Freewriter The Old Man

 

Our first rewrite now that we're back in Southern France. The temperature has dropped from 100F/37°C to 65°F/18°C with a blessed wind. However, the wind made sitting outside unpleasant so we ended up inside at the Mille et Une tearoom. We could see people walking by. Our prompt was an old man with a cane. The free writes are great motivator for the rest of our writings.

Rick's freewrite

Every morning, cold, warm, rain, sun, the rare snow, Jorgé urged his frail body out of bed soon after the 8:12 freight train rumbled past his deuxiéme stage apartment.

He put on the same pale blue clam digger pants, red FCB Barcelona jacket and fisherman's crap, grabbed his cane and trundled down the narrow stairs to rue d'Yser, from the corner, up the road to the center of the village, wave good morning to the early risers at the PMU café who had already placed their pets for the first race (even though it didn't take place until mid-afternoon) and across the rue Nationale ignoring the don't cross signal at the village's only traffic light. 

Destination: Bon Glacé not for ice cream, certainly, but for the only smoked tea in town, after which he'd have an espresso chaser to wake up for the day.

Almost all of his Catalan friends were gone. Now the village was mainly tourists. So he'd sit here for awhile, lost in his memories, then amble home in time for the 10:12 freight train.

D-L's freewrite

Pierre could hear his cane click on the cobblestones. He has to be careful not to fall. That happened last week and it was so embarrassing laying in the middle of the street and people asking if he were alright or should they call an ambulance.

He's limped home and Marie had called him a silly old man for forgetting the baguette he'd left on the ground.

Every morning he went out for the daily bread and the Independent.

He'd said bonjour to the green grocer, the pharmacist and the newspaper seller. The shops had changed hands many times over since he was a boy. 

The village had become gentrified. No more goats and chickens on the streets now filled with tourist from Paris, London, even  Amsterdam.

He held his baguette tight and the Independent under his arm.

He planned to go out every morning as long as he could --  Old age stunk.

The heat has broken.

 

The heat has broken. Temperatures that were in the high 30s or even 40s are down to the low to mid 20s. (102/71°F) A breeze/wind is gusting in the 70k an hour range but the regular wind is about 24K an hour according to accuweather.com.

I survived the summer's heat. Yesterday's rain was strong not filling the dry river but creating a stream.

I laid on the couch reading as I took a writing break and looked up at the leaves dancing thru my sheer red curtain.

It's been a lovely day. My husband went to Spain to play golf. I'm happy that he's happy. Normally we are together 24/7 which is great but I'm always happy to discover I can be alone and it's okay. Maybe our secret is we can be alone together. It also helps we are both writers, share many, many interests and appreciate those that we don't share.

It's been a good writing day on my book of remarkable but unsung women. Sometimes it is hard to condense a life that could be a 500 page or more book into 150 words plus or minus and capture the essence of the person. Some almost write themselves. I've about 300 of the 1000 I need to write. To take a break, I did a bit more on my anthology of  short stories and poetry, mostly published that I want published as soon as I can get it ready for print.

Today's women were a teacher of the deaf who was present when Alexander Graham Bell made his first phone call and a communist dissident from Romania. I polished the write up on a woman who learned to fly a plane  before she learned to drive and was a flyer in WWII. There was also a Canadian ice hockey player turned small town mayor. Fascinating women.

Sherlock and I went to La Lola, the restaurant on the corner. It was too windy to eat outside. He wanted to take a walk on the way back and I stopped to talk to a French woman and an English man who live in London. Lovely conversation, and of course they thought the dog was cute. They were relieved their holiday was not totally destroyed by the heat.

Was invited to dinner with good friends for Wednesday night.

Tonight, when I crawl into bed, I will feel I made the most of my day, a NOT HOT DAY.

Things I Didn't Do...

 

 

Over the years, there were so many things I tried to do but either failed or realized they were not possible.

Moving to Paris in 1962

I thought we should go to Paris when my first husband finished his army obligation in the army band in Stuttgart. I had loved living in Europe.  I would write and he could concentrate on his music. He thought I was crazy. However, at the same time I was desperate to finish my degree, so returning to the U.S. wasn't all that awful.

Not teaching

My degree was in English/History with the idea I would teach. I didn't take education courses because I wanted the subject courses. After graduation I went to Tufts for the education courses. I disliked student teaching. Time to look for something else.

Moving to Colorado

After my divorce I had thought about moving to Colorado Springs with my toddler. I had friends there. To earn a living I thought about opening a cleaning service. It was not reasonable to separate my daughter and her father. I stayed in Boston.

Becoming a lawyer

It was obvious to me that I needed to break out of the secretarial mode if I wanted to earn a better living and use my degree, I would need to do something. My divorce lawyer, Maguerite Pettipit, made a good living in family law. I decided to take the LSATS and looked at different Boston law schools. To make sure I was on the right track I went to work for a small law firm as a secretary. It took about a month that I decided I wouldn't enjoy the law.

Working packing fish in Iceland

All my life I wanted to be a writer. I'd been a cub reporter at 16 but any attempts to get a journalistic job had failed. I thought if I could put together enough money, I'd be able to take time off from earning my living as a writer in Paris for a year. I heard that Iceland wanted fish packers and I thought I could work for them a year, save money, and then write in Paris for a year. I bought an Iceland language book.  They had no interest in me.

Moving to France

Once my daughter graduated high school, I started to look for work in France seriously. I sold my house and moved. Before I could find a job, my mother developed cancer. I could have ignored it, but I figured guilt would take years of psychiatry. I moved back to Boston.

Not working for a software company

I found a job in Switzerland where I was not suited but held my own. To get that job I had sent out over 800 CVs to advertised jobs and used directories to get names of HR, PR, and marketing people in Germany and France. I answered an ad in the IHT for the Swiss post and within a month I was living in Neuchätel.

I passionately loved living there, but I needed another job. I did not have the right permit to change. One company told me I'd be perfect but I was too old and a woman. I could only change one of those things and didn't want to.

There was a software company startup in Ireland that would have hired me. They had a great product to balance different currencies each day. They were still looking for financing. It was just as well I didn't move because the Euro put them out of business.

Loving tea but not working for its promotion

I flew to the Netherlands to interview for a job with the International Tea Association. I removed myself from consideration when I realized with the amount of travel I would have to put my daughter in boarding school, and I enjoyed being her mother far too much. During that trip, I went to France to research my first novel.

It's okay I didn't do these things

I think of them as either false starts or dreams that were enjoyed in the dreaming. In each case what didn't work, the next twist in my life did. 

The two big goals since childhood of living in Europe and being a writer came true. Career was more earning a good living than devotion to a company. Most of my jobs were enjoyable and challenging. 

I did finish my B.A. and received my M.A. from a university in Wales. I even taught a few courses at a university in Geneva.

I found my soul mate at 71. I've published 17 books and am working on my 18th. I live in both Switzerland and the south of France. I'm no longer American, which was a necessity to have a normal financial life and even gave testimony to Congress on the problems expats were having. I ran my own financial newsletter for Canadian credit union executives. I've taken Canadian and Swiss nationalities and survived two bouts of cancer. My daughter and I have a great relationship. I did get to Iceland, eating not packing fish, and have spent time in Ireland.

I could get a T-shirt that has the Edith Piaf song "Non Je Regette Rien."

I regret nothing.

Changing Countries Again Part II

It was time to quit our Geneva home for our French one. We'd been comparing temperatures in both places and had postponed the trip several times. Both places had been disgustingly hot with temperatures sometimes in triple digits. Canicules, as the French call heatwaves, suck. Also because of a fire down south, we wanted to wait until the smoke cleared.

Accuweather was promising temperatures in the low 20°s/80°s in both places so we packed the car and off we went. If we stopped for nothing it would take six hours. We usually stop for pee and food breaks.

The canicule has left its mark. What usually is lush green scenery on both sides of the autoroute, was dead brown or yellow.

At one rest stop the tree bark that is usually brown with dark red patches, was oozing yellow.

Unlike most restaurants in France allowing dogs, those along the autoroute forbid them. We decided to go off route to Nimes Centre for lunch.

At the Cheval Blanc across from the Coliseum built by the Romans in the first century, there was table in the shade that caught the breeze such as it was.

Our waiter started out as a grump. "I'm going to warm him," I said to Rick.

Revealing we had a Montreal connection started it. 

Playing with words of the big boss being small in size, helped. 

He began to use a few words of English although most of the conversation was in French.

For desert I ordered Rick's desert, profiteroles with two spoons and nothing for myself.

"Does he have you permission to share," the waiter asked with a half smile.

"I promised not to eat too much," I said.

He brought the desert and two spoons. Rick's was a table spoon. Mine was a baby spoon which he replaced after receiving the proper giggles.

Back on the road we ran into a traffic jam. We decided to use the side roads, which meant we made steady progress just a slower pace if the autoroute had been traffic jam free.

Within the first hour of arriving we saw five people we knew, another major difference from living in the two countries. 

Although we've changed countries, much of life is the same. We read, we write, we revel in our dog, we take walks, we talk, we cuddle. The difference is more outside the house. 

No one has ever pitied us for our change of countries and we never forget how lucky we are.

Changing Countries Again

 We will change countrie tomorrow and I suspect I won't be writing any blogs till early next week although on the eight hour car ride, I'll probably think up some.

Next week the temperature will drop in both France and  Switzerland.

YES

A Bookstore to know and love

 

One of the problems of being a book addict who reads about 100 books a year while living in a country with a different language is finding books in my mother tongue. Yes, I could read French, but the pleasure is not the same.

For a three hour TGV ride I can go to Paris to visit the famous Shakespeare's Sister and Red Wheelbarrow for a bookstore fix. Love them, but it is not practical. Even going to Lausanne or Bern takes too much time.

Locally there's a chain which has an English section but it lacks the cozy factor. I often take refuge in the Geneva Library in English. And there are phone booth book drops, but there's no guarantee they'll have any English books or even if they do any I might want.

There are novels where they write about cozy bookstores, and when I read about them, I sigh longingly.

Then Pages and Sips opened an English Language bookstore in the Vieille Ville. Nestled in an old-old building (all buildings are old in the Vieille Ville,) its rooms wander up and down stairs. Old wooden beams add atmosphere. Tables and chairs are placed among the book shelves.

Those tables and chairs are for the the sips part of the bookstore. Scones, pastries, a good assortment of teas and coffees are a delight. There are so many little touches like the small jars of clotted cream or jellies, sealed with the store's label. 

The selection is wide and they order anything they might not have.

The staff is warm and friendly. Going in the door and seeing them is like seeing friends.

For Rick and I (and Sherlock our dog) waking up and catching the bus to Pages &Sips is a great start of the day. We may be picking up a book we ordered or just want to bask in the atmosphere. I admit walking by some of the displays, I can't resist buying another book, sometimes for a gift and sometimes for me which is unplanned.

We've met some other regulars and it is a treat when we are there at the same time. 

Today we were picking up Christmas presents. Our family tradition is stolen from Iceland. On Christmas Eve we give books then go to bed to read them.

We ordered our scones. I'm a fan of their smoked tea. Rick went for a cappuccino. "I really enjoy this," he said.

Other clients drifted in and out. We chatted with the friendly owner. On the way to the loo, I saw someone I'd met on an earlier visit and his dachshund Obie. He asked where Sherlock was. I also found a book by Alice Hoffman. Needless to say, I bought it.

Free Write Two Women

 

This is Rick's and my last free writer at the boulangerie in Vandoeuvres. We will be returning to France for the next few months and when we return it will be  too cold for the terrace. Future free writes will be in French cafés. The prompt for this one was two women talking at a nearby table. Sherlock went with us, took his place and ate his share of croissants. He wrote nothing.

Rick's Freewrite 

A couple of croissants, coffees. Not unusual for breakfast, a bottle of Coke. Two old friends, former co-workers actually who hadn't seen each other in three years since the office had closed because of COVID.

Sarah, with the blazing red hair, had shifted into real estate at one of the detested "regies," who had controlled apartments in Geneva though she had determined to single-handedly change that perception at least among her clients by offering actual customer-service.

Blond Jennifer had not reentered the workforce to coast on her NGO VP husband's generous salary.She had leaped on the chance to get together behind the boulangerie when Sarah had called in the middle of her August vacation break.

They had laughed about former colleagues, caught each other up on marriages, divorces, and kids though Jennifer didn't have much to offer in that department. She spent much of her time watching lame game shows on TV or browsing the shops in Confederation.

As they parted company, Sarah idly suggested an admin position opening at her immoblier. "You should apply."

"I'll think about it," Jennifer responded, but she wouldn't.

D-L's Freewrite

Gina and Frederique, Freddy, had been friends since kindergarten. They had been opposites then, they were opposites now, Gina with her red streaked brown hair and Freddy with her blond.

For years they had sat together at school tables until uni. Gina went  to art school in Rhode Island and Freddy studied philosophy at Harvard.

Here there were now, sitting on the café terrace, planning Freddy's wedding. Or Gina was.

Gina's speech gave credence to the cliché talking a mile a minute. Her leg jiggled, her hands moved constantly to emphasize this or that point about flowers, music and menus. "No frufru bridesmaids dresses. As maid of honor I want something chic." Her friend Clare, studying fashion design, had already made drawings.

It had always been like this. Freddy didn't care. Her friend's energy and escapades had given her energy for her studies.

Gina reached into her portfolio and pulled out the wedding sketches.

One by one Freddy looked at them. "They are all lovely. You decide."

"But it's your wedding."

Freddy had laughed her soft laugh. "I chose the groom."

Haikus on the Bench

Rick and I were halfway through out morning dog walk. We sat on the lone bench overlooking the field where crows and pigeons compete with zoomies before landing to eat whatever they can find.

Looking up thru the sun speckled tree, the sky is a blue that almost belongs on an Impressionist's pallet. Contrails criss-cross the sky, not quite a tic tac toe form.

The morning walk in the tiny village of Vandoeuvres by farms, fields, flowers gentles us into our day.

We made up haikus as we sat there between comfortable moments of silence.

The dog's tongue gives kisses

There's total tranquility

Sitting on the bench. 

Tuesday Free Writer - Darkness

Our car is in the shop and cafés are too far to walk, so Rick and I  go out in the garden for our Tuesday free write. No "victim" walks by so we use for a prompt a line from The Life of Adele La Rue by V.E. Schwab: "But the darkness keeps coming."

D-L's Free Write

The darkness kept coming.

No moon.

No stars. 

Only the headlights pushed pinpricks of light onto the forest road. 

No other cars were out. Why should they be? They were in the middle of the Maine wilderness after midnight.

"You okay?" she asked Jack. "Not sleepy?"

"Don't worry. We'll get to your folks in time."

In time. Time for her father to die. 

The forest's darkness didn't scare her. She'd grown up here. Her father's work was a botanist, a tree specialist. She'd learned to live with the loneliness. Her dog Skipper had been her only friend.

How different her life had been when she went to Boston University, returning only for holidays. 

She loved her parents, loved Skipper, but she needed more things like the internet. She and Jack were a couple, but even in the city she valued solitude.

"Take a right at that big rock." It probably had been dropped by a glacier.

There were lights in the windows of her parents' cabin.

The door opened. Skipper hobbled out, his tail wagging at seeing her. 

Her mother followed. "You made it in time."

Rick's Free Write

The  darkness keeps coming. He couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding. No matter how many things went right during the day, he continued to have a sense of tragedy.

It wasn't just the recurring aches and pains of old age. The chronically sore back, the frequent stabbing pains below the should blades, the pinprick in his chest, that the doctor told him to ignore. 

It was the occasional over arching sense of dread that something terrible was going to happen in their lives.

Yet life was overall good - even great. They were in love, they had sufficient money, plenty of good friends, lived in wonderful places. 

Too good to be true? Too good to last?

He busied himself with his to-do list, ticking off small things. procrastinating on the big projects.

Why start something you might not be able to finish?