Champagne

When I was growing up, we kept a bottle of champagne in the second living room closet for a special occasion. That occasion was my engagement.

We opened the bottle. It was flat and sour.

There might be a couple of messages here. Carpe diem. Or it could have been an omen of an unhappy marriage. Or both.

Champagne wasn't much part of my life until I moved to Switzerland. My boss was a firm believer in champagne to celebrate each sale. And because I lived in the company apartment in the village of Môtiers, I was responsible for keeping the refrigerator stocked.

Mauler & Cie from 1829 produced champagne in a cave in an old Benedictine monastery located in this 700-person village. Technically it wasn't champagne, because it didn't come from Champagne, France. Even champagne from Champagne, Switzerland can only call itself by another name, but everyone knows.

When I invited people to dinner it was fun to go to the cave for a tasting apèro before we walked the five-minutes back to my home for the meal.

Champagne seems to be much more common in Europe. As are Kir Royales which add fruit liquors to the beverage. My stepmom fell in love with Kir Royales when she visited me in Geneva and we ate at Mortimer's. Out of business, I still miss their chocolate cake more than the Kir Royales.

Champagne has become more common place in my life. Before the pandemic when we had guests we might offer red, white or champagne.

There was one morning we went to the beach to see the sunrise armed with a blanket, croissants and a split of champagne. A romantic moment at its very best.

It is almost sacrilege to report that one Sunday when preparing a fondue we discovered we were out of white wine. I looked at the champagne split. It did work.

Champagne is also lovely with the two of us whether we are on the patio in Geneva or Argelès.

Having just finished a ChickLit/Shopping Novel, champagne was the rule it seemed along with the brand names. I don't usually read this type of book, but the writer had me hooked to know what happened. As a writer I know it takes as much work to do a well written Chick/Lit/Novel as is does to do any genre. The champagne frequency amused me.

I don't mean to give the impression, we guzzle champagne through out the day every day. It can be special, like Rick passing his French test or having Deirdre produce another wonderful cover for my next novel.

I've learned to carpe diem all over the place along with the merit of a good husband and a glass of champagne.

Vaccination No or Yes

I am NOT an anti-vaxer, but ...

I remember another epidemic in the early 1950s. It was polio. Summers were spent mainly at home: no swimming pool, no movies, no even going downtown. Too dangerous as the numbers mounted even though they were a fraction of today's count for COVID-19. I also remember school being postponed.

In the 1952 U.S. epidemic, 3,145 people died. 21,269 were left with paralysis, most of which were children.

An acquaintance of my mother's ended up in an iron lung (photo above). In 2009, one of the last patients to use one died at 72. She'd spent 60 years in an iron lung.

Dr. Jonas Salk (1914-1995) developed a vaccine.

When asked, "Who owns this patent?," he said "Well, the people I would say. There is no patent. Could you patent the sun?" Had it been patented it would have earned an estimated seven billion dollars.

Polio was eliminated as one of the world's most dangerous infections.

As a child I had chicken pox, mumps, measles and whooping cough as did my brother and most of my classmates. None died. We had already been vaccinated against smallpox as part of the requirement to attend school. I was proud of the scar on my upper right arm. Today, it is invisible.

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I was exposed to German measles, which had I come down with the disease could have led to birth defects. I didn't catch the disease.

During pregnancy I was also given a flu vaccine, caught the flu and nearly died. The other two times I've been given a flu vaccine, I've had the flu and been seriously, seriously ill. The years I didn't get a shot, I didn't get the flu.

The flu mutates so I could have been given the wrong vaccine for the type I had.

I did do the basic vaccines with my daughter. Today there are many more.

I am not saying I don't believe in shots, but I don't trust big pharma.

There is the CEO of one of the big companies who claimed he wasn't in the business of saving lives but making money.

There have been medicine and vaccine failures. Thalidomide is one of the biggest mistakes. It's original use did solve a problem, but only when it was given to pregnant women, was it discovered it caused birth defects.

Diethylstilbestrol (DES) between 1940-1970 relieved potential miscarriage problems. Only in the 1970s did a number of the women's daughters developed cancer of the cervix as well as hormone disruption. Being fair, no vaccine can wait two generations before being used.

America is suffering a opioid crisis from a company that oversold its product.

Hormone replacement therapy was given to almost every postmenopausal woman for years, problems or not, almost a rite of passage. For severe cases, it was helpful. Most others could have been treated nutritional. From personal experience, adding tofu to my diet eliminated problems. Other friends reported the same results. We were a cash cow to big pharma.

Other medicines have been discovered to have adverse side effects after use. Sometimes big pharma has withdrawn the drug immediately -- other times, they have not.

A book, Pharma, by Gerald Posner, goes into far greater detail.

Now we are faced with a global pandemic and labs in countries all over the world are racing to find a vaccine. It is needed.

• How safe will it be?
  
• How good will the quality control be?
  
• How expensive? I doubt if big pharma will have Salk's attitude.

There is no doubt that pandemic did not have to be as bad as it is. There were ways to slow and stop it. Government officials have not been willing to conduct the necessary steps to stop it.

People have not been willing to follow the steps that would stop it.

I hate to admit a certain pleasure when someone who had opened themselves and others to danger, have come down with the disease. I've never been a fan of stupid, but I feel guilty thinking I told you so and wishing anyone bad. I feel even more guilty when I think how innocent people, those who are doing what is recommended have been made victims of the inconsideration and stupidity of others.

Will I get the vaccination? I can't say one way or another. I'm leaning not to, but it depends on the country and the company.

High School Sack Day and Authority

In the 1950s the high school girls in my class decided on a certain day we would all wear burlap sacks.

I went to a local farm store and bought the sack. My grandmother turned it into a rather cute, but itchy dress.

We arrived at school and were immediately sent home to change.

We obeyed and most of us were back before lunch.

What a missed opportunity.

Rather than whip us into line, they could have used it as a teaching moment and tell the girls how during the depression burlap sacks were used to make children’s clothing. It was so common that the makers of the sacks often added designs such as flowers to the material.

Or they could have called all the girls into the auditorium and congratulated them on their creativity. They could have had made it a contest on whose sack dress was the most original.

Instead the used the event to increase their authority.

At university when there was a ballot for class officers we were told to check boxes. I put a little flag on the top of my check. The administration made a scene about irresponsibility, following directions and held another vote. I had marked a box. My vote was clear. My reason for doing it was only to bring a smile to those that tallied the votes, a tiresome process at best.

Only later, bit by bit as I made my way up the career ladder did I realized that authority erases originality for control.

In some companies where I worked, ideas from the lower echelon were often ignored. Many would have made improvements but employees learned to conform and good ideas did not help the company.

In 1970 we had to beg our boss to be allowed to wear pantsuits, which he considered unladylike. It was not a company where clients ever stepped across our threshold. We only saw each other. All writers were women. Only the boss and the printer were male.

Digital in the 1980s had an experiment with “troublemakers” putting them in one manufacturing plant. Instead of the usual hierarchy there was one manager who was more of a liaison. Every employee was responsible for everything. Who did what was by agreement and usually those who could do things best found the slot that matched their abilities. Also, if a person had the sign-off responsibility of a computer that went wrong, it was his or her job to go to the client to solve the problem. Some were even showing up weekends to tend the landscaping on their own time. People were so involved that the company had to hire an anthropologist to make sure people took the correct time off.

It also reinforced with the freedom came responsibility.

The plant was one of the best in production.

Societies need agreement, another word for conformity, but conformity can reach a point that stifles progress. Only by breaking accepted standards of society for example, did women get the vote and although civil rights have improved for blacks and browns, conformity and acceptance of the conformity have not given them equal status to whites and not just as in the U.S.

A people pushed to what they consider their limits will rebel.

Ask Marie Antoinette.

Ask King George about the Minutemen.

Those in authority do not want the challenges. If everyone marches along as robots, doing and thinking what they are told, there is a certain peace—especially for those at the top who benefit from that obedience.

And there can be a certain comfort (that word again) knowing your place in your society.

When Czechoslovakia rebelled against Russia, a news broadcast reported that parents told their children, “We tried it, it didn’t work.”

The children replied, “But we didn’t try.” It worked.

All of us are surrounded by the norms of where we live. Many of those norms work and there is an unquestioning acceptance of those norms. What woman in 1850 would think it was anything but normal that she be considered her husband’s property?

What about the artist who only painted realistic paintings?

What about the musician that only played the classics?

About the women who once could only be secretaries, nurses and teachers?

On a personal level there does need to be some standards to prevent chaos. Determining the level of comfort with those standards can be difficult. Being the first one to push the boundaries of those standards, can be costly to the individual including rejection from the authority setting those standards. Asking why, what else, what about the other side can shake our comfort zone. It depends on the answer that governs the reaction between acceptance and revolt.

A Birthday Colonoscopy

This is a Dueling Blog. To read Rick's perspective: http://lovinglifeineurope.blogspot.com/

 

 Oh, oh, this is not good.

I found myself on the floor of a toilet after an excellent meal at La Table, a restaurant attached to a vineyard outside Avignon. We were on the way to Argelès from Geneva. I was too weak to sit up, but I could reach to unlock the door and called for help.

Two staff arrived and immediately went for my husband. There was a couch in an unused dining room where I lay until three Sapeurs Pompiers arrived. In France they are also trained as emergency medics. One spoke English.

My blood pressure was 88/37, not a good reading. They noticed a bump on my head. Slowly, I began feeling better and although they recommended going to the hospital, we wanted to get home, and the dog, whom the restaurant staff had cared for, would be a problem.

Once home, I felt relatively okay, but during the night I left much blood several times in the toilet. Also not good. We called the local Sapeurs Pompiers, who had a doctor call me. He directed me to one hospital who sent me onto the big hospital in Perpignan.

Because of the virus, Rick was told to wait outside. Chairs had been provided for family members.

“I love you,” he called to my back.

“Comprenez-vous?” I asked the attendant.

“Il a dit, ‘Je t’aime.”

Triage had more nurses and Sapeurs Pompiers than patients. I was given an EKG, blood samples taken and a tube left in my hand for future connections. My rolling veins behaved, so only two attempts were necessary.

I was taken to room 15 where I brought out Sins of the Wolf to read. I learned a long time ago with anything medical, take a book for waiting. The book was set in Edinburgh and I knew most of the places mentioned. I waited and waited and waited and…

I was able to go to the toilet on my own to bleed several times.

Pages 1-48

A doctor, a young woman just out of kindergarten, appeared. Her youth belied her competence. “We need a scan,” she said.

I was able to call my husband to tell him what was happening. It would be the last time because from that point on it was impossible to make a connection.

Eventually, I was rolled out in the corridor and a woman replaced me in room 15.

I could not get a phone connection there and I worried about my husband worrying.

Pages 49-135

A man who looked like an unfriendly, overly muscular Hell's Angel came from the scanner department and took someone from room 14 to the scanner. I asked him about me. He growled that they were busy and stalked off, pushing the woman.

The woman who had replaced me in room 15 came out trying to find a connection on her phone. When we chatted, I found out she lived in the next village from us in Geneva. She was visiting her daughter in Perpignan and was diabetic.

Pages 135-182

It was now late afternoon. From the window next to my gurney, I could see three helicopters bringing in patients.

I had two major worries:

1.     - A friend’s sister had had intestinal bleeding and had been diagnosed with cancer.

2.     - My husband could not know what was going on.

Pages 183-217

Late in the afternoon the Kindergarten Doctor reappeared. When I told her I hadn’t been scanned she picked up the phone. About ten minutes later I was rolled into the scanning room to be greeted by a staff of three. The woman spoke English, but most of the talking was in French. I complimented one of the men on his psychedelic sneakers.

Pages 218-252 The doctor reappeared to tell me I had an intestinal infection and they wanted to keep me overnight, that they would treat with intravenous antibiotics. My immediate worry was my husband and, less than joy, I pictured a ward.

“We will call your husband.”

I fumbled to get his number from my phone, not having memorized it.

“I’ll come back,” she said.

A few minutes later another woman appeared. “We can speak English,” she said. “Your husband is going home to the dog.”

“Will he be able to bring some books for me.”

“He can visit you. I can give him a message.”

“Tell him I love him and can he bring the five books on the nightstand.”

Pages 253-301

I was taken to my room, a private room larger than some hotel rooms. A woman appeared with bullion, toast and cheese. I had not eaten for 32 hours.

The next day, my birthday, a new doctor appeared. She had long kinky-curly hair and spoke French with a Spanish accent. When I asked her to speak more slowly, she did, but lowered herself closer to me. Fast French through masks with or without an accent can be difficult.

The next day

She explained they wanted to do a colonoscopy – no surprise.

After she left, the door opened.

My husband walked in. A beautiful sight even without the books he carried.

That evening a nurse came in to wash out my colon with a giant sack of what looked like Monsieur Propre (Mr. Clean in France).

My birthday

The colonoscopy lasted five minutes. “Votre colon est malade.” But he also said, “pas de cancer.”

My husband arrived with flowers and a special birthday cake from our favorite local baker and artist in frosting and a special 3D card from one of my friends.

All in all it was a satisfying birthday: no cancer, a comfortable hospital room, an incredible cake and incredible husband. However, next year I would prefer only the cake and husband.