Boys vs. Girls

 

"What are we working on," My gynie asked as I was in the last throes of labor.

"It has to be a boy." This was in pre-sonar gram days.

A few minutes later I heard a loud cry. "It's a girl," my gynie said.

"Didn't you just say you wanted a boy?"

"My husband wanted a boy. I never wanted one."

It was true. I never wanted a son. Perhaps it was because of my horrible little brother, who had perfected tantrums as a tool to get his way and creatively made my life unpleasant regularly. If you ask him, he may tell you about how I stole his last precious cupcake, but I can counter with I never threw a suitcase full of books at him while he was walking downstairs.

That day, I packed my suitcase and went to stay with my best friend for several days until her parents and my mother convinced me I should go home.

I think if my daughter would have been a boy, when I divorced, I would have given custody to my husband. I would have been the weekend parent. I would not make a good parent to a boy.  If I had a son, he would have better off with his father.  I don't understand boys. I do know how the beady little minds of girls work. Some people would think me horrible for admitting this.

The stats back me up partially on number of each gender. From https://ourworldindata.org/gender-ratio

"The sex ratio at birth is not equal: in every country births are male-biased. There are biological reasons why there are slightly more boys born every year than girls. The ‘natural’ sex ratio at birth is around 105 boys per 100 girls (ranging from around 103 to 107 boys)."

A good-good friend had two sons. Her two siblings produced two sons each. Her son had a son. Finally one nephew had a girl. My French daughter has two sons and her brother fathered two sons. Where I worked there were many women giving birth over 10 years. I only remember one girl being born. My niece has had three handsome boys.

Now some of these boys are lovely little chaps in different stages of adorable but I will admit whenever I hear someone has had a boy, I feel a shiver of disappointment.  

I am not anti male of any age, although I have, as a feminist, fought the power they often hold. I have often said, if I meet 10 women, nine have the potential of being friends. I meet 10 men, one might become a friend, but that one will be a stronger friend than at least six of the women.

I once belonged to a group where two of the other members brought their children. One had three girls, the other three boys. The three boys would burst into the room and usually cause some kind of disturbance. The three girls would come in and sit quietly occupying themselves.

Not all little girls are angels. Some can be quite witchy. You can substitute a B for the W. And there have been sweet, little boys in my life I've really loved. 

Years ago, the nine-year old boy who lived next door would visit me several times a week and tell me about his life. I looked forward to his visits. 

A few years back, I would have adopted a certain young lad to improve his living conditions, but there was no way I could have legally. Instead I do what I can when I can. 

I know in some countries girls are undesirable. Parents have been know to put them on the hillside to die. The desire for sons in China has caused a wife shortage a few decades later.

Both sexes are only acting on the chromosomes that won the gestation battles in the womb. Maybe the little girl chromosomes don't fight hard enough.

A friend just had a great grand daughter. HURRAY! I can't think of anyone else I'm close to that has had a girl. 

It isn't that I dislike little boys, it's just I prefer little girls.

 

 

The Weekend

 

In the 1970s, there was a summer where my housemates Bill, Susie and I did was work on the renovations of the house during the weekends. My daughter was spending most of the summer in Ocean Grove, NJ with Susie's mom.

Enough work. We decided to treat ourselves to a concert by Johnny Cash at the South Shore Music Circus.

Then a call came from our friend Michel in Paris, saying he had to come to the U.S. and would we be free to have him as a guest. The weekend was the same as the concert. Of course we would.

We had met Michel 24 hours after moving into Wigglesworth a few years before. To say the house was a handyman's nightmare was elevating its condition. Picture a sawed-through load-bearing beam, multi layers of paint on marble fireplaces and holes in the floor. It had taken a crew of several Harvard students to sanitize it before we moved in.

When we bought it on a whim, we'd seen the potential and a price 25% of the going rate in the area for houses.

After work Susie and I were waiting for Bill to come home. We heard the front door open. "I've brought Michel home for dinner," Bill announced. 

Susie and I looked at each other. Not only were the cupboards bare, there were no cupboards and even if they had been moving boxes made access to the stove and sink impossible.

"Restaurant," we both said.

Later when we visited with Michel and his family in Paris, he admitted that he had felt we were not an average family in an average American home. 

Fortunately, there was another ticket available for the concert.

My parents, who were spending the summer with her stepfather in Winchester as a respite from Florida heat, called. "Diane is coming." My sister was bringing her bridegroom from California where they lived. It was the same weekend.

Then my Aunt Evelyn decided to throw a family party to welcome the newly married couple.

Friday we picked Michel up at Logan airport on Friday night and took him to dinner at the Boston Union Oyster House. He noticed our progress on the house. 

On Saturday my sister and her bridegroom showed up at our door. Her husband, Jim, was a Santa Barbara cop. We took them to our finished library that doubled as our living room. Three of the four walls were covered floor to ceiling with books.

When Jim found out that Bill was an M.I.T. graduate, he said, "I can't believe it. I've met a real intellectual. He would say it many more times during the day accompanied by head shakes. Maybe we could have put Bill in a zoo cage labelled "Boston Intellectuals" for Jim to study.

We all made our way to Weymouth where the family was gathered.

My Aunt Evelyn glomed onto Michel immediately speaking French to him. It had been her mother tongue as a young girl before moving to Massachusetts from Nova Scotia. Michel complimented her that she remembered so much. He said nothing about the difference in Canadian and Parisian French.

I barely had time to introduce Michel and say hello to my many aunts, uncles, cousins and spouses before we had to leave for the concert. Cohasset, where the concert would be, is not that far from Weymouth. 

Since the ticket we had bought for Michel was in another area of the audience, Bill took that one. Michel settled into the Bill's seat with Susie and me.

Johnny sang our favorites, "A boy named Sue" and "Cadillac One Piece at a Time" and more.

On Sunday morning, after a leisurely breakfast at home (our kitchen had been functional for quite some time since Michel's first visit) we took him back to Logan.

Sunday evening we were sitting quietly talking about the weekend. All July of August every weekend was devoid of plans. One weekend, a whole summer's worth of activities had arrived, anyone which could have taken an entire weekend to enjoy. 

Still, it had been a fun 72 hours.

 

Loves and lies

 

                                           Newsroom talks about the greatest country

                                           www.youtube.com/watch?v=bIpKfw17-yY

How many times have I heard, "I love my country?" or "I love my flag?"

Really?

Countries are all pieces of dirt with artificial boundaries. Flags are pieces of cloth.

When asked why someone loves their country or flag, people will come up with reasons, often learned by rote in school. Or have listened to a single source or or or... Some of it is true. Some of it is lies.

I bought the history of my country until I was a student teacher in 1967. Israel had just won a war. I'd rooted for Israel. Then I heard the Palestinian side of the story from an articulate young woman who had lived through her family being thrown off their land to form Israel. I wondered how I would feel if I were thrown out of my country to give it to the Pennecock Indians who lived there before I did.

The more I read of history, the more I learned the seedy side existed from the beginning. Only the good parts seemed to be what I was taught and yes they were good. Unfortunately, it was only part of the story.

There's the lovely concept of the first Thanksgiving feast with the Indians as guests. No teacher mentioned the Indians that died from the smallpox infected blankets given to them by the new settlers.

There are current textbooks showing happy slaves. Really?

"Love it or leave it," was a counter chant during the Vietnam War protest. Young men went to fight. Some didn't come back. Some came back maimed physically and/or mentally. They were told they were defending their country. Another lie. Even McNamara, a participant in the decisions of the time, admitted it.

It could take several books to write about all the things done wrong over the centuries. They would have many truths. Some of the good things done were truths too.

I was told my country was exceptional and the best country in the world. Newsroom (photo above listed stats on why it wasn't.)

When people criticize the country for taking a knee, people howl. However, when there's an insurrection that invades the capital threatening to kill two leaders, there's far less objection.

Why do we have to love our country, wherever it is? Almost all countries are made up artificial boundaries ruled by governments where power for the leaders is more the reality than trying to serve the entire population. 

I can love red leaves of a New England fall, the snow-covered Alps in Switzerland because of their beauty. I can be fascinated by the history of Scotland and the sound of bag pipes. 

Even more important, I love my daughter, my husband, my dog, my friends. 

More important not seeing the weaknesses of a country by the population because the people have been blinded by propaganda and lies means problems are ignored or get worse. Punishing those that speak the truth instead of blindly loving a bit of dirt and a piece of cloth just makes things worse.

 

Quarantine

 

We're in quarantine.

AGAIN! 

Ten days in our home near Geneva.

Let me explain.

We go back and forth from our Geneva home to our second home in Southern France in the Occitania region. Switzerland, rather than insist all people coming in from France quarantine, only insists on it for those from regions with high numbers. Good idea.

In principle I believe in quarantines. As a species, the pandemic battle must be won by humans not the virus.

How it works.

We cross the border at one of the many non-border crossings. We don't do this to sneak across a border, but they are the closest to our home. Sometimes there are guards, sometimes not. On Sunday there were none.

Once home, about a ten minute drive, there are messages on our mobile phones saying we need to go into quarantine for ten days. After seven, if we get a negative test we do not have to do the last three days.

At this point, I've had the q-tips on steroids shoved up my nose to prove I'm negative. It isn't painful and creates a couple of seconds of minor discomfort. All have been negative, a thing that makes me very, very happy.

The last test was 48 hours before entering Switzerland. From the time of the test to entry, we only were with each other, my husband and me. Walking from the pharmacy to our home, we were masked. When we stopped on route to Geneva to use the toilets we were masked. 

Add to that I'm fully vaccinated. My husband is half vaccinated with his second jab scheduled for tomorrow. He can break quarantine to get the jab.

Quarantine means staying at home unlike some places which insists people go to a designated area such as a hotel which they must pay for. I suspect room service for meals adds to their costs.

We are comfy-cozy in our flat. We can stock up on food or order in, a relatively new concept in Geneva allowing us to try different restaurants. Each of us can also decide on a different restaurant. He can do burgers, I can do Indian which if we were going to a restaurant in real time wouldn't happen. When we go out to eat as a couple, we go to the same place.

Both of us are writers deeply embroiled in projects. We are readers. We have more TV stations than we could watch over several lifetimes. There's a beautiful garden outside our front door. Since we are together 24/7 except for a golf game or a quickie errand, being together is normal and doesn't put any pressure on our marriage. 

The dog is probably the one who loses most. We can't take him to his favorite walking places such as the château ruins or the fields behind the village elementary school.

My complaints are simple:

• I'm vaccinated. I'm tested. I should be safe. There's no way to communicate this to the authorities.
  
• Big brother knowing I crossed the border through my mobile phone. 

Throughout the pandemic, the authorities have changed information. I don't get upset at this like some people. Everyone is on untested ground, even the experts. They may have studied pandemics, but studying and living through are two different things.

Compared to people who've lost dearly loved ones, their jobs, homes, businesses 10 days quarantine is nothing but an annoyance because it isn't necessary this time. The other time without the vaccine and the tests it was for the good of others.

 

Oldest house in France

 

                                             Maison de Jeanne Sévèrac de Château, France

When Rick said he wanted to go a different way to Geneva from Argelès, I almost said "but it will take longer," but I didn't. I was so glad I didn't.

He chose the middle route where we looked at beautiful valleys, hill and plateaus. I was excited at the idea of crossing for a second time the Millau Bridge, opened in 2004. It is the tallest bridge in the world with a structural height of 336.4 metres (1,104 ft). 

I thought that the bridge might have been the reason my husband wanted to come that way. Or maybe because there was much less traffic than on our usual road.

 Suddenly, my husband left the highway. I was curious, but he wouldn't say where we are going.

Sévérac-le-Château was our destination, a beautiful Medieval village with a château perched at the top.

"Maybe, was all he would say when I asked if that was out destination. During the drive we'd been joking about if he knew where I'd hidden my water pistol, so this seemed a continuation of our verbal games.

He pulled into a sorta parking spot across for a beautiful garden. After hitching up the dog, we walked to the house with the red and white flag in the photo. Maison de Jeanne.

Then I realized. He'd brought me to the oldest house in France dating back to the 13th century. It had been lived in by ordinary people through the ages. The village had been occupied by Visigoths and Charlemagne used it as an official area. Simon De Montfort stormed it in the 1214 in his search for Cathars.

Although only about 2300 people live there, we found a restaurant. The poor waiter was alone trying to serve everyone on the terrace. France has only allowed terrace dining for a week. 

I had woken Sunday morning thinking that it would be another routine trip to Geneva. Instead it turned into a magic day.

Vaccine fantasies

It's been over a year of confinements, quarantines, giant q-tips shoved up my nose (seven times and counting), curfews, impossibility to go certain places or distances, signed attestations stating where we are going and why, masks etc.

I'm not complaining. It was for the greater good. However that didn't stop certain fantasies for what was once normal life and then became impossible.  In the last two days, I've lived four of those fantasies as France loosened its restrictions.

 

1. Eating an ice cream at Mille et Une and watching people walk by. Yes those people were masked. I had coffee, Rick had cookie dough and stracciatella.

2. Eating at a restaurant. Okay, it is only on the terrace, but with Restaurant Row at the beach in Argelès we had plenty of choice. Terrace dining at the beach is the norm during tourist season. Sherlock shared our chicken and duck and a run on the sand before we ate.

3.  Lunch with several vaccinated women friends. No masks, but we were still hesitant to hug and/or cheek kiss.

4. Morning coffee at L'Hostalet where people we know walk by, sit down and we chat. Soon they'll be open in the evening for a glass of wine, beer, a cuppa... And they still offer the tiny little, two-bite muffin.

Happy Anniversary

 

Rick and I were sitting on the couch. He was looking at his phone. "J. sent me a Jacquie Lawson card." He looks confused. "I wonder why."

I think about it. OH MY GOD!!!! "I think it's our anniversary."

We stare at each and other than burst out laughing. 

We were right. That's why she sent a card. We watched a royal parade.

Her note reminds us that the ceremony six years ago was just us, her, her son and the town officials. 

We went to lunch at our favorite restaurant where the manager who knew us well, sent champagne.

J. and her son started talking in German, which was strange. French yes, but German? I was more confused by the parts I understood: talk about time getting home. How she would pick him up to make sure he did. 

That was more than confusing. His coming and goings were never discussed in such detail not in French nor in English and never in German.

There was a reason. That evening we took a walk by the lake. When we returned we found a surprise party J. had organized for us.

Her message was perfect for the day, the memory trigger, left us giggling the rest of the evening.

As for the six years, yup they've been happy and then some.

As for our friend J., she's one special lady. We say she's a walking heart. And as for our anniversary, she made it special in a very strange and meaningful way which would never have happened if her card had not reminded us.

Thank you J.

Living debt free

When I was the PR director of a credit union, I was asked to give a talk to newly divorced and widowed women on how to handle their finances.

It was like asking me to swim the English channel. I can't swim.

However, I am a good researcher and put together a damned good presentation.

It also made me look at my own finances.

The first thing I recommended to the women, is track everything they spent. I still do that although it much easier on Excel than a notebook.

Looking at the expenditures it was easy to determine what was necessary:

• Mortgage (or rent)
  
• Car payment
• Car costs
  
• Heat
• Electricity
• Day care
• Food
• Insurance (life and medical)
• Taxes
  

Everything else was optional with different degrees of desirability. 

From there on it is a question of life style and choices, assuming basic income. If you're paid 7.25 an hour there are not many options on expenditures. This is more for people who make a living wage and are struggling with debt.

Mortgage

I never thought of my house (condo) as an investment. It is a refuge, a place to build happy memories. For me color-coordinated is important but it isn't reflected in the mortgage. I looked at my first house payment. $8 against principle $125 total. I found out I could pay double the principle or even triple or quadruple to reduce the overall interest payments. 

For personal reasons, I had to move including changing countries which made this harder and often I was paying rent but that's another story.

Car Payment and Costs

At some points in my life I needed a car to get to work. I didn't need an expensive car. It bought a tiny Ford Escort. My coworkers teased me that I didn't have a big shiny status car like theirs. My boss asked if he gave me a raise would I buy a better car. I said he could give me a raise anyway. He didn't. I pointed out living in Boston, there were too many car thefts. My Escort was not on the wish list of many car thieves.

Because I learned to live where there is good public transportation, I didn't need a car for 20 years. Savings gave me cash to buy an apartment cash. I didn't care about the price of gas which in Europe is high. When I married, we decided to buy a car BUT we bought a used one that we could pay cash for so no interest charges. 

Heat, Electricity

I always felt because I saved money on other things, I could have enough light and keep the place warm in winter and cool in summer. I didn't heat or light rooms I wasn't in, and made sure to shut off as much as possible when we were away.

Day care

This wasn't an option until my daughter turned 12. I was lucky to find good solutions at reasonable prices, but it is not an area where one can scrimp.

Food

When I was an Army wife of a PFC and later a SP4, we often ran out of money and food before the end of the month. Stored Spam, rice, beans, combining left overs with other wives were solutions. 

When it was my daughter and me, Friday nights were Garbage soup nights where all left overs were combined in bullion, pureed and cream was added. No waste. Most Fridays it was wonderful. The only problem was that we would never be able to duplicate it.

Today, we waste too much food by either cooking too much or forgetting to use leftovers. Pre-pandemic with many restaurants in walking distance, whoever is cooking may say "I think I'll cook at La Noisette" or "What do you think of my cooking at Flowers." The pandemic has reduced out waste because restaurants are closed. Because we are careful with other purchases or lack thereof, we can eat guilt free at a restaurant and no dishes to wash after before and hopefully after the pandemic.

There may something wrong with me that I never wanted a big car or a big house to impress the neighbors. My retirement home was to be an 18 sq.mt. loft in a 400-year old building in a French village. At one time I thought my retirement would be $600 a month and with no mortgage I could live quite comfortable. There was train and bus service so a car wouldn't be necessary and almost everything was in walking distance including the movie theater. Over the years the available retirement income increased dramatically, but I still wanted to keep my unnecessary spending low.

I named the studio The Nest and I loved everything in it: fireplace, beams, the stone walls skylight, things that had meaning. Not an extra thing was there, but everything had a purpose, a memory and was beautiful. A good thing? It could be left spotless with only an hours work.

I told God my plans. He laughed and sent me the love of my life. The flat would not house both of us so we rented a two-bedroom flat two doors down. The Nest, as I called my studio, could be rented, but we use it as a guest room.

Credit Cards

For years I only had an American Express and that I used primarily for business trips. They want payment in full so never any interest charges.

When my mother was dying because I couldn't work full time. I got and lived on several credit cards. and between that and her expenses, after she died I was $75,000 in debt. Fortunately I ended up with a well-paying job in Switzerland and in five years I was able to pay everything off. If I have to use a credit card now, I make sure it is paid off at the end of the month. I don't want to waste money on interest.

Shopping

It helps I'm shopping phobic. Spending time in a mall makes me unhappy and if I have to go in one, I walk straight to what I need and try not to look right or left.

 

We often shop vide greniers (flea markets) or recycling places  and find things at a fraction of the cost. I adore my leather couch and coffee table bought for a total of $100 (translated from Euros). We've done that with most of our furniture including a hand carved desk. We do buy art work. We can because we've saved money elsewhere and we aren't worried about the next MasterCard Bill. It's fun to walk through a vide grenier on a summer day and talk with the people.

Little things save a lot

My husband was used to a more spendthrift life but slowly I'm converting him into reusing or not using or needing. 

Plastic bags for dry trash? One can last for years. 

 

It took me over 18 months to use a roll of paper towels. I only used it for bacon and I didn't have bacon very often. 

I cringe when he tears off four or five paper towels to wipe a spill when we have enough rags to do it. 

Aluminum foil? We reuse. I remember the aluminum ball my grandmother had for the war effort, but she would use some of it if needed before washing and replacing on the ball. Because the brownie lady on the Saturday marché wraps her brownies in aluminum, we almost never have to buy a roll. We reuse hers.

Paper napkins. Only when the cloth ones need washing. Or if we are entertaining a largish group and want something special.

Plastic wrap or cling film? Never. We have mason jars, a one time expenditures. 

 

Mouth wash? Four of five drops does the same as a throat-chocking swig. 

 

Tooth paste? Half my baby finger nail and even that produces too much foam. Four years ago a friend coming from the States to visit asked if I wanted anything. I told him Crest. He brought nine tubes. We still have half.

My beloved stepmom asked why I bought a reliable used Fridge instead of a new one. I told her the difference in the price between that and the new one she showed me were tickets (sale price) to Europe for my daughter.

Because we watch our pennies and centimes, they grow into dollars, Euros and Francs. This means a freedom from worry about bills. There is always money there. We also can look at a piece of art work, decide to go to Scotland, Germany, Italy, some place in Switzerland overnight and the money is there.

This is accomplished without investments. Both for lack of knowledge and disgust with so many companies, certain investments are out of the question. But then again, I have the flat I bought cash. It has already brought in 2/3rds of the purchase price and I has the original value plus. I don't need to feel guilty about the damage my investments are doing. Meanwhile I've provided a home to a little old lady from Paris. 

I don't think like many people on many things and money is one of them. I have enough. Much more than enough.  I still can't swim.

 

Mamies, a dying breed

 

When I bought my first house in Argelès-sur-mer, France with two anthropologists, there was a plethora (I don't get a chance to use that word often) of mamies or grannies. 

Many were dressed in black widow weeds. Any where from two to five of them would bring out their chairs and chat, peel potatoes or maybe snap beans almost every day at least once if not more. If a car had the nerve to come by, they would move back or not.

This was in the 1970s and they were younger then than I am now.

One by one, the mamies have disappeared. The new generation have worked, traveled and dress in jeans, sweats and sometimes even business suits. They may have grandchildren but they will never be mamies like their mothers. 

Three of the old-style mamies remain.

One I don't see very often. When I do she uses a walker. One day, she told me who else had lived in these houses half of which are now occupied by French retirees or summer people from Czech, Norway, Germany, England, Scotland, Sweden and Ireland. Many from the Danish film/television community have summered here turning the area into Copenhagen south for a few weeks.

One house, she said, belonged to a family that earned their living by fishing for anchovies, a regional delicacy. Another man worked for SCNF and beat his wife. Her cries could be heard through open windows. And then there was the shrew who berated her husband, but when he died, she visited him every day in the cemetery crying and apologizing. The school teacher, she said, just died before I moved in. And her best friend Marie-Christine lived where the Swiss cellist now lives, but there was a German family before.

Madam F made sure my two blue pots bought in Spain for 5 Euros each are taken care when I'm away. More than once my pansies have been replaced by carnations or a plant whose name I don't know but will call pretty. She lost her husband this spring. For many years now an ambulance comes a couple times of week to take her for dialysis. Each time I return from a trip, I'm surprised she's still here.

Madam C no longer has her friends to chat with, but she sits on her stairs and knits. I have a pouch she made for me. When I visited the ABBA museum in Stockholm, I bought a kit for a hat like the one of the singers wore. After Madam C made it, she tried to give it to me, but I insisted she keep it. The sparkles sewn into the yarn sparkle in the sun when she heads for the green grocer.

When I was first in Argelès, I spoke almost no French. Now I'm functional but speak with a thick Bostonian accent or so I'm told by those in know, but these mamies speak Catalan, Spanish and French with an accent taught in no French language school. We may struggle but we find a way to understand.

Mystery Interview Part 5 Murder in Geneva

 

                                                                 University of Geneva

Annie Young is back with us to talk about her experiences trying to solve a murder mystery of a professor in Geneva as she worked on a catalogue for an auction house and find out more an artist from Jean Calvin's time. Today, I make tea to drink with the brownies she'd made.

Me:        Yum, the brownies are great. Thank you. Now, Tell me about your experiences in Geneva.

Annie:    I was staying with a friend, who was a Ph.D. student. Her professor, who was also her lover, was found floating in Lake Geneva or Lac Lèman as its called in French. 

Me:        Wow. That must have upset her.

Annie:    Not as much as you would think. She had found some very old and very great drawings in a bin in the old town and the professor said he'd have them evaluated. He told her they were worth nothing. He lied. He was going to sell them and keep the money. Overall the professor was a real shit not just to my friend but to many.

Me:        Is anything known about the artist?

Annie:    She lived with her uncle and aunt who were strict Calvinists. Elizabeth rebelled and ended up in prison. 

Me:        I understand that your partner got involved too.

Annie:  He is a policeman and a former flic, French for cop, at the famous police headquarters 36 in Paris. He arranged an exchange with the Geneva police.

Me:        Do you work with him on the case?

Annie:    Unofficially of course. The mother of a young man and close friend is accused of the murder. I've taken this kid under my wing so the situation was personal for me.

Me:        You've gotten involved in trying to solve several murders. How does that happen?

Annie:    It is nothing I've tried to do. I've had friends or clients that are unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps it is because I work in so many different places. Maybe if I just stayed in Geneva or Argelès where I have a studio that I call my Nest, it wouldn't happen.

Me:        You are passionate about history. How did that come about?

Annie:     My dad. Because we moved from country to country, he wanted to explore the present culture and the past history. Also, because we moved so often and were always "the strangers" or "the foreigners" we became closer as a family than if we had stayed in Massachusetts. 

Me:        Since you've lived in the States the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland and France, what do you feel as a national identity?

Annie:    It's taken me a long time to realize I'm not just a Third Culture Kid, but an international. I've taken something from every place I lived. At first it bothered me. Now I just realize that it has made me richer, not in a monetary sense but in experiences.  

Me:        What else should we talk about?

Annie:     Tomorrow, I'd like to talk about a project with a group of women from all over the world. As they say, "Stay tuned, film at 11."

 

 

 

The Porch

 

My childhood home had a front porch that ran the length of the house. On the left side was a ping pong table which could be turned on its size if we wanted to roller skate.

On the right were four chairs, two Adirondack chairs and two metal ones. None were comfortable.

The porch looked out on a semi-circular drive. In the middle was a pine grove with over thirty trees. A Robert Frost stone wall separated our property from the street.

In the summer, we'd mosquito-proof the porch by screening it in.

Especially when Uncle Archer and Auntie Maud were visiting my mother and grandmother would join them on the porch after the last supper dish had been dried and returned to its proper place. 

Well almost proper place. When Uncle Archer and Auntie Maud returned to their New Jersey home, on their weekly phone call (he worked for the telephone and had free calls), Dar, my grandmother would ask, "Now Maudie where do you put (fill in the blank)."

There were no chairs for my brother and I. We didn't care. Grownup talk was boring. 

Instead we would catch fireflies. Our goal was to get enough in a jar, never mind two jars one for each, so we could read by firefly light after we went to bed.

We never even came close but we were happy trying. There was always another night.

TCK Mystery Interview Part 4 Insel Poel

Annie Young breezes into my flat apologizing over and over for being late. She is the heroine of my Third Culture Kid series and she talks about different murders she ran across and how they were solved. Today we are going to discuss Murder on Insel Poel, but not before we had cups of tea and a chocolate eclair in front of us.

Me:  Why did you go to Insel Poel?

Annie:  I had an assignment from the museum there to do some French and English translations. I was really looking forward to it. It's the type of assignment I love, more than explaining some dreary machine or software.

Me: I'd never heard of the Island.

Annie: You aren't alone. It's in the North of Germany not that far from Denmark. Germans and Scandinavians go there for summer holidays, but in winter, when I was there, it is mainly locals. (She rummages in her purse and pulls out a map.) People say it looks a bit like a gorilla.

Me: (I nod in agreement.) So what happened?

Annie:  Every thing went skitty west.

Me:  Skitty west?

Annie: I was walking on the beach. I love the beach in winter when I'm the only person there. The sand was really fine, finer than Argelès sand. The air was frigid but it felt good because I was bundled up. Then in the dune grass or whatever you call those long yellow stalks, I saw bodies of two Asian women.

Me:  That must have been a shock. (Annie looks at me and we both know it was stupid statement.)

Annie: If that wasn't depressing enough, I learned in WWII, a German luxury ship had been filled with prisoners from Neuengamme Concentration Camp, not far away. I went there and spent an afternoon listening to oral histories of survivors of the camp. There was one about a partially Jewish family. The daughter dreamed of being a swimmer and that didn't really match her family's goals who were more intellectual than sporty.

Me: (I don't say, that must have been depressing.) What did you learn?

Annie: The British thought that the ship was loaded with Nazi officers so they sank the boat. Most perished and made it to shore. I also learned that the Nazi's planned to scuttle the ship themselves.

Me: Wow. Killing witnesses.

Annie: I also learned about the pilot and how he was in love with the daughter of a very small-minded vicar and about a German family trapped in the nightmare.Their stories were fascinating and had a slightly better climax. Oh, and yes ... one of the women I made friends with on the island had a daughter that was being abused by her mother's boyfriend. She showed up on my doorstep one night.

Me:  Did anything go right?

Annie:  The girl was okay. I did a good job. And we found out who murdered the Asian women. By the time I left, I was exhausted. Tomorrow do you want to discuss the murder that happened in Ely. It even has international banking implications.

Me: (We make a date.)

 

 

TCK Mystery interview Part 3

 

I'm continuing my interview with Annie Young, heroine of the Third Culture Kid mystery series. She's a free lance tech writer, amateur detective and amateur historian.

Me:         Tell me about your experiences at the Paris dig.

Annie:     It started badly. My boyfriend forbid me to go on a dig near the Sorbonne. He was jealous of my ex-lover, Luca, who headed it up. That and the fact Luca is drop-dead handsome didn't help.

Me:         What did you do?

Annie:     I went any way. Roger and I have an off and on relationship and the major problem is he wants me to be a traditional woman. Tisn't me.

Me:          There was a murder...

Annie:       Yes, it was a dig volunteer who was an ex-lover of Luca. And there was a second murder.

Me:            Did that stop the dig?

Annie:        It slowed it down, but we'd made some exciting discoveries -- traces of a priest who was studying in Paris. Based on what we found, he may have had a girlfriend. She may have been pregnant. I did some additional research and found he may have gone on to become a pope. I need to do more when I have a chance.

Me:        Why were you digging?

Annie:    They, they being some apartment conglomerate, wanted to put up a building, but the government needed to make sure there were no historical treasures. The only reason I was asked to join was that Luca knew me and thought I'd enjoy it and could add something to the team.

Me:        Do you like Paris?

Annie:     I adore it. I've had several longer-term assignments there and have gotten to know it fairly well. Thus when Luca asked me to join the dig, even if it was non-paid, I jumped at the chance. I stayed with a friend. That's the advantage of doing what I do. I make enough to not work and follow my passion which is historical research?

Me:        Have you ever thought of teaching?

Annie:    (Shaking her head so vigorously that her red curls bounce.) Too confining. It's nice to be able to visit different places, different countries, use my languages. Would you like to hear about my experiences on Insel Poel?

Me:        Tomorrow. I have another appointment in a half hour and I don't want to rush talking with you.

 

    

TCK interview Part 2

Annie Young, a Third Culture kid, tech writer, amateur detective and historian is talking with us about her adventures. She is the heroine of my mystery series, www.donnalanenelson.com available at various locations. She's in her early thirties and has long red curly hair and a smile that's never far from her lips. My goal was to talk to her about the various murders she discovered.

Me: How did you end up in Caleb's Landing. After all you'd been living in Southern France and taking short-term tech writing assignments in various European cities.

Annie: My dad had sold his business and they were happy living in Geneva, but he had inherited this house in Caleb's Landing from his aunt. My folks, who hadn't lived in the States for at least 20 years, decided to spend a year there. I was between assignments and wanted to spend Christmas with them.

Me: What was it like?

Annie: Caleb's Landing? A typical New England coastal town. In summer plenty of tourists, but the residents take over in winter. I loved it. In many ways it was like I'd imagined New England. My dad lined up with many of his buddies he knew because he'd spent summers there.

Me: But then you discovered a skeleton in a hidden room in the basement.

Annie: That was a shock. We thought it was a runaway slave because of the clothes and a diary by a slave. I was fascinated by the diary. We jumped to the conclusion it was part of the underground railroad. Then we realized there was a modern underground railroad under our noses, but not in the basement.

Me: I don't understand.

Annie: One of the women got to know was Magda. What a force she was. She was running an underground railroad, so to speak, for abused wives.

Me: Didn't you have some history project too?

Annie: One of my dad's friends was upset at the quality of history taught in the schools. He was on the school board and hired me to create some material that went deeper than was being taught. That ended up to a be a major political problem. Between everything, it was nothing like the quiet family holiday I expected.

Me: It sounds like . . .

Annie's mobile rings. She apologizes and leaves the room to take the call. She is back in two minutes.

Annie: I'm sorry, I have to run. Can we pick this up another day?

Me: Of course. I'd like to talk to you about your experiences in Southern France. 

Annie: (Sigh) I still feel sad about my friend who was murdered. He was a priest. I still miss him. On the other hand, that's where I met the man I married, a retired flic, cop. Yes, I'll talk to you. Let's meet in the café on the corner tomorrow.

TCK Interview Part 1.

 

D-L Nelson is the creator of the TCK mystery series. This is the first in a series of interviews with Annie Young, Third Culture Kid, amateur detective, amateur historian and free-lance tech writer and the heroine of the series.

Me:       Can you explain what a third culture kid is?

Annie:   Sure. It is a person born in one culture and they move to another country. They aren’t truly a part of their parents’ culture nor totally a part of the new one.

Me:       So that’s what happened to you?

Annie:   And then some. I was a eight-year-old, happy kid growing up in Maynard, Massachusetts when my father’s company transferred him to Amsterdam. Suddenly, I’m in a Dutch school. It took about six months before I was speaking the language.

Me:       Must have been hard.

Annie:   It was, but I adjusted more or less. Then my father came home one night and said we were moving to Stuttgart, Germany. New school, new language. I guess learning German was easier because it was closer to Dutch than if I’d gone directly from English. My mom had a tutor three times a week for both of us. She’s an artist and like me felt somewhat isolated.

Me:       Why didn’t your parents put you in an international school where English is the language?

Annie:   They thought being bi-lingual or multi-lingual would have great advantages when I started working.

Me:       So you’re trilingual?

Annie:   Quadrilingual. My father was then transferred to Geneva, Switzerland. French. This was our last move though. My father quit the company that bounced him around Europe and started his own technical service company.

Me:       Wow! How did you feel about all the moves?

Annie:   You sound like a shrink. At first I hated it and acted as a brat, but in another way it brought us as a family. My dad and I would go off on historical safaris to try and find interesting things from the past, and that was pretty cool. The real problem it took me years to feel as if I belonged any where and wasn’t an outsider no matter where I went.

Me:       How did that happen?

Annie:   I feel in love with a French flic, a cop.

Me:       And you’ve solved several murder mysteries.

Annie:   Only by accident being where people were killed. I mean what are the chances of visiting my folks and finding a skeleton in their closet?

Me:       We’re out of time, but we’ll pick this interview up tomorrow. I want to hear more about that skeleton.