Simplify Simplify

 

Rick wears a red jersey that says "'Simplify, simplify,' Henry David Thoreau." We bought it at Walden Pond while on our Memory Tour, where we showed each other the places we grew up.

It was a perfect autumn day neither too warm or too cool. Some of the leaves were edged in red. Others were at full color and enough had fallen so we heard crunching under our feet.

We seemed to be guarded by the chipmunks following us as we headed to the spot where Thoreau had built his cabin, although the building is long gone. I'd been there several times, but this was Rick's first wander through this wood. 

Walden Pond has been a National Historic Site since 1962, which stopped its 61 acres being covered in apartment buildings and shopping malls. Thoreau's cabin is reconstructed near the street, a simple one-room with a bed, table desk, three chairs and a fireplace.

Thoreau, as much as he wanted to live a simple life, he did cheat a bit and walked into the village to eat with friends. 

One of my favorite Thoreau stories is when he was dying, his sister asked, "Davie, have you made your peace with God?" He replied, "I didn't know we were fighting."

I take Thoreau's message "simplify, simplify" to heart, but not to the same degree. Keeping possessions to the minimum is one way. Why have three of something if you only need two? Or one? No need to dust what you don't own. 

I have no desire for a house requiring upkeep and any number of people to maintain it. Wasted costs, energy and time.

Trying to keep up with the latest (fill in the brand) also takes energy that can be better expended elsewhere.

Maybe I'm lazy. I can live with that.   

My first attempt at simplifying was a studio on the third (European ) fourth (American) floor in a small French village. At one time it was the grenier, attic, and probably filled with hay.

The building was about 400 years old with beams and a new fireplace. One wardrobe held the few clothes I needed and loved. The kitchen area had a mini frigo (fridge). If I missed a dishwasher, my washing machine made clean clothes easy.

Because I could walk to everything I need I could buy fresh fruits, veggies just as I was ready to cook - no storage problems. There's delight of baking bread smells from a local boulangerie or roasting chicken from the marché stand, again within walking distance. The owner only works half a day twice a week selling his chicken, ham, potatoes gratin. 

He is always smiling, probably because he isn't run ragged with working. What his financial situation is, I have no idea. 

I didn't need a car. I didn't have one from 1993 to 2013 because of excellent public train and bus transportation. I could even take a train to anywhere in France and Europe. Thoreau, to my knowledge, walked everywhere.

I could work on my laptop and watch a cat who spent a lot of time on the roof across the street. I have no idea how he got there, but I also saw him on the street.

Adequate cleaning (and I'm neurotically neat) took minutes daily and thorough cleaning maybe an hour a week.

I considered the internet and laptop a necessity. Even if they existed in Thoreau's lifetime, I doubt he would want them. I suspect he wouldn't have wanted a mobile phone either.

My marriage put an end to living in my Nest, although we keep it as a guest room. We moved into a two-bedroom flat around the corner. I now have a dishwasher. I battle to keep possessions to three things:

• We love whatever it is.
• It's useful.
• There's a memory involved.

Although Thoreau was fed by friends, I wouldn't want to give up cooking with all the fresh and seasonal food in walking distance. 

Thoreau probably couldn't afford to eat at the Wayside Inn, still a restaurant in nearby Sudbury. It was founded in 1702. He was born in 1817. When I lived in the area, I ate at the inn many times.

After buying the red jersey, which was useful and a memory. If not beautiful a lovely color, Rick and I ate at the Wayside Inn, making it a great stop on our Memory Tour.

Coming March 1

Because so many people read and liked  Sugar and Spice when I serialized it in my blog http://theexpatwriter.blogspot.com and on Substack that I'm going to serialize my published book, *Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel. 

This year is the 250th anniversary of the American Revolution.

The novel is three stories in one.

Plot 1: Widower James Holloway is frustrated by his brother's refusal to try his ideas for the family bakery. After he runs into a  43 Regiment de Foot, he signs up for the, never dreaming he would end up in Boston and in the middle of the first battle of the American Revolution.

Plot 2: Scottish historian Daphne Andrews regrets marrying the Boston-based English Consul General. Only after she meets the French Consul's wife and they start to create a book about the American Revolution does she begins to recapture her identity.

Plot 3: Notes on the creation of the novel. Nelson explains why she made the decisions on PLOT 1 and Plot 2. 

*Available at  Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel by D-L Nelson: Compare Prices on New & Used Copies | Alibris

A lot in a little

We divide our life between the south of France and a small village outside Geneva, Switzerland as well as travel. Where we are depends on many factors, personal, cultural and professional. Ideally we do like to settle in either place for a couple of months at a time. However, this time in Geneva has been short, a week and a half. In that time we've accomplished the following.

Just under five hours in the dentist chair over two days, I now have no cavities and two crowns. The dentist has a video screen in his ceiling. The documentary was a nature film with lots of penguins.

A regular check up with my GP.

Picking up the annual calendar from Café du Soleil for my daughter in Boston, a multi-decade family tradition.  

Buying, setting-up and decorating a new laptop. The pig is my USB key which I bought at least 20 years ago.

Picking up A Century of Fiction The New Yorker that  we ordered from Pages and Sips. We went with our landlady and a lovely Russian woman. The scones, tea and conversation were followed on a rare sunny day walk in the Vieille Ville. Lots of construction near College Calvin, founded 1428. A great view of the lake and snow on the Jura.

Met a British-Swiss writer friend at Hotel Montbrillant for lunch and we could eat outside. Saw a woman with ten different colored nails. When we both lived full time in Geneva we were ladies who lunched. A thrill that we overlapped and could catch up.

Set the alarm for 2:45 to get up and listen to the State of the Union. No surprises. Same old lies, rudeness and cruelty. The dog went back to bed.

Had a part replaced in our car. If the car is ready tonight we will go South tomorrow. If not Friday.

Free Write - If I were...

In this week's Free Write, we changed the prompt slightly from last week's "If it were history." 

D-L's Free Write

Maisie, Helen and Barbara sat in the Flowering Acres dining area for the four o'clock tea and sweet. They were good friends they said, because unlike most of the other old ladies, they still had all their marbles.

Often they would play Scrabble or Backgammon. Before Doris died, they played whist. Or the talked on subjects like why Trump was such a bastard.

Today, Maisie started the topic with the words, If I were..."  She added the word "young." She talked of fighting with her father. He signed her up for secretarial school. She wanted to go to university and study engineering. As she sipped her tea, the memory of his laughter still rang in her ears.

Helen said, "If I were young again, I'd have left Tom as soon as Billy went to college and I'd travel. Tom wasn't a bad man, he just never wanted to leave his home. So many countries, I've never seen." 

There was a dab of chocolate around Barbara's mouth. "I'd eat more," Barbara said. My husband hated fat women." She went to the sweet table and helped herself to a large piece of chocolate cake.

The three women had another cup of tea and watched the snow outside thinking it was too late,

Julia's Free Write

He wandered around in the sun, having set his backpack on the ground. 

There, it was the first truly gorgeous day in almost too long to remember. this winter had been gray, gray, gray with shades of gray. The odd snow sudden then way too much: ski sites had had to shut for safety reasons, unheard of He had a good view of the lake, but that didn’t seem to interest him. Camera, rather cell phone, in hand, he wandered. After a few minutes – and a check of photos on said cell phone, he picked up his backpack, got on his bike and left.

Where, What, why?

Then there was the grandmother with a toddler. Again, school holidays meant that half the world seemed to have disappeared. It always amazed her how many people seemed to leave town over the holidays. So the grandmother and grandchild were rare. Why? Were the parents off holidaying on their own? Hardly likely. Probably a doctor and nurse holding the fort so to speak.

And so it went: examples, no answers.

If I were a sleuth maybe I would figure it out.

Rick's Free Write

If I were reincarnated, I wouldn’t want to come back as a woman. Or a refugee. Or a religious acolyte. Certainly not as a politician. And especially not as a millionaire/billionaire. They all have unique burdens to bear of discrimination or fear or hatred, always weighing on their persona.

I’m note sure I’d even want to come back as a person.

Not an insect. Not a maggot.

Maybe an animal. (Not a cat.)

Maybe a dog. A mongrel. No froo-froo designer breed. Not a working dog, though it might be fun to be a border collie and chase sheep all day.

A domesticated dog. Beloved. Pampered. Food whenever I want it. Treats just for being cute. Toys to throw around when I howl. Walks around the neighborhood so I could leave greetings for my fellow canines. And an ample lap to cuddle me as I nap.

Maybe an occasional squirrel to try to catch.

That’s it. The dog’s life.

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

Not AI

There's a reason for the next six examples.

1. Marjorie walked into the room.

2. Marjorie saw three people in the room as she entered.

3. Two men and a women looked at Marjorie as she walked/entered the room. (Note to self: decide between entered and walked later)

4. Marjorie felt a blast of cold air from an open window as she opened the door and entered the room. (Note to self: add a few  words to describe what's outside the window. Smell of cars???)

5. What were people doing in the cold room, Marjorie wondered as she entered.

6. Rather than enter the cold room, where two men and a woman sat, Marjorie closed the door.

I'm a writer with 20 published books. https://dlnelsonwriter.com. Don't count. My newly published anthology The Corporate Virgin still isn't there.

I'm always working on some piece of writing. Characters and scenes are always with me.

I can rewrite a scene many ways. I can change a character's appearance at will, but it is all from my mind, not a computer eating electricity someplace. 

There are days when the words rush out of my brain into the book-to-be. Other days they have to dragged away from my brain cells, kicking and screaming. Or the words hide and I need to search with the ferocity of the FBI looking for a wealthy kidnapped child.

This is why I write. I write. I write. I write, not some algorithm.  

When I need to check a fact, I sometimes find a whole new story line or an interesting fact that I will explore later unless I take a break to explore it.

When I don't nail it, it focuses me to be better for the next day's writing. When I do nail it, I celebrate in many ways from a piece of black chocolate to a love fest with my dog, a cuddle with my husband, a glass of Coke Zero or even champagne, a walk where new ideas are triggered and I absorb what I see and it makes my life richer.

AI can be useful, but it doesn't replace the human mind. The art work with this blog was computer generated. I would never have done it if I had planned to use a real artist. It is not taking work from a REAL artist, which I am not. 

Writing can be frustrating, satisfying, joyful, tiring and any other adjective a human can think of. AI is not human. I want human.

Trump: Liar of Ignorant?

 

Trump has claimed the U.S. is the only country that allows mail-in ballots. He's either a liar or ignorant on what the rest of the world does or both.

Since 2006, when I received my Swiss citizenship I will have voted 80 times, 76 by mail and four in person.

When I took my oath of citizenship, the next voting package was already waiting for me on my seat. 

The Swiss mail a voting package to every citizen in the language of their choice: French, Italian, German and Romanish. The format is identical year after year including the colors red for Federal and White for Cantonal. See the photo above.

This package includes: 

• Information on the proposal by the sponsor of the Initiative or Referendum. With enough signatures on petitions voters can say if they want a law be withdrawn or a new issue can be put before the entire country.
• A copy of the law or proposal
• The recommendation of Parliament and why on each item
• How every party, and there are many, agree or disagree
• A list of where to vote, although voting stations are only open a couple of hours because most people vote by mail. In many villages coffee, tea and biscuits or croissants are served. 
• A return postage-paid envelope
• A numbered verification card to sign

As a voter, there are many sources of info on the issues. Results are usually tallied by late afternoon with results being reported on media and else where.

• The voting package
• Television news including round-table discussions
• Newspaper and magazine articles
• The internet
• Posters created by the pro and con parties. They are identical for all languages and are posted in every village.

Saturday I read the package. Sometimes it's hard going. I checked what the parties were saying. Sometimes that helps. What's hard is when the far right and far left agree.

Sunday, tomorrow, I'll rethink it one last time, mark my ballot, sign the verification card and put it in the envelope.

Monday, I'll mail it well in advance of the mailing deadline. The votation in person would be 8 March.

To see a map of other countries that allow mail-in voting. https://www.newsweek.com/map-shows-countries-mail-ballots-trump-vows-ban-voting-format-2115167

For Saturday lunch, to celebrate my 80th vote we had fondue and champagne from the cave in Môtiers, the first Swiss village where I lived 1990-1993. It just seemed right.

Note: Legally they can't call anything not from the Champagne region in France, champagne, but it seemed more appropriate that I celebrate 

Dogs in Restaurants

Many Americans are aghast on their first trip to Europe when they discover dogs in a restaurant, café or tea room. At least in France, Germany and Switzerland it's common.

Sherlock goes with us more than not. At the tea room Mille et Une where we'll have a second morning tea or hot chocolate, he's often part of a doggy conference. 

There are three other dogs who are regulars, especially Nelson (no relation), a black French bulldog. Nelson, like the other regulars, knows that Rick has doggy treats and comes over to let us know his mouth is ready and willing to accept what we offer. 

Depending on the dog, they may be off leash, asleep under the table, or checking out their friends, two- or four-legged.

L'Aurea-B at the end of our street is owned by Cedric. Not only does he know we want Coca Zero with most of our lunches, he always has a plate of sausage and/or cheese for Sherlock. When we walk by, Sherlock wants to greet Cedric who then heads to the kitchen to find a treat for our dog. 

Along the French Autoroute from Perpignan to Geneva, a route we take regularly, most of the rest stops do not allow dogs. However, when a new rest stop is built with elaborate food courts, dogs seem to be welcomed.

In some restaurants Rick will order something he likes to share with Sherlock. In others we order something for our dog. Before it was sold, Sherlock enjoyed the children's menu at Flowers. We ate his fries and his ice cream dessert that came with his meal.

Once at the Bureau, which is like a Scottish pub, we ordered a hamburg patty for our dog. The waitress. who was bilingual, switched to English: "Are you serious?" Since we've seen other dogs in there, we were probably the only one that requested a dog meal.  

We often eat out rather than take time out from our writing to cook and clean up. It is nice to do it as a "multi-species family."                    

I see little difference between cooking a meal with a dog at my feet who will follow me to sit by the table than having a dog(s) in a restaurant. In our village there are many restaurants all within a short walk of our front door. After we eat, we can multi-task by combining our meal with a dog walk. Sherlock has yet to object.

Dentist vs. Shopping

Two appointments, back-to back-days, four plus hours in the dentist chair. Since it was the same procedure both days, it was a bit like Ground Hog Day only better. 

As a teenager, dentist appointments were torture. No Novocaine. And I was uncomfortable when the dentist wiped his fingers on the paper bib over my barely budding breasts. 

Flash forward to my wonderful dentist today, despite his discovering the two huge cavities consuming two teeth under fillings put in by Dr. Horrible Dentist over 60 years before.

My dentist has the name of a city near our place in Southern France. He's Swiss as I am now. 

He explains what he's doing in his perfect English. He shows me X-rays.

Once in the chair, I know if I feel even a quiver of pain, he'll stop and give my mouth another shot.

Above the chair is a television screen. The nature film the first day was all about penguins. I adore penguins. The second day it was African animals. I was tempted to ask him to move his head as he bent over me blocking 10% of the screen.

There was music in the background, including the late Daniel Levy singing from the musical Dix Commandments, a favorite song.

Although he speaks English with me, I understood what he was saying in French to his assistant, a dental student. In the corner, a young woman in a white coat took notes. She was studying to be an assistant. His dentistry lecture was fascinating.

Instead of waiting days for a crown, I loved that he showed me a computer screen, where he designed the crown which was ready in less than 20 minutes. 

People question my sanity when I say I preferred that to going to a shopping mall.

I hate malls. They are basically the same, same stores, almost the same merchandise, stuff I neither need nor want. If I have to go to a mall, I want to go only to the store, find what I want within minutes. If I can't find it and no clerk is there to help, I try and figure out how to do without it and leave. I try not to feel sad at the precious minutes of my life that were wasted or the 30 things I would rather have been doing.

Often at a mall, my husband goes in. I read in the car, or have a tea in a cafe with a lovely pastry. I'll do a bit of people watching.

I know I sound like a COW, a Crabby Old Woman. One of the advantages of COWdom is doing what I want without needing approval of others.

Mimosa Triggered Memories

 

The Mimosa is telling me spring is on its way. The florist has a cart piled high with the flowers, sprigs selling for 3.50 Euros. If I would go into the forest, mimosa covers huge trees. One would almost need sunglasses to look at them.

Growing up in New England, I loved the seasons, especially autumn with all the bright red leaves. Winter with its snow for building snow forts and pouring hot maple syrup on snow to make candy was fun. And listening to the radio for no school announcements even if Reading was low on the list read alphabetically bring back good winter memories. My daughter had it easier when we lived in Boston with its B. Now it's online.

Daffodils, iris, roses, violets all took their turn in our garden.

Living in France and Switzerland the markers are different.

Southern France doesn't offer much in snow. But spring is marked with mimosa and artichokes, which I love. My husband? Not so much.

There are carnivals even in small towns, refreshing because there's nothing commercial about them but done by the locals.

The road to Ceret village is a sea of pink flowers that will turn into cherries. Marché merchants will have tables and tables of cherries in a few weeks. 

For this blog, I decided to post the photo of the cherry-decorated butter dish. We bought it on a cherry-buying-musée visit. Their museum has beautiful Picasso pottery, many impressionist paintings and usually some interesting exhibition.  

Bags of walnuts from Grenoble appear in October as do Christmas lights hung to turn the village into a Christmas fairyland. I know it's early but the same company does all the surrounding villages and has to start early.

I also love the Swiss season markers. If plan well I can manage to enjoy seasonal events in both countries. Someone once called me a cake eater from wanting my cake and eating it too. As far as reveling in seasonal changes in two places I do cake eating very well. 

When I first moved to Switzerland, I was told about the beautiful falls. Hmm... yellow leaves are beautiful, but I still miss the New England reds after three decades.

There's always the first fondues and raclettes of the season. The Canton of Valais has a special dish with the first pressing of grapes, apples, cheese and maybe sausage (locally made of course). The same area is a great producer of apricots in the spring.

Butchers and restaurants announce La chasse est ici. The hunt is here. As an almost vegetarian, I will always feel sorry for Bambi's mother, less sorry for the boar hanging at the butcher's. We have boars in France as well. More than once, they've dug up the small garden with its memorial to the soldiers who died in the wars.

Where I worked, when the Nouveau Beaujolais arrived, we would have a company-wide apèro with the first bottles and other goodies.

Geneva does not have much snow, but it is a short drive up a mountain find sit.

We can see more snow on Mt. Blanc and the Jura in the late fall. All along the lake Christmas trees of all sizes are for sale and Christmas markets with its chalets filled with handicrafts (I've found beautiful handmade pens several times. I swear I write better with them.)

In Geneva, there's the Escalade https://www.facebook.com/GenevaTourism/videos/1986569191851031/ where the city goes back to 1602 to celebrate the city defeating the French who were trying to scale the walls. Lots of hot spiced wine and hot vegetable soup which is a reminder of Mère Royaume throwing a pot of hot soup on the attackers, long enough to give the soldiers time to arrive. Chocolate marmites with marzipan veggies are on sale every where. 

Only in the first couple of months each year can we buy carnivals, a fried and sugared dough. There's some on my counter as I write this, The kettle is boiling for tea.

Throughout the year there are fêtes and carnivals from the simple Fêtes des Fontains in the Vals de Travers where neighbors decorate their nearby fountain to large celebrations like Bern's onion festival.   Zwibel Märit  https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?q=onion+festival+bern&&mid=43278CA44C30DD6041BE43278CA44C30DD6041BE&FORM=VAMGZCt. 

So many of the fests and festivals are a celebration of a country's patrimony but they attract people of many nationalities who enjoy the richness of shared cultures.

Free Write - If it Were History

 

Julia, Rick, and D-L take turns in offering weekly prompts. This week Julia made a change from the usual photo or sentence that we use to get our creative flows going. "Give me a word," she said to Rick. 

He hesitated, then said, "History." 

Julia worked it into a sentence, "If it were history..." 

Julia's Free Write

It was a beautiful sunny day, mid-morning and before recess. He was bored. Why, oh why was he stuck here, listening to his classmates drone on and on, reciting times tables.

It was a mixed-grade class, so these were the older kids: himself he was glad that he had finally caught the trick of adding 10 to any other number and writing it properly.

Then there was reading and writing. He had always loved books and words so that was almost fun. Even his grandmother thought that he wrote well – high praise indeed from someone so old that she hadn’t even had a tablet or cell phone when she was in school!

Spring was just around the corner so looking out the windows was somewhat distracting; watching the buds and leaves starting to form or unfurl.

Was it not almost time for the bell and recess!

Now, if only it were history: he loved hearing about the “olden” days; the re-constitution of naval battles or even medieval times and the clash of swords.

If only it were history: that he would enjoy.

D-L's Free Write

Dr. Goler* was called before the university president. "There's been a complaint about your course."

Dr. Goler tilted her head.

"You aren't teaching the approved curriculum," he said.

"I didn't agree to it. I showed the committee documentation that proved it wrong. They rejected it."                                   

"That doesn't matter."

Dr Goler looked at the president. He was a good-looking man in a business suit and a graduate of some podunk Southern religious  college.

His appointment?

It was bought by a hefty donation that pulled the college back from bankruptcy.

"Okay, I'll teach the approved shit." Dr. Goler almost never used bad language.

During her 2 p.m. Wednesday class, she taught the approved material.

Five minutes before the class ended, she told them, "Tear up what you just wrote. What I just gave you was fake history." She handed out a paper to them with her original lecture. "Real history, provable history, is what I just gave you."

She knew she needed to look for a new job.

Rick's Free Write

History is a record of things that happened and real people. Unfortunately, history is written from the bias of the historian. And subject to revision by other historians or politicians who control what gets cancelled or overwritten to suit their ideology.

But what if, in the future, possibly the very near future, almost nothing is real? If words and images and sound and video are non-real, artificial? And we can’t tell the artificial from the real?

Is it history? Or is it simulation? And if you are interacting with AI, for example an online chatbot avatar, is your side of the discussion or sensual experience real? Or imagined?

Some years back, I took my grandkids horseback riding. A real experience. But it was raining so I didn’t get any photos as keepsakes. My daughter remarked, “If it’s not on Facebook, it didn’t happen.”

We’re rapidly reaching a point where we can’t trust anything. Certainly not the government. Probably not social media. Maybe only our closest family and friends. And even then…

And now we can’t trust history.

*I used the name of a late history professor history. She was the best history teacher, I ever had.

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the top stories about the airline industry. He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.  

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

To become an Alien

 

There is a new move for the TSA to consider/call every non-U.S. citizen entering the United States an alien...not a tourist, not a business person but an alien.

Welcome Aliens - Not.

It's enough those from many countries need to pay an extra fee. Never mind the billions of dollars that are being lost.

If I were to go to the U.S., which I will not unless my daughter is dying, I would be considered an alien.

Î am also Swiss. I am also Canadian. I renounced my U.S. nationality because the U.S. with its FATCA laws made financial normalcy as an expat anywhere in the world, almost impossible, even something as simple as a deposit/withdrawal account. 

There is a great feeling of sadness. This is my birth country that I'm watching self-destruct, that are hurting its people and with its anti-climate stance the planet. 

I grew up in Massachusetts during what would become a golden age. Not that there weren't major things to be corrected, but I saw the passage of civil rights legislation and laws that gave me a better chance at the good things which as a woman were denied me. Climate problems were recognized. Improvement seeds were planted for international co-operation and some were budding. It was a start. 

The future is visualized by the current U.S. administration is for the white male world that will do anything to enrich themselves and the rest of humanity be damned.

The Hamburger that Wasn't

 

Sometimes I teeter on vegetarianism. Sometimes not.

Every now and then I eat at McDos, the French nickname for a well known hamburger chain.

When my daughter was a toddler and my mother took us to eat at a nice restaurant, my daughter threw a tomato slice over her shoulder. It landed on a bald man's head. 

I knew she needed to learn how to eat properly in public, but with a limited budget we went to McDos.

Living in Switzerland a few decades later, I'd be writing in my second floor bedroom. My housemate would be working in her basement office below. Infrequently on a Sunday, I'd get a text, "Wanta sin?" Translate McDonald's. We would.

That's all history. It's been a long, long time since I've eaten at any.

My husband Rick and Sherlock, our dog, were driving back from Southern France to our Swiss home, a six-eight hour drive. There are many good Autoroute food choices, but many don't allow dogs. To add to the hunger problem on Sundays many non-Autoroute restaurants are closed.

We were really, really hungry. We decided on McDo to buy something and eat in the car.

The drive-up was easy to find, and we stopped at the first to check out the menu. A voice kept ordering us to move up. At the next drive-up the order taker did not understand our French and turned us over to an alleged English speaker. At least he tried.

We gave up on parts of what we want to order, corrected the order more than once. We were told our number was 14, and finally advanced. Food was in my future, I thought.

I was wrong!

Next problem. There were no signs, on the ground or on the building where to pay, so we followed the line that might lead us to pick up. The car in front of us stayed, stayed, stayed after the cars in front of him received their bags from staff. 

I went inside to check. One of the employees told me where to pay, but the kid at the counter didn't want my money. He couldn't find any order 14. I had to go to the pay-up line outside. He gave me instructions on how to find it. 

My stomach was growling.

We finally found the right window, reordered because they had cancelled our order and paid. We received two bags marked 14 and found a parking place.

Oops...my smoked hamburger was a chicken wrap, barely edible, the French fries limp, the Coke watery. Rick's hamburger was passable. There was some other drink we didn't order. List 14 was correct, but the items weren't. 

We'd bought a Happy Meal for Sherlock. Our spoiled pup loves hamburger. He ignored it. 

All we could do was laugh.

We drove on, hunger abated. "At least there's a game with the Happy Meal," Rick said. 

Moving Day

Patrick, Bill, Elise, the judge, four-nine-year olds and their families are moving out of my French home. They are characters in my novella Sugar and Spice. I serialized them on this blog and on Substack. 

I was thrilled with all the positive comments I received. 

Lexington: Anatomy of a Novel, was published in 2022, but I will start to serialize it soon as well as part of the 250 anniversary of the birth of the United States. It is three stories. 

1. James Holloway, British baker and widower, frustrated with his life in Ely, England, joins the British Army. He did not expect himself to be in the middle of the start of the American Revolution.
2. Scottish historian and wife of the British Consul to Boston, Daphne Andrews, who in trying to fill the void in her marriage, lines up with her counterpart from the French consulate to investigate the Battle at Lexington from a modern point of view.
3. I love when writers tell me how and why they wrote something the way they did. The third part of this book tells the story of the writing of Lexington. 

When I'm working on fiction, the characters live with me. They stand next to me as I cut up veggies. They interrupt books I'm trying to read. Sometimes in the middle of the night, they follow me to the bathroom and back to bed, where they tell me what they should do and say the next day.

Today, I waved good bye to my sugar and spice friends. Then I looked around the corner where I saw Margo, Heather and Bethany. They were waiting for me to start my new novella, The Ring. Although I started it a couple of decades ago, I could never get it right. I realized the novel became lost in a memoir. Now with new characters, the base story is flowing.

Tomorrow we do our normal trek to our main home in Geneva. Margo, Heather, and Bethany have agreed to sit in the backseat along with Sherlock our dog. It's a six to eight hour drive with pee and lunch breaks. 

They'll tell me their ideas. 

I'll introduce them to my husband, also a writer and I'm sure he'll have questions for them.

The first thing I'll do in Geneva is to set up my laptop and get to work. The small flat will be crowded with three new friends, but we'll make it work.

Putin/Trump What is the Difference?

Is there a difference between Putin/Trump?

I'm not talking between dementia and non dementia. 

I'm talking about their war mongering.

Putin starts a war in Ukraine under the pretense it really should be under Russia control.

Trump has said similar things about Canada, Greenland and the Panama Canal. And although he is not the first American president to forcibly change a South American leader, he is the latest. 

Trump is busy sending aircraft off the coast of Iran. The U.S. has messed with Iranian politics (er oil) since the overthrow of its government long ago. Never mind withdrawing from a treaty that held the seeds of progress. 

Treaty Shmeaty! 

Who cares?

Frankly, I don't see much difference between the two men in their warmongering. Putin's slowness to expand his balliwick to other balliwicks is playing the long game. Trump might be trying to do too much too fast. 

Merriman Webster defines evil as "morally reprehensive, sinful, wicked."  Sending mostly innocent people to their deaths under horrendous attacks can fall into that category for whatever power and wealth they might gain can be described as evil. 

Russia and the United States are run by evil men, one of which is demented.

Does anyone win? Yup. Not people. Not the planet.  Arms manufacturers. 

Bondi's Contempt

If anyone had any doubt about The Administration's contempt for Congress and the American people, watch one of the many videos of Pam Bondi's appearance before the Congress discussing the Epstein files. The videos are all over the internet.

Although as a feminist, I hate saying these things against a woman, especially one who has attained position and power. I can make an exception for Bondi. I watched a spoiled, rude brat.

What did she do?

She talked over her questioners, which in itself is not unusual for a politician. What she said was often ridiculous mostly in contemptuous tones at too high a volume that shows no respect for where she was and more importantly why she was there. 

In a question about the victims, she replied how well the stock market was doing. 

Let me think. If I had been sexually abused as a child, would I think, "This violation of my body was okay, because the stock market is great?"

Bondi kept throwing in remarks how Trump was one of the best presidents ever, non sequiturs of the type like if someone ask sbout the weather and the response is, "there's a new film on Netflix" only there's no new film.

Many of the victims were in the room seated. I cannot speak for her, but why wouldn't she look at them, talk to them, agree to meet with them, something the DOJ has refused to do? Why? Why? Why?

She used the Trump trick of trying to demean others. One example: She called Congressman Jamie Raskin a "washed up failed lawyer."

Committee Democrat Becca Balint walked out of the hearing in disgust. She couldn't take it any more, she said. 

Apparently Bondi hadn't done her homework when she went off on a rant about antisemitism not knowing Balint's grandfather had died in a WWII concentration camp. Antisemitic? I doubt Balint is. 

A reporter was able to capture a photo of Bondi's "burn book" which had information to taunt committee members. I guess whoever prepared the "burn book" didn't know about Balint's grandfather.

Think of the people that have been named so far. If you have a daughter, would you want her to be raped by any of them? If you are a woman, think back to your teenage years or early twenties. Can you imagine having sex with these men?  

Sex between consenting adults within or without marriage to the partner is fine...but sex with minors is not. Sex slavery is not. That Epstein was involved in a sex trade, has been proven.

The people who were his "friends" and participated are allegedly your leaders whose decisions in government and business affect you directly or indirectly. 

Scum bags and perverts run  aspects of your life. They are supported by some in Congress. 

Are you going to do anything about it?

Happiest Day and Other Lies

According to the Washington Post, Trump lied 34,000 times in his first term. He even lies in his contradictions. Or perhaps we should call all his statements, Facts of the Moment or even Facts of the Second. 

Politicians lie. Take Mitch McConnell saying different ways when and how a Supreme Court Justice during a president's term should be appointed. One example out of hundreds of thousands of false words delivered daily by humanity.

Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny are lies we are told as kids. They are lovely lies.

Lies in relationships can hurt but maybe sometime even help. How things are expressed can be unlies... "Dear, I think your blue tie, would look really lovely with that suit," vs. "You're not going out with the ugly tie. Yuck." 

There are unspoken lies. Does a spouse need to know you've broken off with your lover? Better yet, not to have a lover. Best, don't go to an Epstein type party.

One lie that annoys me on a personal level vs. political lies that hurt large groups of people is, "Your wedding day is the happiest day of your life."

Good grief, I hope not. 

My first wedding was an elopement and at the end what I felt was relief that my mother didn't find out until it was too late.

My second marriage some 50 years later was a commitment ceremony attended by 40 friends from seven countries. It was followed a couple of years later by the real ceremony in the mayor's office attended only by two friends who were our witnesses. Both were wonderful days. 

In many countries the only legal ceremony is the one at city hall. One can have a priest, minister, rabbi all conduct the ceremony hundreds of times, but the marriage won't be legal.

I'm pleased to report after 12 years of marriage we've had everything from calm happiness to outright joy even during the normal problems of living.

Weddings are often seen as times of great stress to get everything right. Some are so expensive that the couple must forego other things for decades. 

None of the stress of wedding details are the reason I don't like thinking of it as the happiest day. 

One might get married in their 20s, 30s, etc. Then they may live another 40, 50 years of more. Sure they will have ups and downs, but it's sad to think that one day was the best ever and everything else is a lesser degree of happiness working its way down to maybe misery.

Each day can contain happiness be it little or tiny. We have one life, make it count.

Free Write - Glass Recycling Unit

Free write 10 Feb. 10 2026 –  The Glass Disposal Unit

This week the three Free Writers are still in two countries (France and Switzerland) despite bad weather, they produced three pieces about a routine glass recycling unit. With luck, next week they will all be in Switzerland in one of their favorite tea rooms.

D-L's Free write

When Laila received the letter from the Homeowners Association (HOA) she was furious. It said the color of the flowers she had planted on the walkway to her front door were not on the approved list. Red!

She hated this house which her husband loved, a new McMansion. She missed her Victorian house with its history of previous residents embedded in its walls.

Today she needed to get rid of all her glass bottles. There was a disposal unit behind the HOA Community Center. The gray cement container was boring, ugly.

Laila loved color. Her old blue car had butterflies painted on its hood and door, much to her husband's disgust.

Laila was an artist, known by another name at her husband's request. She was beginning to have some success. 

That night she hatched a plan. One week later when her husband was on a business trip at 3:08 a.m., she went to the glass disposal unit with stencils and spray paint. Quickly, she turned it beautiful.

The HOA was apoplectic. They repainted it gray.

Laila repainted her art work on the container.

The HOA when they repainted the unit this time, installed a camera.

Laila disabled the camera and then repainted it.

Laila's husband sided with the HOA.

As Laila sat in her kitchen with no character, she felt she had two choices: Repaint or get a divorce.

Note: I ran out of time, but I didn't have an ending that I liked.

Rick's Free Write

Infrastructure for utilities can be bland, ugly, or beautiful, even educational. Telecom boxes, electrical wires and poles, trash and recycle stations…

When I worked at Nortel Networks, a major customer was BellSouth. They insisted that their streetside junction boxes all be painted a light sand color – supposedly to blend in, or at least not stand out, from their surroundings.

At the time we had pioneered a concept called “fiber to the curb” (kerb for my Brit friends). It was the era of 2G internet, transitioning to 3G. (We’re now at 5G, moving to 6G.)

I used to tell people I was waiting for “fiber to the brain” – and now some companies are claiming “neural” brain implants, i.e. Bluetooth to the brain.

In Europe, they tend to decorate utility boxes – artists and photographers layer their designs on all sides as street art. Brilliant. An array if colors, historical images, varied styles.

Over the years we’ve taken dozens of photos of the boxes, especially around Geneva. Talked about collecting them in a coffee-table book.

Do people still have coffee-table books?

Ok, maybe a calendar.

Julia's Free Write

He had woken up that morning full of energy – for once.

Of course over breakfast as he ruminated, he thought of all the things that he wanted to do: taking a long walk as the weather was finally decent, planning lunch with the expats who had arrived three days earlier; tending to his wee garden plot; planning his next trip to somewhere at least 100 kilometers away (the winter had been long); reading the new book.

All those lovely thoughts disappeared as he turned his head to see the overflowing laundry basket; the dust everywhere (remember the sun that he was admiring earlier?): thoughts of sorting and tossing all that accumulated “stuff.”

Oh, stop already he muttered to himself – it’s depressing.

Ah, a ray of sunlight: he could do one thing of each: take the accumulated glass to the recycling container. A good excuse to at least get that walk.

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the top stories about the airline industry. He is the author of The Robot in the Simulator. AI in Aviation Training.  

Visit D-L.'s website  https://dlnelsonwriter.com, She is the author of 15 fiction and three non fiction books. Her 300 Unsung Women, bios of women who battled gender limitations, can be purchased  at https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/300-unsung-women-d-l-nelson/1147305797?ean=9798990385504 

Visit Julia's blog. She has written and taken photos and loves syncing up with friends.  Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/