Surviving the heatwave

I'm surviving the canicule blanketing Europe by going in my imagination to Edinburgh, my second favorite city, from my southern France hidey hole. Edinburgh is my second favorite city in the world.

I'm helped in my mental travels by recent videos of the Scottish in Boston, my first favorite city. These kilt-wearing, bag-pipe playing men were there for the World Cup. There was even a couple of frames of Irn Bru in one shot.

I'm transported even better to Edinburgh by Robin Pilcher's novel Starburst, set during the Edinburgh Fringe. I can see myself walking down the streets I know that she has mentioned.

In the 80s, I became enraptured by professional storytelling in Boston when, along with a Wiggleworth Street neighbor, an elderly anthropologist, we saw a young group of actors tell stories on stage. The first story one the actor played Kermit the Frog moaning he had to go through life with a hand up his butt. 

Not only am I in Edinburgh mentally now, I'm reminded of the Edinburgh Story festival. I ran into it by accident. My husband was in Scotland to play a hickory golf tournament and we couldn't not stop in Edinburgh and discovered the festival. 

Look at past programmes. I would have loved to see all of them.

Most events were held at the John Knox center, that nasty, religious bigot who made Mary Queen of Scots' life difficult. His old home is also a museum. 

On previous trips we did the writer's tour, writer's museum, other museums, stood where Mary Queen of Scots saw her alleged lover David Rizzio murdered, listened to countless bagpipes, met the prototype for Ian Rankin's Rebus, eaten mac and cheese, scoffed scones with copious cups of tea, walked the Royal Mile, and many side streets, did badly in a pub quiz admired adverts for pantomimes and much, much more more. 

I'm happy that I was able to do the story festival at all rather than mourn that I can't go to every story during a whole festival. Concentrating on the positive rather than think of the negative helps keep me cool as I mentally hop the Edinburgh bus and take my seat ready to hear the next story.

Where the Free Writes Flow

 Free writes can be written anywhere from the kitchen table to a luxury restaurant, a park bench or a sandy beach.

One of Rick's and D-L's favorite places to Free Write when they are in France is L'Hostalet. In Geneva, when joined by Julia in person for a Free Write, there are local cafés although a couple of times, they've been at one or the other's homes.

Free Writes can be done by one or many responding to a prompt generated by others or the free writer him/herself. 

 Rick and I are about to head to Geneva so this was the last chance we had to sit Free Write at L'Hostalet. We're sharing the ambiance which we will miss until return in the autumn.

Tables are under the mulberry tree. The café faces out on a square and is surrounded by several hundred-year-old plus houses of different colors. No matter how hot, if there is a breeze anywhere in the village it comes here. 

The old mairie (town hall) has been converted into a music school and sometimes we can hear the students practicing with various degrees of success. On the corner, is a sign in French, Catalan and English telling the village's history. The small square commemorates the brave women of the village who stood their ground against the Vichy in WWII.

The square is also used for concerts, programs and Saturday night street dances.   

We don't usually bring our dog to the Free Writes, but we will at other times. Sherlock when he hears "boys" and "go" he is at the door. To him, waiting for the hotel's cats to go in and out of the cat flap is entertainment better than any television show. That's Misty in the photo. Melinda, a black and white cat, loves to walk just out of range of Sherlock's leash, giving him the cat equivalent of the finger.

 Then with our tea, coffee or hot chocolate drunk we are ready to write. The timer in the photo above is for tea, one, two or three minutes. We time the writing with a watch. When we are with Julia in Geneva she has a timer for the writing itself.

 We've done this well over 100 times, considering the Free Write almost sacred. Although we can be flexible on where or when, we still try for 10 a.m. on Tuesdays.

Writers don't need to go to France or Switzerland to Free Write, but I recommend finding a spot or spots where to feel comfortable. It isn't important whether Free Writes are in a beautiful notebook with a special pen or on the back of a letter with a chewed off pencil. What is important is that it's used as a method to stimulate creativity.

We publish our examples on this blog because we want to. We find it interesting to look at our different or not different approaches to the same prompt. We have other writers. using our prompts. They want to remain anonymous. 

I personally find not only is Free Writing a stimulant to my other writing, but a positive balance to all the horrendous things going on the planet.

 

Free Write -Bread

 

Despite the record heat that is blanketing Europe two of the free writers met at L'Hostalet, the coolest place in the village. We were joined by an Irish friend who did her first free write ever although it wasn't for publication. Does anyone notice that the breadboard resembles Switzerland?

Julia's Free Write

Summer had already given them a foretaste in May of what was to come.

But this heatwave was even worse, especially as it was going on and on and on.

One can perhaps argue about what is causing the climate extremes, but as islands and lowlands disappear, along with the glaciers, one can no longer ignore that it is taking place.

Water becomes precious, not only for the crops that will feed us, but also an element to simply keep us alive. The human body can live days, even weeks, without food, but it is down to very few days and hours without water.

For those lucky enough to have access to a pool, a lake, a river, life is more bearable. I remember that in my youth the first air conditioners were simply fans blowing over water.

So in the light of all this one thinks of the ocean and the creatures that inhabit it – they are truly “in their element” and it’s no wonder then that when lunch involved bread, before cutting it, I saw dolphins or whales!

D-L's Free Write

Kai had wanted to be a baker since he was a boy. His mom made bread every day. Also cookies, cakes, pies and brownies. Oh those brownies!

Kai was one hour away from opening his dream bakery at Middleton Mall. The ovens were vented out into the hall to lure customers. 

The window display was hiding  behind a curtain. The backdrop was shelves of baguettes, boules, rolls. The floor was covered with a blue cloth on which he created a bread ship with bread whales. He had created islands where bread seals played.

The breads were made of wheat and other flours. Maize bread was shaped as corn cobs. Brown bread was flavored with molasses.

Inside the shop were cakes and cookies made from his mother's recipes.

He put every cent he had into the shop. His first wife had put the kibosh on his dream. His second? Well she had painted the bakery walls, created the signs, and got out of bed at 3 a.m. to help bake their products. 

It was 8.a.m. time to open the door. Let the dream begin.

Rick's Free Write 

My mother told me, "Don’t play with your food.” But who could resist the baguette with the upturned end. It almost looked like an animal. Just needed a couple of legs.

My mother told me – when I was getting a bit arrogant – “No matter how good you think you are, there’s always somebody better.” I protested her logic: “But someone has to be the best.”

My mother taught me to be kind to others, but also to be fierce in opposition to those who were in the wrong. Whether politicians (including local ones), preachers, or school administrators who had frustrated her sons.

She could smell smoke on our foster brother’s breath or clothes. And proceeded to throw pots and pans at him (they were at hand). He was foolish enough to give them back to her.

Yes, she had a red-headed temper.

She almost made it to 100. But that wasn’t important to her. What was most important was family, her four sons, her sister, nieces and nephews, grandchildren.

When I visited after moving to Switzerland, she was not thrilled with my beard. Suggested I shave the mutton chops, make it a goatee. The whole point to me was not to shave – at all.

She was happiest that I had found my soul-mate. Thought she was wonderful.

She passed on the same day of the year – December 29 – as my Dad had nine years earlier. Together in life, together after.

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.com, a weekly newsletter reporting the airline industry  top stories . 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/ 

 

 

Fête de Musique

 All over France on Sunday there was the fête de musique. Street corners, courtyards, and anywhere there was a free space was filled with singers, musicians, choirs, and bands of all types in cities, towns and villages. 

Argelès was no exception. Originally we had planned to go home to Geneva but with the canicule raising temperatures from Barcelona to Scandinavia through the 30°s and even into the 40°s. We postponed leaving until it was cooler.

 At 7 p.m. or 19:00 we ventured out to listen to our village's version of the fête. Our first stop was to listen to Maureen, our green grocer, friend, singer and guitarist. Love her voice.

Our second was to listen to the choir in the church plaza as we sat at L'Aura B café across rue de la Republique. It was also wonderful to great people and to people watch.

Our final stop was l'Hostalet. We found a table where we could watch and listen to the mellow sax, keyboard, base and singer performing popular songs from several countries. 

Most interesting was a nine-ish-year old boy with a real camera. What an eye he had taking pictures of everything from a flower to the musicians. He was careful on how he arranged each shot. His seriousness and passion were impressive and a pleasure to see. 

Coat Hangers --Government in the Bedroom

 

The government tried to make laws that attacked the privacy of people’s private lives. There were those that fought back. The Comstock Laws are being reconsidered.

The Government in the Bedroom

Anthony Comstock (1844-1915) had a mission to eliminate any obscene material or anything related to what he considered sin.

Government has been in people’s bedrooms far too long. Almost every creature on the planet wants the activity that leads to reproduction. To try to limit this or add all kinds of rules and regulations is a waste of time unless a government camera is placed in every bedroom.

The public concept of what is moral has often been at odds with reality. Politicians might decry prostitution but would frequent brothels. It is no different today. It was recently revealed that a politician who is publicly against abortion wanted his pregnant mistress to have one. A Congressman who has been anti-gay was outed for propositioning another man in a public bathroom and had to resign. Politicians, community leaders or clergy might have a mistress but blab on about the sanctity of marriage.

This hypocrisy is as true today as it was in the 1800s when the Comstock Laws were enacted.

Having sex and/or a child is a personal decision that should not be a government decision, then or now.

For many years the government was even more controlling than today, but it is still in our bedrooms.

How Did It Start?

There were always religious and social pressures. However, they were not backed up by law.

In the U.S., the Comstock Laws codified sexual behavior under the law, but the new laws did not necessarily change habits in the bedroom.

Part of the Comstock Laws, under the title Suppression of Trade in, and Circulation of, Obscene Literature and Articles of Immoral Use, stated: “That whoever, within the District of Columbia or any of the Territories of the United States... shall sell... or shall offer to sell, or to lend, or to give away, or in any manner to exhibit, or shall otherwise publish or offer to publish in any manner, or shall have in his possession, for any such purpose or purposes, an obscene book, pamphlet, paper, writing, advertisement, circular, print, picture, drawing or other representation, figure, or image on or of paper or other material, or any cast instrument, or other article of an immoral nature, or any drug or medicine, or any article whatever, for the prevention of conception, or for causing unlawful abortion, or shall advertise the same for sale, or shall write or print, or cause to be written or printed, any card, circular, book, pamphlet, advertisement, or notice of any kind, stating when, where, how, or of whom, or by what means, any of the articles in this section…can be purchased or obtained, or shall manufacture, draw, or print, or in any wise make any of such articles, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and on conviction thereof in any court of the United States... he shall be imprisoned at hard labor in the penitentiary for not less than six months nor more than five years for each offense, or fined not less than one hundred dollars nor more than two thousand dollars, with costs of court.”

At the time the law was passed, there were regular advertisements in for abortifacients in what was called the penny papers, cheap, mass-produced tabloids.

It passed on 3 March 1873. By making the sending of such materials through the U.S. Postal System illegal, there was a greater chance of prosecution. Forbidden were:

        Abortifacients

        Contraceptive devices

        Erotica

        Letters referring to sexual information

        Sex toys

Washington D.C. barred obscene materials. Some states followed, and the bans included birth control and birth control information.

The law was such that even anatomy textbooks for medical students could not be sent through the U.S. mail.

Comstock’s Mission

Anthony Comstock (1844-1915) had a mission to eliminate any obscene material or anything related to what he considered sin. The fanatical Comstock was alleged to have kept a diary where he wrote about the personal temptations he had vanquished. Stomping out sin was a lifelong passion. Some reports say he was reacting to the death of a friend, probably from venereal disease, but that is only conjecture. His motives for wanting to control the sexual lives of others have never been explained

Comstock worked with the YMCA’s Committee on Obscene Literature, later called Suppression of Vice. His salary came from the committee. Using his connections, he saw that a bill was drafted and presented to Congress.

Ever vigilant against immorality, Comstock created the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice.

George Bernard Shaw wrote: “Comstockery is the world's standing joke at the expense of the United States. Europe likes to hear of such things. It confirms the deep-seated conviction of the Old World that America is a provincial place, a second-rate country-town civilization after all.”

The laws did not stop what they were set out to do, despite allegedly destroying 15 tons of books, 284,000 pounds of printing plates and four million pictures. People continued to seek ways to stop conception, end pregnancies and look at “obscene” materials.

It was laughable that still in the 1950s married people could not be shown in the same bed in movies and on television. We all knew that Lucy and Desi shared a bed in real life.