Patrimony

Patrimony can be defined as anything derived from one's father or ancestors. Where we live in southern France, the area's natives revel in its Catalan patrimony. 

We aren't that far from Spain where the Catalans are pushing for succession from Spain, but the French Catalans seem content to continue within the French framework. They have not gone through a governmental attempt to wipe out their culture as happened under Franco. In fact many of the refugees from Franco are ow French citizens having escaped and ending up as refugees in the region in 1939.

If we say good day in Catalan to our neighbor, she beams. Many of our neighbors are Catalan speaking  The street signs are in French and Catalan. Other languages abound because this is also a major tourist and retirement area for people from all European countries.

Choirs and dancers wear native costumes and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8cQRCdPBRU at the squeal of the melody that marks the Sardana native dance. Don't be fooled by the simple steps. It is far to easy to point a toe when one should be raising one's arms.

 

Sometimes there are dance festivals but often people will gather for the dance on holiday in ordinary clothes.

We have tiles under our mailbox showing the costumes.

 

The first Catalan flag was said to be on the tomb of Ramon Berenguer II, Count of Barcelona. He allegedly died in 1082. Different legends say either he or his son stuck their fingers into his wound and drew them down his yellow shield, creating “The Four Fingers of Blood,” that appear as four red stripes now part of the flag.

 

The stripes have taken on a more artistic form in the past few years. My husband photographed one rendering, cut a stencil and added it to our entrance.

We fly both a Swiss (waiting for a replacement at the moment and a Catalan flag). We are not Catalan, but we honor the traditions of where we live without sacrificing our own heritages.

 

In Switzerland we will celebrate Escalade (honoring the date Geneva beat back the French in 1602), bringing the cows down for pasture, August 1st, the alleged beginning of the country in 1291 giving claim to Switzerland beig the world's second oldest democracy (Iceland is ahead by about 500 years give or take).

 

We have what we have because of the past. Just as childhood events mark our formation as adults, our national histories shape our countries today. To ignore them is to limit ourselves.

 

 

Harness and shoulders

 

I'm known for being a generally happy person. I even publish things that make me happy on Facebook regularly.

Even in this horrible year with the virus, lockdowns, worries about permits, a hospitalization, the year had a lot of positives including I'm alive and everyone I love is alive. We've two roofs over our heads and if we are hungry it is only that we are too lazy to make something.

There were many small and some large joys from the beauty of a flower to a publishing of my novel Day Care Moms.

So I'm not accused of always being a Pollyanna, here are two things from my childhood that brought anything but happiness.

One was being carried on anyone's shoulders. I know there are kids that love it. It terrified me and I developed a pretty good scream whenever anyone tried it. 

The second was worse. I was put in a harness wherever we went. I didn't know the word for humiliation at the time, but that was the emotion I felt. I remember pretending I was a horse and hoped no one else would think I was this human locked in a torture garment. I also vowed I would never, ever on penalty of being struck by lightening, ever put a child in one.

Since I'm writing this some seven decades later with no lightning burn scars it is easy to see I kept my promise.

Even writing about the harness makes me want to shake with remembered shame.

Okay, now that is written, I can go back to looking forward to a better year in 2021 and I wish all my readers a healthy and happy 2021.

Hugs and Covid

 

I did not come from a huggy family. My first real exposure to hugs was with another family. Their daughter became my roommate and best friend for years.

These were serious hugs. 

After my daughter was born we were give her a double or triple hug and call it an EMC (Early Morning Cuddle) before leaving for day care.

My second major hugger was an anthropologist friend. A big woman, she totally engulfed her hugée.

I became a hugger, using them for any of the good reasons for hugs:

• Romantic
• Comfort
• Reassurance
• Greeting
• Farewell
  
• Just because
• All of the above

Moving to Europe, hugs were often replaced by two-cheek (Southern France) or three-cheek kisses (Swiss Romand-French speaking) sometimes accompanied by a handshake.

The son of one of my friends, a great teddy bear of a man, also gives hugs that one can sink into and feel any tension disappearing.

Hugs, handshakes and cheek kisses have disappeared with the arrival of Covid-19. Elbow pumping does not carry the same emotion.

I miss them. I miss them big time. Thank goodness the virus does not prevent my husband and I hugging.

I visualize when my daughter finally finds it safe to visit from the States, I imagine instead of sweeping her into my arms, I elbow bump her. Of course, having her face to face in person will be wonderful even hug-free.

Studies have proven hugs are good for the health. Allegedly they increase the amount of oxytocin, which I'm told is a hormone that lowers the risks of heart disease. It decreases the heart rate as well as decreasing blood pressure.

Science aside, hugs feel good. Some day we can hug again.

 

The kitchen

 

Our French village flat is in a building that's 400 years old, renovated of course. The stone walls are original. Two of the rocks are heart-shaped. A Danish sculptor who stayed here, turned two other rocks into fish.

We are sure at one time cows, sheep, donkeys, chickens, goats roamed where we now eat, sleep, write, love, laugh...I wanted to keep it rustic and was thrilled when I found an old farm house table from a Depot Vente. I love making bread on it and wonder if women before me did the same, what conversations did a family have as they ate their meals there.

Of course, the kitchen has been modernized, but there wasn't enough storage space. 

There's a new store in the village, Casa Mombassa, and they had three of the cabinets like the one to the left in the photo. 

We bought two and quickly arranged things.

We've a guest who looked at our work and suggested an alternate. We were thrilled with the results.

Note: We're still trying to decide if the semi-circle bricks were to an oven, or a door onto the outside. Our flat is the ground level of a double house.

Flash Fiction

A writer friend and I sat down for the first time in too long to write the day before Christmas.

When cafés were open, we'd pick a person than free write about them. Sometimes what we saw was similar: sometimes the two pieces bore no resemblance to one another.

With tea rooms and cafés closed, we thought we might buy a hot chocolate and sit in the church plaza but it was too cold. Instead we settled at my dining room table.

I grabbed a novel. We took turns opening to a page at random, shutting our eyes and putting a finger on a sentence we used as a prompt. 

We then wrote for about ten minutes. Here are my exercises. The first line if the prompt. 

"What am I going to do?"

I look for a spare seat in the food court. The back of a woman's head with long blond hair, was at the only table where three seats were available.

Only after I asked if I could sit, did I realize it was my husband's ex.

Or was it? It had been ten years since I'd seen her in court when we fought for custody of Paul's kids. He'd won.

I'd become the stepmother, not wicked.

Carol had been a drug addict. Paul and I had given the kids stability.

In court she'd been high, looking like a body that had forgotten to be buried.

Should I ask the woman, "Carol?" or should I walk away.

"Sit down, it you want. The mall is a mad house today," the woman said.

I did, wondering how fast I could scarf my taco and guacamole.

"It's not good to eat so fast," the woman said. 

I couldn't tell if it were Carol's voice. It had been ten years at least since I'd seen her. Had she been able to pull herself together?

"Don't I know you?" she asked.

"He takes a chance and scuttles crabwise into the shelter of the pier."

He wasn't alone. Crabs were everywhere. 

He started filming. He'd already filmed the goldfish in his partner's aquarium. He'd watched documentaries of whales, dolphins, sharks and octopi. 

In the ballet studio, he'd transferred their movements to ballet steps and found the right music to match. He wanted the music for the crabs to be forbidding.

He copied their movements in the wet sand.

"Whatcha doing mister?" Two little girls holding pails and shovels were watching. Their knees were covered in wet sand.

"Choreographing, er designing, a ballet. Would like to dance like a crab?"

They nodded. Moving from under the pier, the three of them did their strange movements.

"What's your ballet called?" the older girl asked.

"Under the sea," he said.

 

"And the all work?"

Lana knew that she shouldn't have asked this the minute she saw Tom's face.

He slammed the screwdriver into the wooden work bench so hard the wood splintered and stormed out of the basement. She heard him stomping overhead, a door slam and his car engine start.

When would she learn that anything could set him off?

How many times did an innocent question or sentence lead to fight?

Last week when she said dinner would be ten minutes late, he'd twisted her arm.

This couldn't go on. 

Not knowing how long he'd be gone, she rushed upstairs, threw her most essential things into a suitcase including the positive pregnancy test reading.

Her mother, living four states away, would understand when she showed up on her doorstep.

Perspective

When my daughter was three, many moons ago, we painted a set of Christmas ornaments. I remember she was wearing a lilac jumper with a white turtleneck and tights. As usual, I found her adorable.

We were discussing the ornaments recently. She confessed she felt jealous that mine were better than hers. And I tell her I have always treasured hers.  

As a working, single mom, I always felt I never was able to give her all the time I should. I still feel guilty, I couldn't get away from work long enough to take her to regular gymnastic lessons.

Thus moments doing projects or reading to her, playing fashion show with her bath towel, going for an ice cream or chatting in the car, cut a tiny hole in the guilt and brought immeasurable pleasure in her existence.

So for every brush stroke outside the lines, she didn't know it, but she was giving me a great gift--shared time. Much more important than staying inside the lines.

Christmas letters

 

 

I love Christmas letters from friends. 

Over the years we've been close to people and then they moved or we did. Some people we keep in close touch, for others it is the only contact. I see photos of babies I held hold their own babies. Heads of hair turn gray or disappear forever. Small houses or flats become bigger than smaller. 

In the time of covid the letters are different. The best are where everyone is still alive. One we received from a couple in Australia who baby sat Sherlock a few years back. We giggled throughout where trips to different exotic places were replaced with stories of mowing a lawn in a pattern and painting on their porch.

THIS IS OURS

2020 started with Rick enrolling in a three month intensive French course in Geneva. He needed to pass a test to qualify for his Permis C, permission to continue to live in Switzerland. We watched a lot of French language TV as well.

Our first inkling of crisis was when the language exam was cancelled because of the virus. He still sent in all his papers and the results of a test-test not an official one. At least we proved he was working on the language requirement.

Being kept in Switzerland was not a hardship. It's a joy in many ways, covid not withstanding. But what was frustrating to not be able drive across the border for Chinese or Indian food--only ten minutes away rather than going through Geneva traffic downtown.

Because he's married to me he can now fast track for Swiss nationality, but even without me, the Permis C means he can apply at the five-year end of this Permis C. I had to wait 12 years, but the requirements are harder now.

I joked that he no longer had to treat me well to stay in Switzerland, but if anything, he treats me even better-- if it is possible.

We decided to head south to France for Easter just in time for a lockdown. Strange feeling with everything closed. Good Lord, we had to do all our own cooking, no escaping to La Noisette, Gametta, or Bartavelle. 

We also realized we were not going to Ireland, Norway, US and several other countries that we had planned. A big treat was a walk in the veggie allotments to let Sherlock off leash and to run and to get back before the time on our necessary attestation ran out.

And speaking of running out, Rick's Permis B was due to run out on May 17, and the possibility of him being barred from the country ran large in our nightmares.

The lockdown ended the 15th and we made a run for the Swiss border some 700K away slightly over the new 100K limit. On the drive not a police was to be seen. 

At the border there was no problem for Rick. Me? I couldn't locate my identity card, but after a frantic search, I found my driver's permit and the waved us through for our last leg to home. 

A few day later, a miracle mail happened...his Permis C arrived in the mail. It is good for five years and it is no longer dependent on being married to me which was the case with his Permis B.

It was good to me home as spring burst into its full glory. The garden seemed to increase its floral show as a way to stick nature's tongue out at the pandemic.

We ate socially distanced in restaurants, saw a few friends, although not like we would have if no pandemic existed, got caught up on bills, filed the paperwork for taxes and had our medical checkups. Even a tooth cleaning became a treat of being normal er almost.

I continued to work on my new novel Lexington, and received copies of my latest publication Day Care Moms. Rick adjusted to different magazine schedules, did webinars and even a conference virtually. When he does those in Geneva I hide out at my friend Julia's. In France to do those things, he goes up to my Nest, the studio where I used to live BR (before Rick) saving him from dog interruptions. Somehow Sherlock barking at a cat, just does have the professionalism he wants to depict.

He also continued to play golf and hickory golf whenever he could. He joined the board of one organization. For the first time we went to the Italian section of Switzerland for a tournament. In finding a sitter for Sherlock, we found a new friend. 

I never travel through Switzerland even after 30 years not being gobsmacked by its beauty.

We decided to go back to France for a "short" time. Short depends on shutdowns we have learned.

On the way down, I fainted in the ladies room after a great meal in Avignon. I spent my birthday in the Perpignan hospital until they diagnosed an intestinal infection. Compared to those people in another building fighting for their lives, I could not be unhappy. And since my first thought was cancer, a puny infection was a cause for rejoicing.

While in the hospital, a male nurse, with whom I'd had late night conversations, learned that I loved the French/Canadian singer Garou. He beamed his Sous le Vent https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2_ss9y-VjE 

In France we found the village still had a large number of tourists but nothing like other years. Every time we saw a friend who braved travel from other countries we celebrated, usually at a distance and masked. So many events like a major music festival and the street dancers were cancelled. 

Pauline, our talented local baker outdid herself with my birthday cake. 

I've swallowed my disappointment at my daughter not being able to come from Boston. I was happy that she was healthy, working from home and working in comparison to how others were suffering. We Facebook message several times a week. I'm so lucky to have her.

It is a psychological challenge to maintain our equilibrium between the horrors of the political world, the disease and our good fortune to have our love, friends, basic health, our writing and golfing passions and that we concentrate on. We have food and roofs over our heads in two countries.

Everyone is looking forward to 2021. Who know what will happen but it is our wish for peace in all its forms for the planet, humans, animals...

Interesting that Rick's blog http://lovinglifeineurope.blogspot.com/ picks up other things.

Small world

 I grew up in New England.

Our house guest, who came down from Geneva, grew up in the American south.

She stopped and stared at our tree ornaments.

Forty-seven years ago, my daughter and I painted them. I remember Llara wearing a lilac jumper and a white turtle neck.

Staying within the lines was not part of her three-year old skill set. Yet, I have treasured every ornament she did on every tree where they have hung.

"We have the same ornaments." Our guest looked at the dog, the house, and commented on how the set had come with the little paint pots.

We met this friend in Geneva when she agreed to babysit Sherlock. We are both in the Geneva Writers Group. But under IT'S A SMALL WORLD banner that we would have had the same Christmas decorations from two parts of the world, almost a half century later...hmm...

The interview

 

"His chest is hairy." I was watching an interview on a newscast. The interviewee had the top button of his shirt open revealing very black and thick hair.

"Huh?" my husband said.

Since we are both journalists or have been at different times in our lives, we are supposed to notice things. Maybe because I write fiction too www.donnalanenelson.com I notice more. 

Having done webinars and virtual conferences, my husband is aware of the importance of background, which doesn't mean he pays as much attention to the background of others as I do.

As for me, I love those home interviews and spend more energy examining the background than listening to what is being said. 

For example Dick Gregory of CNN has an open plan kitchen with a very cozy sitting area to the left. Richard Quest, also of CNN, had a stuffed animal on his couch. Fred Pleitgen has unusual drapery material and interesting artwork. He's back on the road now. Sigh. I wanted to check out the art in more detail.

As a reader I try and see as many titles as I possibly can on the bookshelves behind the speaker. This is often difficult. I almost want to message them to only buy books with large type on the binder. Some have messy bookcases, some are frighteningly neat.

Some have no books, but one interviewee had a beautiful purple orchid.

We looked into the back garden of another.

There are those that dress up, those that dress casually, but who knows what they are wearing below the waist.

I imagine prior to the interview the interviewee goes around and cleans up the area that will be visible. 

My all time favorite is the one above with the kids interrupting. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mh4f9AYRCZY Even before she came in, I noticed he had a map, not books visible and the area to the left looked like he had stacked source material. Then I learned how cute his kids were and finally his wife (who was mistaken for a nanny) tried to sneak in to get the kids out.

I understand because often when my husband is on a business call or an on-line meeting, it is my job to keep Sherlock, our pup, from barking.

I've been asked about doing an interview in the new year about my writing. I am already trying to decide the best background. Artwork? Bookcase? As the French say, On verra, we'll see.

 

Why the distrust

 

Why do people distrust the vaccines despite the desperate state of the world thanks to Covid-19?

There could be several explanations, but one could be a distrust of big pharma who is making huge profits as people die because they can't afford the medicines.

Or it is that they have been known to lie to sell more of their products, sometimes knowing the medicine does harm. 

A CEO of a drug company said he wasn't in the business of saving lives but making a profit.

Women have been considered a cash cow for things like tranquilizers and hormones both which can be needed but not in the amounts prescribed.

Or shall we discuss the opioid crisis?

The responsibility for distrust can go beyond the drug companies. 

Boeing saved money but slipshod training in the case of the Max. When the company was run by engineers that wouldn't have happened. In a recent Bloomberg report question was raised about the FAA's approval. Profit before people again? As for me, I'm willing to pay much more never to fly on a Boeing plane ever.

Yet sometimes things go too far for safety. Kids in Europe open this candy and find a toy. They are forbidden in the U.S. as too dangerous. We won't mention how kids in some states can use guns. 

Not all companies put profit before people. Years ago, poison was found in Tylenol. The company immediately withdrew all their product and told the truth.

Fake news is now applied to facts an opposition doesn't like whether it is fake or not.

There is a solution, but I doubt that it will be applied in today's world.

Truth...what a novel concept.

 

Cookies and history

 

I am a seldom baker. Every now and then I get the urge. It happens more around Christmas. For many years my housemate turned the kitchen into a bakery in December so there was no need. I enjoyed the wonderful baking aromas and my taster was more than satisfied.

Today I had the urge to bake and went to the New England Yankee Cookbook published in 1939. It was my grandmother's, and growing up, I enjoyed many of the recipes over the years growing up and have recreated them since moving to Europe over 30 years ago. On page 266 I found a recipe by Mrs. Myron Duefrene, 7 Francis Avenue, Conimicut RI for Peanut Butter Cookies. 

I looked up Myron Duefrene who lived in the area 1907 to 1987 which would be the right age to be the husband of cookie recipe donor.

I suspect when she submitted the recipe, she couldn't have imagined some 80 years later it would be used in the South of France.

A duckduckgo.com search produced a picture of this house. I suspect the kitchen where Mrs. Duefrene baked those cookies is in the back of the house. The realtor that was selling the house did not 

post any pictures of the interior. Even if he had, I suspect the kitchen has been remodeled several times over the years.

The last batch is just out of the oven. They will be dessert tomorrow after our raclette and as we trim the tree.

Here's the recipe.

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup beanut butter

1/2 cup sugar

 1/2 cup brown sugar

1 well beaten egg

1 1/4 flour sift

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon soda

Cream butter and peanut butter. Add sugar gradually, add egg and combine with peanut butter mixture. Sift together dry ingredients and add. Mix well. Chill dough. Her recipe called to roll out the dough, but I made balls and then cross forked them as in the photo above.

My dream

 

Silly me!

I dream of a world where the president, vice president, president elect and vice president elect all work together for the good of all the American people who do not have enough to eat and for all the people who are about to be evicted while also helping their landlords.

I dream of the four working together to convince congress that country above party matters when over 3,000 people are dying daily. 

I dream that Pelosi, McCarthy, Schumer, and McConnell get the message that taxes are to help people. 

I dream they will stop bickering for the cameras.

I dream that those politicians that have hypocritically changed their story along with the wind, resign and that politicians who care about the people replace them.

I dream that small businesses will be helped. They can be the backbone of the country.

I'd like to see all the people who won't wear a mask, start to care about hurting others as well as protecting themselves and their family.

I dream that every news station, every newspaper, every magazine, every internet posting be based on truth, real truth.

I dream that people who push for power and money at the expense of others, weigh their needs against the general population. 

I dream that along with the vaccine, they develop an empathy pill where people can understand the want and needs of others.

Silly, silly me.

The best week

 

I must have been a grizzly bear in a previous life.

This week of the shortest days is my favorite of the year. The sun doesn't wake up until after 8:15 (1) and it bows out of the day a little around 5 a.m. (17h).

For my husband who likes to tee off along with sunrise it means he can sleep in a bit longer on a golf day. Other than that he has not much good to say about winter.

 For me, it means cold days, hunkering down at home, preparations for the holiday ahead. If I do venture out at night (we have a curfew in France) we can still buy fresh bread or newly baked croissants for breakfast tomorrow morning before it falls. We have the magic of walking under Christmas lights before heading home.

It is snuggling under the mink into a prewarmed bed in flannel PJs.

It's tea and meals of soup.

It's watching Netflix or DVDs under a sheepskin.

Sunday we'll put up the solstice tree, a new year with the sun slowly reappearing a bit earlier each year until we find ourselves sitting in l'Hostalet after dinner into the evening. That I love too.

The circle of the year turns even in the pandemic.

Meanwhile, I'm hibernating.

The tea party to end all tea parties

 

 

It was the tea party to end all tea parties. Some 247 years ago colonists, traitors, patriots, rebels, Americans (what you call them depended on your point of view and your loyalties) gathered at the Old South Church in Boston.

 

Over the past few years those and others were upset at the control England was holding over them. It affected their trading among other things. The government wanted them only to trade where they said. Than there was the problem of taxation, which was designed to pay for their own protection and less than they would have paid if they had stayed in England. The cry, "no taxation without representation" of which they had none in London's Parliament was a rallying cry.

 

A  ship, the Beaver,* had arrived in Boston Harbor ladened with tea. The Bostonians loved their tea, but this new arrival had a tax on it. No matter that even with the tax, it was less expensive than black market tea, it was the principle. 

 

Attempts to repeal the tax went unheeded even though the East India Company, owner of the tea wanted the tax eliminated.

The meeting, allegedly led by Sam Adams, met at the church to discuss it. Today the church is also a museum. Embedded in its walls are recordings of the arguments made so long ago. 

A group of the men dressed up as Indians and went to the ship and threw the tea into the harbor on the night of Dec. 13 1773.

 

The "tea party" was just another step that brought the colonies closer to revolution. 

 *https://www.bostonteapartyship.com/history-brig-beaver The beaver was 85 feet long. It's size was limited by it being based in Nantucket Harbor. Besides tea it was used to carry whale oil. Today a plank by plank model serves as a museum.

 

 

Dr? Biden? Bartlet? Bruhaha

The Joseph Epstein comments on not calling Dr. Jill Biden Dr. Biden (https://www.cbsnews.com/news/jill-biden-wall-street-journal-op-ed-joseph-epstein-doctor/) triggered thoughts on my own lack of completion of a Ph.D. program. I used to joke that when I got the degree I wanted to be called Dr. Donna.

The reasons I dropped out, were:

• In my 50s, I didn't need it
• It was hurting my fiction writing
• I was too old to play academic games.

I had just finished a masters at Glamorgan University in Wales which had let me work with a number of high quality professional writers directly and indirectly for my fiction. It was truly a growth experience for my craft.

The academic side was a little more frustrating. My thesis was on Repeated Symbolism in John Irving's Novels. My advisor and I went round and round on the part biography played. I gave in, but two years after getting my degree, John Irving gave an interview supporting my viewpoint. I mailed a copy to Dr. Clark. He apologized.

Getting a doctorate in any discipline is difficult. Some might be more difficult than others. 

The comments that Dr. Biden should drop the Biden was totally uncalled for and misogynistic at best. That she isn't a medical doctor doesn't make her less of a doctor. 

Wikipedia defines doctor as:

"an academic title that originates from the Latin word of the same spelling and meaning.^[1] The word is originally an agentive noun of the Latin verb docēre [dɔˈkeːrɛ] 'to teach'. It has been used as an academic title in Europe since the 13th century, when the first doctorates were awarded at the University of Bologna and the University of Paris. Having become established in European universities, this usage spread around the world. Contracted "Dr" or "Dr.", it is used as a designation for a person who has obtained a doctorate (e.g. PhD). In many parts of the world it is also used by medical practitioners, regardless of whether or not they hold a doctoral-level degree"

I've noticed in the UK medical doctors are often called Mr.

In West Wing the president's wife Abbey Bartlet was a medical doctor and insisted on being called Dr. "The President and Dr. Bartlet" sounded just fine as will "The President and Dr. Biden."

Somehow in this pandemic world with hunger, climate change, poverty and war Epstein's comments that of a male Karen. He may be jealous as he only holds a B.A.

Not quite writer's block

 

 James Hathaway and I have been having a problem. He's the main character in my new novel Lexington. 

We were getting along fine as he left the bakery family business. He enjoyed his trek from Ely to Winchester where he underwent training as a new recruit with the 43rd Regiment of Foot.

However, I needed him to learn about his pending trip to Boston. I've more than enough information on ships of the time, but I can't find the name of the ship on which the regiment was transported. Museums have been helpful. I've been told about archives that I've delved into, but still nothing. He isn't helping with the information.

I've had James be in a meeting where top officers have announced the voyage. James didn't like that. As for rumors about the base...well he didn't like that.

Now I think I will have his friend from Ely and co-recruit wake him and tell him. He would have overheard it while he was waiting tables at an officers dinner. It will allow me to work in a little of the Boston history. I can then put him on the ship.

"I don't want to get seasick. Don't make me get seasick," James tells me when I can't sleep at night and work out plot lines instead. 

I can always add the ship's name later. Or I can choose one ship from the list of Royal Navy Ships I have.

I've set myself a Monday afternoon deadline to get James to the ship. Too bad, I can't tell his commanding officer to order James to stop giving me problems.

Naming

 

In our lifetimes we don't get to name too many things: our kids, pets. In some jobs we name a product, street, housing development, etc.

One lovely thing about being a writer, I can name and name and name not just people but places and animals. Mostly I love naming humans.

It isn't always easy because the name has to fit the character in nationality, time, religion, etc.

For example, I can't have an 80 year old Chinese woman named Tiffany without a lot of explanation.

In writing Lexington, I just changed the name of the British Counsel in Boston from David to Gareth. I've named other characters David, because I like the name. My desire to name my Japanese Chin David was vetoed by my daughter--it was her dog--and I admit her name of Amadeus was better.

Where do I get names? 

• Murder in Argelès--the cemetery
• Murder in Insel Poel--The phone book when we were on the isle researching the book
• Murder in Geneva -- knowledge of friends names but there I had to deal with Swiss German and Swiss French names
• Day Care Moms -- part knowledge of the region and part checking with annual lists of most popular names I reached back to high school for a couple and used my great grandmother's name.
  
• Lexington (work in progress) The list of people on the Mayflower although I may juggle first and last names. 
• Murder in Paris -- for the historical part, Ladurie's book Montaillou.

You get the idea.

Happy Anniversary Sherlock

 

                                                                 Harnesses, then and now

Three years ago today, Rick and I set out for the SPA (animal rescue center). We were thinking of maybe getting a dog for Philippe, our local bum who had lost his dog. We'd read of a two-year old female, Mina.

We'd wanted a dog, but were reluctant because of the amount we traveled. If Philippe didn't want the dog we could keep her. We had said definitely an older female that wouldn't have to be housebroken and we might outlive her in case she ended up as ours.

At the rescue center, which we had great difficulty finding, they said they didn't have a female named Mina. It might be the other rescue center. "However, we have other dogs."

The girl went behind a counter and pulled out a three-month old male puppy. "This is Spider. It's his first day available. He's been here a month."

Spider started kissing me. Rick said at that moment he knew we wouldn't leave without him.

It wasn't quite that simple. There was paper work equal to a bank mortgage. 

On the way home he vomited as we discussed different names. A best friend is afraid of spiders so the name would not do. We talked about having a Facebook naming contest.

SHERLOCK! The name came to me from nowhere as we neared home.

We both knew it fit my being a mystery writer. It turned out to fit him because he investigates everything. 

He sauntered into our flat. We had a stuffed toy that we gave him. He grabbed it, and hid it between our bed and the wall. This would become his horde where all toys and treats are taken. If we put them away he will take out the one he wants to play with. He still puts his toys away SOMETIMES.

He made a hit in the village. When we go out without him, people ask where he is. If he is with us, they greet him before noticing we are on the other end of the leash.

One summer, he was part of a walking club, that we weren't. More than one person has collected him to take on their walks. He blew it with one woman when he refused to go in a direction he wanted to go -- to the Château Valmy rather than toward the river.

We've learned his vocabulary...different barks for different things. He understands English and French to the point that we need to spell certain words W-A-L-K for example or G-L-A-C-E or P-L-A-G-E or B-E_A_C_H. I worry someday he might learn to spell too.

He will come to the command Come or Vien and a hand held up (maybe because he knows there's a biscuit in it).

My daughter has changed her estimation of him from pampered to spoiled. I don't see why just because we consider part of our daily chores is X-number of hours of lap time. Still, she has sent him toys, including one of his favorites Lambchop.

Pre-virus when we traveled we used trustedhousesitters.com and in the process made friends with people from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, England and more. This was a plus we didn't expect. 

We always figured because everyone in the village knows Sherlock we would hear of any mistreatment. That was never the case. Sherlock just took the housesitters in as part of his fan club.

We've laughed at his antics, loved his sweetness, from time to time been annoyed at his stubbornness. He has enriched our lives and probably taken the place of children we will never have. Yes he sleeps on our bed and sometimes in it. 

I am amazed at how much love 6.6 Kilos of fur, muscle and bone can generate. I do hope Mina found a good home.

Deaths

 I learned yesterday a former colleague had died last May.

One of the problems of aging is that more and more people from our lives disappear.That can be anything from a celebrity, a chum, a soul friend, a family member and/or a frenemy. 

Ron was a PITA (Pain in the Ass). Back in the seventies he was the economic advisor to a credit union where I was PR Director. My job was to turn Ron's incomprehensible theories into something that my boss could take around the country. Those speeches made my boss an industry leader.

Ron acted as he was the most intelligent person ever and the rest of us were stupid. He was intelligent -- in history and economics. He considered any other skill or knowledge else as inferior and a time waster including art, music, sports, nature.

We went our separate ways but in the late 90s I heard from him via email. He was teaching at U. of Lowell, my alma mater. The alumni magazine had done a feature on me and the books I'd written.

He worked me into an all male email group, which I christened "My Bad Guys List." because most of their political opinions were opposite mine. Strangely enough when the Iraq started, Ron and I were note for note singing the same song that it was wrong and stupid.

Where we didn't agree was financial anything. I don't claim to be an economist. What bothered me about Ron's theories was every one of his arguments ended with a formula. I could never persuade him that humans do not follow formulas in their behavior. In buying a gas guzzler (which be both deemed irresponsible) people do not think x+z=y or whatever the formula was.

He poo pooed my comments on Bitcoin, thinking it would disappear. I give him credit for telling me later I was right that it was a new financial tool.

He was fascinated with mid-European women and got caught up with a scam looking for a mail-order bride. 

Rob bragged how stupid his students were, how few ever passed. I would say as he teacher, he should be working with them to help them. We never resolved the issue. 

None of the differences ever came down to personal attacks. It was always theory. Always shared with respect no matter how grudgingly.

After hearing of his death, I checked his obit. It left me with a feeling of sadness 

There were no survivors listed. In the comments section that people leave, there was a lack of closeness. One person said they would miss seeing him the elevator of their apartment building. Another commented on running into him from time to time at a coffee shop. All had a lack of closeness.

I didn't dislike Ron. I didn't like him. He was just in and out of my life, more on an intellectual level. I felt sorry that his experiences were limited and often passionless. And maybe that's wrong. A new book would thrill him.  Nor should I judge him that he didn't follow my carpe diem life style.

Still, since he is younger than I am, I didn't expect him to die. Like other people who have gone, it is another chunk, even a tiny one, out of my past.

I don't like it.

Woodsy Happiness

 

Poor Sherlock...

His good friend has a bad knee which means he didn't get to go for a Sunday walk in the woods. And we slept in Sunday morning so he didn't get to see the sunrise on the beach and run zoomies in the sand.

For several days I've wanted to take him for a walk in a forest just outside the village. The weather wasn't co-operative. 

This forest is seasonal. In the spring we can't because of black caterpillars and in autumn hunters make it unsafe. I like cold weather reducing the chance of a snake encounter. 

I did mention to Rick the possibility of boars that live in the nearby mountains. I'm sure all the bears are hibernating and stay a longer distance from the village than this forest.

Rain is predicted for a good part of this week, so we hooked him (the dog, not Rick) up and headed to the woods. 

Sherlock must have run four times the amount we walked. His goal of peeing on every tiny branch went unfulfilled, but those he missed he sniffed before taking off for another gallop. As tiny as he is (6.6K) he makes a lot of noise when he runs.

He got to say hello to another galloping creature, the beautiful white horse from the nearby Kentucky Ranch (isn't that a normal name for the South of France?). The ranch gives horseback rides to tourists in the summer.

The air was chilly, but not uncomfortable chilly.  It was cheek caressing nor cheek nibbling chilly. With our warm leggings, hat and gloves we were fine.

Sherlock ran ahead, Rick was in the middle and I was behind on the trail. Rick called me to come look.Canigou was out in all her glory. We joke that the mountain is his mistress even if the name is masculine.  As often as we see it, there is still that gasp-becaus-of-the-beauty moment when we spy it.

Then back home to start the writing week for Rick and I and Sherlock took to his mat for nap.

Life does not get much better than this.

 

Refreshing

 

It has been refreshing watching Joe Biden speak. He would not have been my first choice, but I see a president who:

• Does not mock others
• Does not create facts that bare little relation to reality
• Doesn't make up cutesy pie names for enemies
• Threaten others
• Make claims for others to do (Mexico will pay for the wall)
• Speaks coherently
• Doesn't turn everything around to be about himself
  

Toilet paper hoarding

 I can picture myself standing up a meeting of Toilet Paper Hoarders Anonymous.

The meeting would be held in a church basement. I would stand up to speak and this is what I would say.

I'm D-L and I'm a toilet paper hoarder.

The people would respond, "Welcome D-L."

Nervously, I would begin to talk.

I guess hoarding goes back to when I was an Army bride living in Germany. We were always on the brink of not having enough money for the end of the month. Any month I had anything left over, I would buy rice, pasta and toilet paper to get us through to payday.

My hoarding has nothing to do with panic buying of 2020 because of lock downs and the Covoid-19 virus. It's the desire to know I can go at least a week with enough toilet paper even if attacked by diarrhea.

My husband has a sense of humor. Once when I was away, I came home to find the bathroom full of toilet paper.

How much is full, you may ask?

Enough to last six months and have to walk sideways to the toilet because so much toilet paper was up against the wall.

We don't worry about the shortages because we stay on top of potential short falls.

We have  a Plan B, too. 

When I was in Damascus I was impressed with a hose to wash one's self. It was only necessary to use a sheet to pat a clean body dry and the sheet was then deposited into a trash container near the toilet. We had one installed. 

I can only imagine how long it would have taken to use up my husband's bathroom full of toilet paper.

Advent/Solstice/Christmas

 

1 December

This is our family Advent/Solstice/Christmas Calendar bought from Auer Chocolate in Geneva many years ago.

The first time and some years after I've stood at the counter to select 24 different chocolate noir candies to put in the boxes one by one.

Some are filled with chocolate, some with caramel, some with fruit or nuts. They are different shapes. A few are gold flaked. Others have designs.

The sales person put one in each of the little box. Every day, we were able to nibble one to make it last as long as possible. There is the excitement of wondering what it will be before we pop it into our mouths.

Most years we've refilled the box. Some days we invited guests to open the box. Last year we went to Boston so we had left the boxes filled. The candy didn't go to waste (heaven forbid) but it wasn't quite the same anticipation.

 

This year we are in lockdown in Argelès. We went down the street to Mille et Un, the tea room, chocolate shop, for the 24 chocolate noir pieces. We are allowed out for necessary errands, and filling the calendar, to me is necessary. Arnaud, the owner, carefully selected 24 pieces, which I lovingly carried home to put in each box.

Today is the first day to open a box. Rick carefully manipulated seal to remove the candy.

He bit into half and gave me the other half.

He did point out that we celebrate the solstice as much as Christmas. That would leave three boxes unopened if we stopped opening the boxes on the 21st of December.

I don't see a problem. For the last three days, the calendar will be more Christmas Calendar and less Solstice calendar. And the chocolate will be something to look forward to every morning.

Happy holidays. Happy Chocolate.