Disappointment, Relief, Concern

                                                                    Château de Nyon

Disappointment

I looked at the email and felt disappointed. The farewell apero at the Château de Nyon for a friend moving back to the UK has been cancelled. If one lives in Geneva, it is normal to have people come and go.

My writer friend had been here for 19 years much longer than most. We were ladies who lunched when we could co-ordinate our schedules, shared workshops and film festivals never mind Facebook postings, and occasional get together and emails. Together we visited interesting places. She showed me Richard Burton's grave after one of our chat-filled meals for example.

Not only do I like this woman, I have great respect for her as a writer, mother, liver of life. No matter what country where she's been plunked down, she has built a life.

I knew at a farewell gathering I would have little chance to talk with her. As hostess she would have been trying to talk to everyone.

I suspected many of the guests would have been writers and friends that we both spent time with and care about. A missed opportunity to reconnect.

Relief

I had worried about what I would wear. Not the dress or shoes, but should I wear a mask, visor or risk being close to other people. My dusty rose dress was ready.

About one in ten Genevans wear masks against the virus. At the same time stores have sanitizers and limits on people inside enforced strictly or loosely. My dentist allows 15 minutes between patients to sterilize his entire premises.

My husband and I carry our masks, putting them on when we get closer to people. We are wrinklies, those in the age group that are most at risk. And even if Switzerland has done relatively well in containment of the virus, the danger continues on a low level.

The cancellation eliminated the worry.

Concern

More important is concern about why the apero was cancelled. My friend's husband is facing surgery, something not planned for in their move.

Future

Over the years, I have both lost and kept contact with the come-and-go people who became friends. I suspect that between our trips to Scotland near enough to the border to where my friend will live, we might see each other there. She will maintain a second home in the Valais and again if we can co-ordinate our schedules there will be catch-up meetings.

Plunked down in the country of her birth, but where she hasn't lived for decades, my friend will build a new life. The people she will meet will benefit from her warmth, talent and personality.

Some people in Geneva do not want to make friends with internationals because they will lose them when they move onto their next assignment.

I have never felt that way.

The pleasures of the time shared are worth the separation. Why give up X years of sharing against a loss. Nothing takes away from those memories of X years.

With my friend there are not just memories but the hope of future memories.

Living/Loving History

As a kid I was so good at the dentist, never uttering a sound, despite the lack of Novocain.

The reason...

If I were good, I'd be taken to the hardware store that had a shelf of Landmark Books, an offshoot of Bennett Cerf's Random House Publishing. Written by well known writers for kids, they covered different historical topics. It was the beginning of my love of history.

Some people learn about the past from osmosis, never dealing with it directly. Growing up in New England it was all around me starting with the 1694 Parker Tavern,  the oldest house in Reading, MA to the Lexington Battlefield, which is the source of the novel I am currently researching and writing.

I never expected as a kid to be in touch with history far away from my childhood home.

Later in life I was. My daughter spent a year in Germany before university. Her host father told me about sitting outside of Nuremberg and watching the American bombs fall at the end of the war.

A colleague at the Swiss company where I worked recounted how as a little girl of four she was walking with her mom in Evian. She kept dragging her feet, ignoring her mother's cries to hurry. A Nazi officer arrested the mother. Fortunately the war ended days before the mother was scheduled to be shipped to a death camp.

This is history up front and personal, eye witnesses.

I also searched our history...visiting Normandy and other famous sites from many periods. The tombs of Eleanor of Aquitaine, Richard the Lionhearted, William the Conqueror might contain only a few bones from their bodies are there, but once people I'd read about had been there. It felt like a personal introduction.

Standing where the infant Mary had been crowned Queen of Scots sent shivers through my body.

I'm currently reading In Truth A history of Lies from Ancient Rome to Modern America by Matthew Fraser. What a delight. Unlike many history books the prose is clear often funny, sometimes tongue in cheek. It screams the truth of the saying, the more things change the more they stay the same. It made me wonder how much better Julius Caesar would have been if he had Facebook and Twitter.

If the pandemic is ever over, I hope to trace family history in Nova Scotia. I've already been to LaRochelle, France where my ancestor Michel Boudreau (Boudrot) set sail in 1640. I hope to visit his burial place. Maybe meet up with distant family members. Michel produced 11 living children who were also prolific.

In the meantime, it is such fun researching about the weapons, ships, living conditions of British soldiers before the beginning of the American Revolution for the novel.

Oh, we changed dentists. The new dentist not only believed in Novocaine, he did not consider it necessary to dry his fingers on the bib over my non-existent breasts. I was still able to buy a book for good behavior.

City vs. Country

I loved living in the city of Boston.

Popping out my front door, catching the subway to wherever. Being able to go to the theatre, museums etc. by walking. Any shopping could be done on foot. I was a city girl.

Boston did have the Emerald Necklace, a circle of parks as well as the Boston Common to feed any nature needs. Also, my drive to work was a reverse commute through the Massachusetts countrish towns.

Then I moved to the Vals de Travers in Switzerland. My village had 600 people, 6000 cows. It also had a museum where Jean-Jacques Rousseau hung out when in trouble with Genevan authorities and an old abbey where champagne (method) was produced.

My dogs loved the walks through the fields, up the mountain and to the waterfall. I did too. I became a country girl.

Later I lived near the airport in Geneva for 11 years. How nice to walk to the airport through a park. Hmmm...city girl again.

I have a flat in a French village that is minutes from the country. The village has everything I need in walking distance. Village girl.

My Geneva apartment is minutes from the lake with a view of both the Jura and Alps. It is in a village on the outskirts of the city. Village girl.

Here we have the advantage of a major city (bus or car needed) or all kinds of being in the country without realizing a thriving international city is less than 30 minutes away.

So I guess I'm neither a city or a country person, although I lean to the quiet life. There is something good for the heart and soul to hear the birds singing, be surrounded by flowers and trees.

If I had to decide on one?  Hmmm...Village where I could walk to everything with the country and city nearby.

Someone once called me a cake eater because I wanted my cake and to eat it too. Strangely enough, I've succeeded.

Research

The working title of my new novel is Lexington. Ever since I first saw the grave (photo above) at the edge of the Lexington Battle field, where the American Revolution started, I wondered about the men buried there.

Why did they join the British Army?

What kind of family, place did they come from: village, country, city?

What about their families? Did they ever know what happened to the soldier?

Periodically, I asked people who might know. That they didn't, was frustrating.

Casting around for the subject of a new novel, I thought I would give a fictional biography to one of the soldiers a story. The working title Lexington wouldn't be appropriate, because most of the story will take place before his death, first in England and then the rest in Boston where he will be stationed.

Writing modern novels as far as research goes is simple. It is easy to locate international law for child kidnapping by parents as I needed for Day Care Moms, soon to be published, for example. Google images can help with scene depiction.

I'm no novice to historical research. All my TCK Mysteries www.donnalanenelson.com have a historical component. Some were fun to do such as Murder on Insel Poel when we went to Northern Germany, my housemate and me. Her German came in very handy when talking with local police. Parts of it when listening to oral histories in a concentration camp museum weren't fun, but necessary to capture what life was like.

Now with the pandemic and travel limited, I cannot hop on an Easy Jet flight and explore areas in the UK where the soldier would be from. I can rely on photos and several people have offered help. Then I remembered how much research I did for Murder in Ely so I can rely on what I learned then to give the novel authenticity. Mention the Fens, floods and an eel or two.

I found Jim Hollister at the Minute Man National Park an incredible help both in his videos Ask a Ranger and his willingness to answer what might seem to him as mundane questions. He pointed me to books and web sources as well.

YouTube videos are a great source even if I use the information only for one or two sentences. I want James, my soldier's name and that of my father too, to be a baker. A YouTube about bakers of the period will give me those sentences for the reader to feel s/he is in a bakery of the period.

I wasn't sure how I could describe the ship on which his company, the 43rd regiment, would travel. I'd been on replicas of the Mayflower, trod the deck of the U.S. Constitution and ships of the period in Glasgow, but my memory was shaky.

Then glory, glory, I found a documentary where a captain of a vessel describes his ship in minute detail. Now granted, when he showed the kitchen with a microwave, the ship James sailed on wouldn't have had a microwave, but I did get have an idea on how he could stumble to the side of the ship to get sick, tripping over the coiled ropes that are used for raising and lowering the sails.

I have yet to start the writing but scenes are spinning in my head. I suppose I could start with the basic scenes leaving xxxxx marks when I need to fill in facts as they come in from people I've contacted. It may require a rewrite, but I revise my work many times over anyway.

Meanwhile James is already urging me to get busy with the story.

Shut out

Because of the virus, countries have been closing their borders. We had been trapped in France for two months, which was not a hardship.

When the confinement ended we hoped that as legal residents Switzerland would let us in when we went home even though the border was closed to others. We were.

We have been regular country hoppers. We've been known to go to France or Spain for lunch depending where we were. The French border is about ten minutes from our home in Switzerland. The Spanish border is about 30 minutes from our flat in France.

We venture further. The UK for a weekend or Scotland for a game of golf is a reasonable decision..

Rick, more than me, travels frequently to the U.S. on business and to see his daughter, son-in-law and grandkids. Last Christmas we spent two weeks with my daughter in Boston. It was a wicked good.

No more.

Borders may be opening up between Schengen countries, but the EU is thinking of closing them to people from countries where the virus is out of control. One of those is the U.S.

The virus is anything but under control although a majority of nations seem to be holding it at bay.

Some experts think it could go on for one, two, or three years. Although Rick and I are in relatively good health our status as wrinklies is such that it means we might not see our daughters again if we should catch the virus and die. He's younger and he has a better chance.

I am hoping I am over-reacting that the plans we've discussed for her to come to us at Christmas will go through, but with each surge in the U.S. and each new level of stupidity in the U.S. to do something about it grows.

It is frightening that if my daughter needs me that I can go to her, but I might not be able to get back if I arrive on an American departure plane. The danger is greater for Rick who is American. That she couldn't come to me is also sad-making.

The only other time this happened was after 9/11 when the U.S. shut down all traffic.

Yet, I understand why banning border crossings to Americans might be done, and I agree.

I am just grateful that several times a week, my FB message bell sounds and she and I have a catch up chat even if it is not the same as each of us curled up on the couch with a cup of tea in our hands, although I suppose we could curl up on our respective couches an ocean part. At least our hearts are together.

Cairns

"A cairn is a man-made pile (or stack) of stones. The word cairn comes from the Scottish Gaelic: càrn [ˈkʰaːrˠn̪ˠ] (plural càirn [ˈkʰaːrˠɲ]). Cairns have been and are used for a broad variety of purposes, from prehistoric times to the present." Wikipedia

I saw my first cairn in Iceland. They were all over the place. I had to look up what they were.

Maybe they were always all around me and I never noticed.

Going to the chapel high above Argelès we noticed a number of cairns along the path.

Then one day I found a cairn on our patio in Argelès. I knew it was neither a route marker nor a burial ground. My husband had built it.

Back in Geneva, another cairn appeared on our patio. However, when the yard men come to clean, it was in danger of disappearing. It is now safe in our studio. This one resembles a duck statue.

I don't attach any religious or geographical directional significance to them, but they illicit a smile. That's a good enough reason for being.

Stupid

Judge Judy says "You can't fix stupid."

I wish I could. When I look at the U.S. I see how so many refuse to admit that the virus is real or a problem. Or how many refuse to wear a mask or social distance themselves.

Stupid needs to be fixed there.

Big time!

I think of the pastors and the religious fanatics who said Jesus would protect them. Maybe those that died from the virus can discuss it with Jesus, because if heaven is real, they are there with him now. Thirty something pastors that have held church services are now dead from the virus.

How many people did they take with them who would have preferred not to die?

There are those that still claim hoax, often blaming the "looney" left. They don't believe the statistics. Amazing how countries all over the world are participating in the same hoax, isn't it?

I look at the kids crowded into a church in Arizona without masks despite a mandate to wear them. The stupidity of youth. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I wonder how many will get the virus.

Of those that get it or become carriers, how many will pass it on to their loved ones. I imagine a Thanksgiving family dinner ten years from now when one person says, "Remember Johnny the year when you brought the virus to grandma after that rally and she died?"

The countries that are doing worse are those that have ignored the science and guidelines, UK and Brazil. Those that are doing better are those that have shut down, confined, wear masks.

America brags how it is number 1. It is number one in the virus although Brazil may still beat them.

And yes, the virus has hurt the economy. If humanity destroys itself there will be no economy, but the earth may start to heal itself from the damage humanity has inflicted on itself.

Father's Day Memories

This Father's Day brought back many memories of my Dad, whom I called Jimmy.

He was from a big family. In adulthood the brothers and sisters didn't just get together for big holidays, but they visited back and forth. There was a lot of teasing.

Jimmy was the only sibling that had not been made a grandparent and he teased his siblings unmercifully about how they were old because they had grandchildren and he was still young because he didn't. He was not the baby of the family, but that didn't matter.

My Aunt Agnes took me aside one day and said, "When you get pregnant can you tell us first?"

My ex and I did just that and we planned a surprise Grandpa party at my home for my father. My stepmother, who was also a grandmother, was in on it.

The day arrived as did my aunts and uncles before my father. When my stepmom led him in, everyone yelled surprise. He couldn't figure out at first why because the date wasn't near any anniversary or birthday.

He opened his now-you're-old-too-grandpa presents such as Geritol, a cane and the stork shown in the photo.

Jimmy was forced to find new subjects to tease his brothers and sisters about. He had no trouble doing so.

Thank you notes

As a kid I had to write thank you notes. I hated trying to think up things to say to Auntie X whom I didn't even know. Each year her hankies, as pretty as they were, were assigned to a drawer with the hankies from the year before and the year before and the ...

I expected my daughter to write thank you notes. Before she could write, she had to do a thank you drawing. She couldn't use the gift till she did unless she didn't like the gift. Than she had to use the gift until the stamp was placed on the note's envelope. No one ever gave her hankies. She got some neat stuff over the years.

When my former Swiss companion and I went to dinner, he explained a thank you note was in order. If I may have had trouble with correct French, I never had a problem with raving about the food and the hospitality.

Job interviews required a quick thank you note.

When I loaned my French apartment to a family, their two little boys left thank you drawings.

However, the custom is fading of handwritten thank you notes. Often an email or a Jacquie Lawson digital card will be sent and that's more than okay.

When I sent an eight-year old two francs for her piggy bank that she was using to save up for a special doll, I received a thank you note by email. She said that she was surprised I had listened to her about the doll, so many grownups don't listen. I see her mother behind the writing of the note, not the content, but the child is a real sweetheart so maybe, maybe not.

It is not that I do things to get a thank you note. To me the notes are a form of courtesy that someone expended energy to do something kind for someone else. I know I sound like a COW, Cranky Old Woman, when I say I like courtesy like the old days.

That is why I was so touched when I received the card above in the mail. We had gone over a screen script for the two young writers who made the card. I had cautioned them, screen plays were not my strong point. I did say I could comment if the characters, dialog and plot worked.

They immediately emailed me their thanks, but then they followed up with the card featuring a lookalike Sherlock.

Appreciation is never amiss. Even for hankies.

Confronting my racisim

I have been a card-carrying feminist all my life. Yet, I realized that certain attitudes are so ingrained they are automatic.

For years I lived across from Harvard Medical School. In the same block was Sparr's Drug store (photo above) where we filled out prescriptions, bought our Sunday papers ate lunch at the counter topped off with a vanilla soday and chocolate soda.

We were on a first name basis with the owner and his staff. 

Because of their proximity to the Med School, they sold equipment for the doctors and medical students.

One day as I waited  behind a couple, I saw Mr. Sparr bring out a stethoscope. I assumed it was for the man. It was for the woman. I was tempted to hand in my feminist card and get more training.

Sexism and racism have many things in common including to be a woman or have black and brown skin identifies the person to their gender and race.

I talked about this experience with my good friend and artist, a black man. We had often discussed racism and he did point out that I was a white woman whom he could speak freely with and I would understand. He had laughed when he said he had a client that couldn't say the word black even discussing it as a wood-burning store's color.

When my daughter wanted to join the track team, I said no. They had to practice in a bad part of the city, a black section. Getting home after training would be too dangerous for a blond, blue-eyed teenager.

I talked to my artist friend, again saying I felt guilty. He laughed at me. "I wouldn't let my son go there," he said. His son was the captain of the Boston Latin football team, my daughter's school. His son was anything but delicate.

My artist friend explained that part of being truly non racist was to recognize the bad as well as the good in the person, to judge a person on their character and actions as well as their appearance.

Being black doesn't make you a criminal. Something many police in America seem to have forgotten, but I do understand that sometimes society has imprinted so deeply that our negative reactions are automatic. We need to forgive ourselves for our failings but we must try to erase them with every breath we take.

Racism is not acceptable. Full stop.

$20, etc.

Turn on the news in many countries: US, Germany, France, UK, Japan and what will you see?

Protests. Black Lives Matter (BLM). The photo is from Geneva, Switzerland.

The BLM movement started in 2013 in the U.S. Six years later black American men are still being shot by police in situations that if the police were civilians, there would be no question of murder. If the dead men were white, they would have been treated better.

Some people say, all lives matter. This is true, but saying everyone gets colds, doesn't make the person, sneezing, coughing and with a stuff nose instantly better. Racism is far graver than a cold.

On social media there are regular postings of non police whites showing racism, taunting blacks or people with accents to "go home." That is bad enough.

Recently a white woman called the police because a black man politely asked her to leash her dog.

And that's part of the problem. People call the police too often on a black man who is doing normal things.

The whole world is seeing/doing these protests. George Floyd's murder was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

What started it? A store clerk called the police when Floyd handed him a fake $20 bill.

I know I've passed a couple of counterfeit bills without being aware of it. I left my name, contacts and showed ID. I paid with clean money.

It makes me wonder, since the clerk did call the police, did Floyd stay and wait for them to arrive? Certainly he would have had time to disappear.

I'm a white, middle class woman. I don't even know if the clerk did call the police, but had she done it and the police arrived, I would have been thrown to ground and had a cop kneel on me until I died.

As it was there was never any follow-up.

There have been no stories about the clerk who called the police. It is amazing that one person's phone call started a huge protest movement sweeping America and the developed world.

There is a long list of black men who have been killed and the police allowed to go free. They were doing their duty, it is said. They were in danger of their lives so they had to shoot an unarmed man running away in the back. Justified, they said.

Small protest would follow these verdicts. Sometimes.

This time, instead of limited or no protest, Floyd's death has triggered a world-wide reaction against racism. In white supremacists it seems to have increased their racism.

People are talking change. The poor choice of the phrase"defunding police" hurts the goal of turn police from a military-like force to one that protects the people it is suppose to serve. Yes, there are bad guys that need to be caught and punished. Yes being a policeman/woman is dangerous (my ex was a cop). Yes, there are a surplus of guns in America.

But killing someone for jaywalking does not wash.

Compared to other countries, U.S. police training is limited. Some countries require knowledge of history as well as laws, written tests on current affairs and sociological problems.

The countries in the top photo above do not have the massive inequality problems either.

The solution is not simple. It requires a massive rethink and after the rethink action to improve not just the police but the social problems.

The alleged leaders of the country have short attention spans. The higher you go, the more important party over people abounds. Nothing is being done about the corruption from banks, corporations and government.

I wonder how the person who called the police over $20 bill feels.

Kolrabi and Radishes

Last week's veggie bag from our local farmer contained kohlrabi. My late girl friend Barbara loved it, but had never served it to me. I'd never eaten it.

I had no idea how to cook it, so I went to the internet for a recipe. One was for kohlrabi, radishes cooked in burned butter and white wine.

Why not?

My husband is one of the least adventurist eaters I have ever known, but he bravely tried it. He thought maybe maple syrup would improve it. I'm not sure that is possible.

I expected my dog Sherlock to ignore it. Not only did he take it, he seemed to enjoy it. Without maple syrup.

I am sure there are other ways to cook the vegetable so I won't put it on the "do not deliver these veggies" list. Yet.

Faith in humanity

Things are pretty sad these days between pandemic, protests, police brutality and incompetent people in power. That's global.

Now to the personal. Every day for months, one or more technical things have gone wrong. It could be the internet, the stove, the dryer. None of it serious but the idea that when you flip an on switch and something goes on every time, tends to fall into the impossible dream category.

It takes a lot of energy to keep cheerful.

For several weeks Rick has been working on a webinar for his main client. Today was the initial recording for next week's dress rehearsal.

My job was to keep Sherlock outside. Barks in the middle of the webinar would be unprofessional best.

Just as I stepped onto the patio, it started to sprinkle.

I decided to sit in the car and read. It had been parked on the street.

However when I unlocked the car door there was a strange hum. And hum. And hum.

An investigation showed that the side mirror was hanging from its cord.

Vandalism, I thought.

Rick, when he emerged for a break and to give me a report was less than happy when I told him. In retrospect I should have waited until the recording was done.

When he returned to the webinar project,  I sat on the patio with Sherlock by my side. The rain had stopped. The birds who have a nest over our front door kept swooping in and out.

"Donna-Lane. Someone is here about the car," My landlady called from the driveway. I went up the short flight of stairs to see a man and his daughter.

"We're here about the car," he said after we decided to speak in English.

He explained that he had a son with psychiatric problems. His mother had taken him for a walk, which usually was like any normal walk. However, early in the day as they walked by our car, he had thrown a wobbly and the result was our damaged mirror.

He kept apologizing. His daughter echoed his apologies.

We exchanged phone numbers and names. He will pay for the repairs.

Since we have French plates, he had to check houses to get the one where the owners had the car covered with butterflies.

There was no way we would have ever found out what happened  if the man hadn't been honest.

With all the bad stuff happening, I need a reminder that there is good in the world. Rick has used duck tape which solves the problem until we can get to the garage.

I speak Brit

I speak American English, French, a smattering of German, but I also speak Brit.

Here's an example.

I went to HOSPITAL to visit my friend from UNI. Her GYNIE came in to sign her release and told her to make an appointment to see her next week in his SURGERY.

I offered to drive her home. My car was in the CAR PARK.

At her home she invited me in for a CUPPA. "I'LL PUT THE KETTLE ON," she said as I went into the SALON.

"Are you KNACKERED?" I asked when she came back and announced that the tea was DRAWING.

"No, really I'm more PECKISH. We can do TAKE AWAY of  FISH AND CHIPS, if you want," she said. "Or there's a SHOP nearby that does great CORNISH PASTY

While we waited, she went to the LOO and showered and I HOOVERED for her. I know how she likes a spotless house. It's something friends do. When she saw the clean rug, she said, "I'm GOBSMACKED you did that."

After we ate, I looked at my watch. It was HALF SIX. We said good byes. I left feeling CHUFFED the way my day went.

9 Veggies

Since we started having a weekly delivery of farm veggies it has been a battle to use them all even if it is a fun battle. I have requested every other week deliveries.

Today I managed to use nine different veggies in lunch.

• Stuffed peppers using scallions
  
• Mashed potato with broccoli, cauliflower, cream and butter
• Tossed salad with cuke, radishes and tomatoes

I still have more cauliflower, lettuce, courgettes, onions, tomatoes, salad, aubergine and radishes to go.

I see a slow pot cooker filled with whatever veggie I can grab with a small piece of beef and a veggie spaghetti sauce in our future.

Today after eating, I remembered there was a website https://www.supercook.com/#/recipes that you give the ingredients you have and they figure out a way to use them. I tested what I still have and there are some good ideas.

Super Cook you and I are going to be good friends.

Open libraryOn

One of the hardest things about lockdown was the library being closed. Yes I do have a Kindle for reading. And I can always read French books, but I am lazy and I prefer the ease of English. And I prefer paper.

The English Library in Geneva has over 10,000 English books and keeps up with new publications. It it located in the American Church.

There were changes including using the back entrance through a lovely garden. Than with the limitations of four people inside, strips were added to the brick path alongside the flower garden.

My wait in a light drizzle was long enough to snap this photo. Once inside it almost felt like a home coming as I chose my reading matter for the next week or so.

They published these restrictions.

To ensure the safety of volunteers and members we request that you follow the social distancing guidelines. Please note the additional changes below:

• Library access will be limited to 4 members at a time, we therefore request that only one person per family come if possible and that the time spent in the Library be kept to a minimum.
• Building access will be from the side door of the Library facing the rue Docteur-Alfred-Vincent, please come in that way or follow the signs from the rue de Monthoux side around the church.
• Everyone entering the building is to use hand-sanitizer, which the Library will provide and wear a face mask (please bring your own).
• The toilets in the building will not be accessible for the time being.
• Returned books will be quarantined before they can be borrowed again.
• The due date of all books on loan is extended until 30 June.

In Sickness and Health

Two old men I know are caring for their aging and sick wives. I don't think of them as old men. I've known one since he was a teenager. The other man I met when he was in his early 40s. I still see one roaming the halls of my high school and the other sitting behind his desk.

I like and respect both men for many different reasons. They are kind, considerate and try and do what is right.

I was admittedly a marriage cynic. Most marriages that I saw from the outside and that looked unhappy, I would say, thank God, it isn't me. A few would look good and I would still say, thank God it isn't me.

When I saw how one man took care of his ailing wife, I thought I would never have that security. That did not make me want to get married. What did was when someone from the past came back in my life. All changed. It wasn't fear of being alone and ill, but that he was funny, a writer, kind, considerate and a 1000 other things that made the good life I had even better.

Our marriage vows did not contain the in sickness and in health clause, but when I developed cancer he did more than I would expect any human, husband or not, to do. Fortunately, this passed and we could get on with enjoying normal life.

Back to the old men.

I don't know what their marriages were like. No one can see inside. I'm sure in the decades they spent together there were some difficult times external or internal, most probably both. But they made it through.

It doesn't matter how many men do not stand by their women. These two are doing it with grace and caring.

It is the way it should be.

Venus, meet Mars

This book, written a few years back, tried to explain male/female differences.

One, they said, was communication. A woman would say something merely to share the information. The man would immediately try to find a solution, which the woman probably didn't want. She was looking more for an mmm or an "I understand."

Rick and I had a Venus/Mars moment yesterday.

I was doing paperwork and I said how much easier it was in Argelès than in Geneva where we are now. This wasn't a complaint so much as a statement of fact -- and the fact we can be in two wonderful places is not a cause for sympathy. (Venus-information sharing)

Rick, bless him, immediately offered alternatives to my arrangement. (Mars-solution)

I do not want to change the Venus/Mars, Male/Female balance. I love having a male perspective. If I want a female point of view, I've women friends (Julia, Lydia, Karrie, Llara, etc. even if she's my daughter) for that.

My late friend Barbara, an anthropologist, said women should not expect a husband to meet all their needs. That what women friends are for. On the other hand, women don't meet the needs that men do so well.

Meanwhile, this Venus is really happy with the Mars in her life.

Peace

With the battles going on for human dignity it is hard not to be discouraged at the cruelty and unfairness of man to man.

I treated myself to this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGS7SpI7obY which I listen to periodically when I need a reminder of greatness in my fellow men.

Mandala says that "It is music and dancing that makes me at peace with the world."

Johnny Clegg brought black and whites together through his music.

Both men are gone.

We need more like them.

Conversation impossible

My former housemate and I used to chat on FB or Skype even when we were in the same house. She was in the basement and I was upstairs writing.

My daughter and I chat several times a week on FB.

Rick and I are usually within visual distance of one another most of the day so we don't need to use phones, FB or Skype.

Today was different. He had gone to the German part of Switzerland for a golf tournament tomorrow. Sometimes I go with him, but I decided to stay home to work on my novel DayCare Moms.

FB rang.

I answered.

The face of my beloved appeared. "The hotel is fhg vje vhfl," he said.

"I lost part of that," I said.

"The sdfkh  jgoin qrwrv shopping center ldff huge ldkfkwhga," he said.

You get the idea.

As a professional communicator, my husband had a plan B. He started spelling the words making the letters with his hands.

Suddenly, Sherlock decided that was the moment to start kissing my face, blocking part of the  letters Rick was making. I guessed, but wrong.

Equally suddenly, I got the giggles. This did nothing to improve our communication.

Rick and I usually chat about everything from the smallest detail of a petal that fell from a flower to major world events. Here we were embroiled in technical difficulties and dog slobber.

We gave up. I did understand when he said he loved me. Since he could understand me perfectly, he knows I love him. FB, not so much at the moment.

Cooking Differences

Rick and I divide cooking chores. I do Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday evening. He does Tuesday Thursday, Saturday and Sunday breakfast.

When we are in Argelès, we often "cook" at a local restaurant, so often wait staff will ask as they seat us if it is Rick's day to cook. Sometimes it was mine but I let them think it's Rick's.

Lockdown in France changed that. Restaurants weren't an alternative. We were still able to do the butcher, the baker and green grocer and each day whoever was cooking would amble down the street for whatever.

Coming back to Geneva we decided to not use chain grocery stores. We continued to buy fresh bread from our favorite baker and we are forging a relationship with the local butcher. For other stuff there is a small store.

We have a weekly delivery from a local farmer of seasonal veggies. Opening the delivery is a surprise and a challenge on what to do with them.

The biggest change is before we decided what we wanted to cook, then we went to buy it. Now we look at what we have and find a recipe. Today it was cream cauliflower soup. Although the recipe called for carrots, I had a surplus of courgettes(zucchinis) so they were the carrot replacement.

It's fun.

Toblerone:war and candy

In exploring Switzerland last week, my husband Rick saw his first military Toblerone. He loves to explore just about anything and every thing, which is just another reason I love him.

The 2,700 9 ton concrete blocks were part of an anti-tank WWII line of defense mostly along the border. Rather than dismantle them, many have become walking trails.

The name came from the Swiss candy created by Emil Baumann and Theordore Tobler in 1908. It was originally made of milk chocolate with nougat, almonds and honey. It's shape and packaging is unique and constant.

Allegedly, the shape was inspired by the Swiss Alps. The Matterhorn is pictured on the wrapper.

It is not one of my favorite candies, but RB2, with whom I shared the company apartment in the early 1990s loved it.

One night, my Japanese Chin Albert was really weird. Usually lethargic he was literally bouncing off the walls.

RB2 was late getting home that night. I was in my room not sleeping as Albert continued his agitation. RB2 knocked at my door.

"How are the dogs?" he asked.

"Amadeus is fine, Albert is hyper. Why?"

"I had a giant Toblerone in my room. It's gone. You didn't..."

"No, I didn't. Is it all gone?

"Some of the paper is left."

Chocolate is poisonous to dogs. Albert did not die. He didn't even vomit. He just kept running and running until exhausted he slept. The next day he was sleepy.

Artists in Living

 

Rick just framed our latest art purchase done by an Argelès friend. Our walls are covered with artwork from our friends, many of which are full-time artists. I have never tired of looking at them, feeling not just the beauty of their work but a pleasure in the memories of time we share together.

We know many writers too, published and non published. People who make words sing. They too enrich in our lives.

But then as I was posting on Facebook how lucky I was to have so many creative people in my life, I thought--what if a non artist, non writer who is also a friend reads this and feels they are less of a creative person feel badly.

I realized that 99% of my friends are artists in living.

What is an artist in living It's a person who makes sneaking off for sushi or Indian food a special time. It's someone one who gets excited about flowers, or notices a child just being adorable. It someone who helps others even or maybe specially when it is inconvenient.

They are people when faced with adversity plow through it. This doesn't mean that they don't suffer or have problems, but some how, some where they find the inner strength to get to the next stage of their lives.

I realized as I wrote this, all the people I am close to are artists in living.