more family.

Because of the Schengen open border treaty, the crossing has been unmanned for years. With the new pandemic restrictions, two uniformed men walked out of the guard house.

Rick showed them his American passport and Permis B saying we were residents.

"Et Madame?" one of the guards bent down to look in the window as the other guard checked out the French license plate.

We explained we had a second house in the South of France had gone down for Easter and got caught in the lockdown. When it was lifted on Monday we packed up to come home.

I searched through my wallet for my identity card, BUT before I could find it, they saw my Swiss drivers license. The photo was taken in 2003 when I had had long red hair, long since replaced by short white hair.

"She's got a license," one guard said to the other and to us, "Go ahead."

We did.

Home again, home again jiggerty jig.

Sherlock is so happy to be home. He rushed to the front door.

And the good news was he didn't get car sick.

 

Changing countries

We are about to make a run for Switzerland. We think we have the necessary paperwork to explain why we are driving more than 100K. We want to go home. As a Swiss I can enter. Rick as my husband and resident should be able to enter.

My original goal was to have duplicates in both France and Switzerland so all that needed to be taken was my laptop. Even when I travel for a month somewhere, I want my things to all fit in that teddy bear. Travel light as possible is my belief.


It has gotten out of hand. Since we usually spend the summer in the south and winter in the north, I don't remember what hot/warm weather clothes I have in Geneva so I need to pack more summer things thus the bed.

We don't know how long we'll be in Geneva. We have lots of stuff to do in Geneva. And we don't know when we will be allowed back in France. So, we could be gone a month to six months.

I live two wonderful lives in one in two fabulous but very different places.

We've told Sherlock he can look forward to walking along the lake, playing in the ruins of the 13th century château and going to play with his puppy friends at doggy day care Furry friends.

Visors vs. masks

Marco, the local artist, told Rick that the tabac was selling visors. He rushed down to get some.

I have hated the masks, but I've worn them because I don't want to be responsible for anyone getting sick in case I'm a secret carrier. I don't want to get sick either.

But the masks are uncomfortable and worse no one can see a smile.

The visors are much more comfortable, I can smile, my glasses don't fog up.

And I will wear the visor when we get back to Geneva.

Despite the loosening of the lockdown, I suspect that the virus will come back with a vengeance. If it does my visor will help protect me. If it doesn't I can continue to look at the world and smile.

Name(s)

"Is Bâle Basel?" Rick asked.

He often checks with me on French words. I thought he was referring to the herb. He wanted to know the name of the city.

In Switzerland most cities have multi names. Geneva is Genève in French, Genf in German and Ginerva in Italian.

When I was first working in Switzerland, I had a client meeting in Zurich. It went well and I wanted to catch the train back to Neuchâtel. I had learned not to get on the train, if the destination is not listed on the platform sign that tells what time a train is leaving and where it is going. Trains leave every hour and for three hours, Neuchâtel was not posted on the track I had been told was the one I wanted. 

I had been told in English. Switzerland has many dialects in German or Schweizerdeutsch and each can be totally incomprehensible. My daughter, a student at Mannheim University, would cross the border by train at Bâle/Basel and go from total understanding of the German conductor's German to total incomprehension of the Schweizerdeutsch.

I also knew that it was the train destined for Geneva, but there was no Geneva listed train. Then it hit me. Genèva would be listed as Genf. I looked up and the next train was going to Genf.  It had a stop in Neuenburg which was the German for Neuchâtel. When asked by my boss why I was so late in getting back, I told him, and became a good target of teasing from then on.

I never realized that places had different names until I went overseas to live in Germany at age 20
The United States became Vereinigte Staaten. In French it is Etats Unis and in Arabic الولايات 
المتحدة الأمريكية

Maybe if we can't settle on one name for a country, how can we ever hope to achieve world peace.

OCD

"What's "Friends?" I asked.

I was having a girls weekend in Zurich with a friend, CB, and former colleague and one of her friends.

"You don't know...?????" CB explained it was a newish new hit American sitcom and she had the DVDs for the first season.

We broke out the wine and nibblies and proceeded to watch episode, after episode, after episode until we could barely keep our eyes open.

"You are much more Monica, CB and I'm more Rachel," the friend said.

I didn't know the friend, but I did know having once shared an apartment with CB and worked with her she did have a lot of Monica's OCD tendencies. They never bothered me because I was a bit of Monica myself.

There was an episode where Monica was bet that she can't leave shoes not arranged neatly all night. She takes the bet. The camera shows her wide awake in bed until the middle of the night when she gets up to arrange the shoes neatly.

I thought of this last night when on the way to the bathroom I had to rearrange the knives in the wooden knife holder. I always take them out far left to far right and back. When they are clean I put them back so they are used in turn. That way they wear evenly. OCDem with a practical purpose.

I hang towels a certain way so the pattern on the bottom line up. I can survive if Rick hangs them differently so I am only a little Monica.

Too much knowledge

As a kid I loved watching cowboy shows: Gene Autry, Hopalon Cassidy, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans (“Happy Trails to You”) and of course, the Lone Ranger.

Yesterday, I used the Lone Ranger in a blog about masks. The mystic that no one would ever see his face aroused my curiosity that carried over into adulthood. I wondered did Tonto ever see his face when they slept around the campfire on a moonlit night?

No, I didn’t spend hours every day or even minutes in months wondering what the Lone Ranger really looked like, but everything something would trigger the thought.

When I searched for images of the Lone Ranger for my blog, I wondered if there were a photo of Clayton Moore, so I searched and there were several.

Instead a feeling of mystery solved, there was more a feeling of disappointment. It wasn’t that Moore was bad looking, it was a sense of something should remain hidden.

Cue the "William Tell Overture."