France has cow statues too

The ugly hallway

The entrance in Argelès for a long time was ugly. Like most of the houses in the region unless the ground floor was heated, damp caused the walls to flake. Last year we had the walls treated and tiled. Great improvement.

But still as soon as you entered and went up the stairs there were two white doors hiding the electrical boxes.

Maybe not ugly but certainly boring.

Luckily, the British set designer Chris Floyd has a summer home down the street. The outside of his house (I'll get a photo later and post it) is alive with his murals. He agreed to paint a mural to hide the doors. The most clever part is the lamp post in this very Agelesian scen hides the wooden piece between the two doors.

Thank you Chris.

Review

Waiting for reviews is always scarey. This one is more of a summary but the last sentence is a whew moment.

Kirkus Review 9/1/12

This title publishes OCT 2012

“A young freelance writer who specializes in history must solve both a very old puzzle and a brand new murder. Multicultural Annie’s third (Murder in Argeles, 2011, etc.) presents a pretty puzzle on two levels, past and present.”

****************************************

Kirkus Reviews, www.kirkusreviews.com

MURDER IN GENEVA
Author: Nelson, D-L

Review Issue Date: September 1, 2012
Online Publish Date: August 21, 2012
Publisher:Five Star
Pages: 348
Price ( Hardcover ): $25.95
Publication Date: October 19, 2012
ISBN ( Hardcover ): 978-1-4328-2616-1
Category: Fiction
Classification: Mystery

A young freelance writer who specializes in history must solve both a very old puzzle and a brand new murder.

Annie Young arrives in Geneva to find her friend Mireille pregnant by Dr. Urs Stoller, her brilliant but much disliked thesis advisor. No one is terribly upset when Stoller’s body washes up on the lakeshore. His wife, a chemist, is more concerned about problems with the blood thinner she’s working on and the fact that her lover is moving his family from England. Stoller, who was not above stealing work from his graduate students, has even given Mireille false information about some old drawings she’d asked him to appraise. Annie’s in town to work on a catalog for a big sale a local auction house is hosting, but she gladly takes on the task of tracking down the artist who executed Mireille’s drawings, a woman struggling to express herself in the restrictive Calvinist society of 16th-century Geneva. Annie’s fiancé, Roger Perret, a French police chief on an exchange program in Geneva, is at odds with the local police, who arrest Stoller’s wife for his murder. Also in Geneva are Annie’s American parents, who have taken in Stoller’s teenage son, a longtime pal of Annie’s, while their determined daughter works to help find a killer and uncover the fate of the talented young woman whose story so fascinates her.

Multicultural Annie’s third (Murder in Argeles, 2011, etc.) presents a pretty puzzle on two levels, past and present.

Haiku

Rossi's toys hang out
to dry on the washing line
His little tail wags

When cards are not enough

A bird, wings outspread, flies into the clouds on the Swiss 1.90 CHF stamp, the one I use for airmail. I put it on a pink envelope to mail to my stepmom. The card has a photo of pink rose that was taken and made by my housemate. Yesterday I mailed a card with St. Bernard puppies, tomorrow it will be a grey kitten. I do this anywhere from three to five times a week.

Cards have flowers, animals, scenes of Geneva, Argelès, Valais. On them I write short messages reminding her of things in the past: her German Shepherds Duchess and Nikki, how she wiped me out at Gin Rummy, her visit to Switzerland, anything that might bring her back for a few minutes.

I don’t phone her, leaving me both guilt ridden and relieved. The last time she could not remember the word for flower. When I do call, she forgets I have telephoned or offers to come get me, forgetting she no longer has her car and it would not cross an ocean. Once she asked me to ask Donna-Lane to call if I saw her.

The cards are both a guilt-reliever and something I can still do for her.

She always loved cards, had an account at the Hallmark store near her house, found perfect messages to send for any occasion.

When her granddaughter sent her a card from Edinburgh where she’s in school, my stepmom showed it over and over to a neighbour. Her caretaker says that she carries my cards around with her.

The caretaker is now there daily but can’t be there the 24/7 as my mom needs. It has been two years since we asked the Veteran’s Administration for help and one year since we appealed their decision that her $1200 monthly income was much too high to warrant the assistance that could increase the caretaker’s hours. So far nothing.

She’s on the waiting list for three Veteran’s nursing homes. She was in the Navy, part of the Greatest Generation.

Thus I write the cheques for as much as I can afford and tell myself that she didn’t move here when I asked her ten years ago so I could take care of her in old age. At the time she understood that I’d never move to Florida and my options in helping her would be limited with an ocean between us. 

I remind myself I’ve earned my own old age. Sometimes, the guilt gets a little smaller, but the worry never does.

Geneva weather

I often thought Calvin believed in a capricious god because of the sudden changes from lovely to violent weather in Geneva. More than once I would leave the office to walk home on a drop-dead beautiful sunny day and before I finished the 20 minute walk would be soaked to the skin and praying the lightening did not put an end to my life. By the time I'd dried off the sky would be decorated with a rainbow or rainbows.

Last night was another example. Lightening split the sky, the wind caused the trees to almost bend in two and the rain was strong that at one point the lake, which can't be more than a tenth of a mile was hidden from view.

Julia's number 1 son, a great photographer in his own right was able to capture the lightening.

For more of his photos, check out his website. www.2slphotography.com/

Haiku

Black, yellow, red cows
Oversee the street below
It is a Swiss thing

the three day birthday

I was happy to turn 70. It meant I was alive.

Usually I don't pay much attention to birthdays, but decided this year to throw myself a party.

Sunday night there was a knock on the door. I opened it. In the tiny hallway was a black bag. Could it be for my neighbours?

Then a hand came around the corner followed by my Geneva housemate who decided I wasn't to celebrate my birthday without her along. The bag? Champagne, shrimp and Season two of The Good Wife. The party began.

Monday, I was slated to take a friend of more than three decades to the eye doctor. We seldom use the car (it has  taken since Feb. to use less than a half tank of gas) so the question was, "Where did we leave it?" seem totally normally.

As we walked by Barteveille, our favourite local restaurant my friend said, "Oh there's your housemate." She opened the door and my housemate was there and two other good friends. No choice for my surprise lunch...no problem...

• tapanade
• amuse bouche of gaspacho
• foix gras and salad
• fish on a bed of roasted vegetables
• Chocolate cake, icecream with happy birthday Donna written in chocolate frosting around the edge of the plate. I wish I could write as beautiful in ink
• Coffee

Then morning of my birthday a breakfast with a candle at the local hotel where my housemate was hiding out.

A trip to the beach to the see the photo exhibition but the most exciting was seeing the water planes land and pick up water for the fires in Port Bou and across the border in Spain. Our wishes went with them.

Then my party at La Noisette with about 30 friends.

Patricia the cook had put out a buffet that included gambas, salmon, chicken, cole claw, tabuli and mozarella and tomatoes. This went with sangria, a soft watermelon punch.

She'd done a beautiful cake and we added champagne.

The room has a divider and when I changed to the other side my Swiss friend and my long-time friend were sitting with their cellos. The music stand had a Swiss flag on it. They had arranged to play a combination of the Swiss national anthem along with happy birthday.

The nationalities present were

• Trinidian
• Canadian
• American
• Swiss 
• French
• Italian
• English
• German
• Danish
• Swedish

I have one more present coming in September. My daughter for eight days.

Those there were people I've known for decades, for years and recently. As I said in my toast to those present La richesse dans ma vie est les copains, les copines, life amis. The richness of my life is my friends.

Turning 70 is fun.

Grey hair

I've said I wanted to have grey hair. I don't have the patience to let it grow. After saying it to a friend he fiddled with my photo and sent me this.  If only it were that easy.

haiku

A yorkie basket
Pulled on an Argeles street
On a summer day

I ain't moving any more

The list was generated for a friend as we discussed our past lives  and I was curious how many times I'd moved. Move is a four letter word carrying with it all the obscenities of words that start with F, S, C etc. and I don't intend to do it again. If forced it will be my daughter's problem if she wants anything.

As I generated the list I kept thinking of the Phil Ochs song, I ain't marching any more.

ttp://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=i+ain%27t+marching+anymore+phil+ochs&oq=I+ain%27t+march&gs_l=youtube.1.0.0l6.24434.26221.0.28918.13.11.0.2.2.0.269.1855.2j5j4.11.0...0.0.kDHxPqkfqic

1. Reading MA to Bluefield W.Va Union St.
2. Union Street to can't remember the name
3. Bluefield to Bramwell WVA
   
4. Bramwell to Reading
5. Reading to Lowell MA
   
6. Lowell to DC MA
   
7. DC to Scituate MA
   
8. Scituate to Helderinlinplatz Stuttgart Germany
   
9. Helderlinplatz to Olgastrasse
10. Olgastrasse to Reading Woburn St. MA
    
11. Woburn St to High Street MA
    
12. High Street to Main Street MA
    
13. Main Street to Pratt Street MA
    
14. Pratt St to 1085 Main Street Waltham MA
    
15. Main Street to Whitman Road MA
    
16. Whitman road to Epping NH
17. NH to North Andover MA
    
18. North Andover to 1085 Main Street Waltham
    
19. Main Street back to Whitman Road
20. WHitman Road to Tavern Rd
21. Tavern Rd to Wigglesworth Boston MA
    
22. Wigglesworth to Riverway Boston MA
    
23. Riverway to Castanet France
24. Castanet to Delle Avenue Boston
25. Delle Ave to Môtiers Switzerland
26. Môtiers to Payerne Switzerland
    
27. Payerne to Francois Lehman Geneva Switzerland
    
28. Francois Lehman to Corsier
29. Francois Lehman to Argeles France
    
    

It won't happen

I've a fantasy to fix up this deserted building around the corner in moments of complete madness. Fortunately my wallet keeps me on a saner course.

Usually I'm not mean spirited

And deaths are awful no matter how and where...

But I wonder how many people in CO, DC, VA, MD etc. don't believe in climate change.

How many are driving SUVs.

How many have fought wind turbines?

I will be more sympathetic when the death toll reaches 30,000 as it did in the European heat wave in 2003.

Okay, maybe I'm mean spirited, but sooner or later as a species we need to do something or as a species we will have self destructed, but maybe since we are such poor caretakers of the earth, we don't deserve the planet.

High tech what?????

I admit I like pretty underwear. Even my cotton underwear is in gay colours and matches. Sometimes I match my underwear to my outerwear.

Why?

It makes me feel feminine and together.

So when I watching Télémartin this morning, I saw some models wearing pretty underwear. The voice over was saying how it was high tech.

High tech...?

Does it tune into the internet?

Can it open a car door as you approach?

Does it vac as well as our robot vacuum?

No, it helps with cellulite.

Ya right...

Those of you who are older will remember way way way back when panty hose first came out they were supposed to remove the shame of panty lines when one wore slacks. I'd forgotten to be ashamed. I'm still not ashamed.

Will I rush out to buy high tech lingerie...?

I doubt it...

I've grown fond of my cellulite.

What is necessary for a trip

Two days in the mountain...the most necessary thing to pack? Two books.

The Chalet haiku

As a little girl
I did Swiss jigsaw puzzles
Now I live in them

The price of love

I didn't like the funeral home my parents chose.

Although my Dad has been gone 32 years, I still remember the tacky thank you cards they gave us that basically said, "We don't know what you did, but thanks anyway." It was a little less abrupt, but nothing I would ever send out even to a stranger. Too, too tacky.

However, my father had told me that they had prepaid their funerals so it wouldn't fall to me. And if that was the place they wanted, I would go to the same place.

I don't hold grudges.

A requirement for getting my mom into a rest home is that her funeral be arranged. She is no longer safe when the caretaker isn't there. I went to the same funeral home.

Prepayment in monthly installments after a down payment is fine with the same funeral home since they could not find the paperwork for the prepayment arranged so long ago. Although I was positive I'd seen something almost three years ago when I was helping my mom sort a major problem out, but the care taker was not able to locate it.

I was to be sent a coupon book by the funeral home but they didn't want to send it overseas. Thus it was to be sent to my wonderful nephew, who is helping so much with details concerning different American details. He was to forward to me.

What did the funeral home do?

They sent the coupon book to my mom. Fortunately, she is not capable at this point of understanding.

Today I made the first of ten payments.

It's not the money. It's a bit macabre to be arranging a funeral whose body is still alive, even if her mind isn't. I've already lost this woman who was a wonderful step mother.

I want to throw a tantrum, lie down on the floor and pound it.

I won't.

I'll do what it is necessary. Sadness is the price of love here.

Shadow haiku

            
                             Paint-by-number trees
         Cast sharp shadows on the church
                In Collonge village.

Haiku

                           Fall leaves and feathers
                           Float by on a Spanish pond
                           Forming a small duck

Edinburgh Half Marathon

 Llara approaches the finish line as they call out her name. She looks pretty good as she wears her medal and clutches her T-shirt.

What I loved about Scotland

Seeing Llara.

The feel of Edinburgh.

The train ride to Glasgow.

Seeing Llara.

Kilwinning. A half hour from Glasgow where J's ancestors came from in the mid 1800s. We found the ruins of an abbey.

Seeing Llara.

Chris, our hop on hop off guide in Glasgow.

The Religious museum in Glasgow. Felt good even for pagan me because it called attention to our human sameness.

The Grand Central Hotel with a water faucet that combined the hot AND cold water.

The Grand Central Hotel that had plug outlets for most nationality plugs.

The Glasgow train station.

Seeing Llara.

Pub grub in the beginning, salad at Llara's and Japanese dragon roll towards the end of the stay.

The major differences between the Grand Central and Guards Hotel. Pretended I was rating hotels. With all out hotel stays over the last few years we've done everything from four star to no stars and all have had some essence of fun.

The beautiful weather--Chris called it the first and maybe the last days of summer.

Seeing Llara run the half marathon. Hearing her name called as I watched her cross the finish line literally moisted my eyes. I think the joy there more than made up for the beginner violin concerts that she had that I went to in motherly support.

Quiz night at the pub even if we know diddly squat about snooker and cricket (apologies to Anil--he tried but that didn't help with team info). At least I knew the Chaucer question.

Seeing Llara's former dorm mate Marianne.

Loudon's tea room.

Did I mention one of the joys of the trip was seeing Llara?

The solution

For the holiday, J and I decided we were to go out and start photographing as many of the painted electrical boxes that we could find. Of course, lunch in a nice restaurant was in the plan.

I took things from my pocketbook to put in my backpack: wallet, camera, pen, notebook, bus pass, etc.

I went to pick it up. It was heavy. I tugged and tugged.

Why was I so weak?

Then I stepped off the strap. Voilà...the backpack was light again.

And off we went to capture 32 of the 150 electrical boxes that we are seeking. One of my favourites is above showing an event where a street car from another city ran on Geneva tracks.

We want to be alone

Granted we live a five minute walk from Lake Léman where ducks abound. This is the first time we've had any ducks on our garage roof.




We assumed that they were tired of being with a crowd and needed a little time to themselves away from all the others.

                                                             Photos by J. Schmitz-Leuffen

Haiku

Carcassonne cookies

Bin after bin to choose from

Chocolate are best

Bordeaux Haiku

                                              Coloured flower cart
                                              in an old  Bordeaux courtyard
                                              Kevin helped frame it

Corsier misc.

This is the time of year that one almost needs sunglasses to pass the fields and fields of colza. Photo by Julia Schmitz-Leuffen who also does the photos for my book covers.

I found J driving back and forth into and out of the garage. "Something's wrong," she said. We looked at the tire. One was flat. A temporary was put on but it looks a bit like a band-aid. Glad it didn't happen when we were on the road somewhere.

 
Three of us, my housemate, a British friend are LWL, ladies who lunch. We take turns experimenting with different recipes. This time S. made a Romanian curly pastry with salad. J.'s turn next.

Desert was a strawberry truffle...we also have the date for the next lunch with a different chef. Meanwhile I'm scouring recipes for my turn to produce something new.

RB2

Someone once said RB2 was the brother I always wanted. A Swiss/Dutchman, 20 years younger and I shared the company flat from 1990-93. We also shared shopping trips to France where instead of coming back immediately we'd roam the countryside, trips to Argeles (where he met and married his wife), concerts, musics, and hours and hours of talking.

In the intervening years depending on where he was living and/or working our time together might be under the same roof or close enough for many get-togethers.  Other times both our busy lives interfered and months would go by with no contact.

Thus when I got an email saying he'd meet me in Yverdon and I'd spend the night I jumped on the train. But no sooner had he served me Dutch pancakes, and I'd chatted with his wife, then he told me to get in the car.

Long ago, I learned to follow him (not a natural inclination of mine.) We ended up in the Swiss Germanic medieval village of Murten   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murten heading into a hotel that had a concert by Chi Coltrane. www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJjOo9eu1Ok (totally opposite to what he is)

The next morning we watched the Eric Clapton Guitar Festival and his salute to George Harrison, before visiting his wife's brilliant children's play place.

Then off to a chalet for a fondue. I chose the one with morels. He selected a local white wine. He dropped me off at the station.

I just feel so lucky to have this brother wantabe in my life be it daily, weekly, monthly, bi-monthly, annually, whatever.

You know you will have a cold shower...

...when the repair man who installed the system says in equivalent French "I haven't the foggiest idea why you don't have hot water. The manufacturer's repairman is coming today. Yesterday we'd have paid holiday prices, today the call is free.

Martigny haiku

                              Sisters twirl and swirl
                           In the last late summer sun
                              Before the fall winds

I woke this morning in a strange bed gazing out the window at a Nantucket scene. I wanted to rush down the sandy path lined with sea grass and flowers and jump into the Atlantic.

Then I remembered: I was at a friend and former colleagues house in the heart of Switzerland.

And the window was really a painting. On another wall was a French painting of reminding me of Argelès Port. Between the three it was like the old television This is Your Life... with three places close to my heart in one place.

Day to day observations in my country

 
Amadeus, Mika and Albert would have loved this new puppy park across from the apartment complex where we once lived before they went to the great dog biscuit factory in the sky, Japanese chin department. There were two other puppy parks but then, but not as large. I might have worried about Mika slipping out through the wire, though.

Finding this photo makes me want to rush out and get a new chin. Think walks at 22:30 in the rain. Think dog on train with suitcase and computer. Think unhappy Munchkin.
Think, think, think.
Don't do it!
Don't do it!

I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
I'd rather see a purple cow
than be one

An old boyfriend gave me a photo of a purple cow and a variation of the poem. Who would have thought I'd end up living in cowland. This animated Milka cow is in the chocolate department (yes there are major chocolate departments in department stores in Switzerland along with toys, clothes, household appliances--all necessities) seems to now be a mother.

Marro, the restaurant at the next village where we eat several times a week is under new ownership. The chef stayed the same but the grumpy owner has been replaced by an absentee owner and a charming, young Italian manager. Besides repainting and other cosmetic changes, they have introduced this table full of colouring books and coloured pencils for their junior clients. I wonder if they would let us adults colour while we waited for our meal. Yesterday the menu du jour was a wonderful lamb. Today it is a pasta with tuna and capres.

love these ads

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpCQuzF4dU8&feature=share
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpCQuzF4dU8&feature=share
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPr6j22dPLs&feature=related

And I also love the tree for this amazing documentary. www. http://ahomefaraway.com/en from the Nyon Visions du reél documentary film festival.

Goodbye 666?????

Okay okay okay

I'm trying to let m hair go natural and I'm almost breaking down over roots.

A cm of root used to both me making me feel messy, a slut, ugly. I do have this thing about not looking my very best at all time within the framework of my natural body. I put make up on first thing. My underwear matches and if possible is colour-coordinated to my outside clothes.  After all I never know when Clooney will be walking the streets of Geneva again. Or his car might break down outside.

You can imagine what an inch is doing to my poor little psyche. Me, who worried about world affairs is now focused on my hair.

Will check in with Jean-Pierre tomorrow to see if he can come up with a solution other than a shaved head. If all else fails I will die many years in the future as an Oreal 666 redhead. Yup that's the real number of the hair dye I've used for years.

Imaging and being happily wrong

An imagination with a writer can be dangerous. I hadn't thought much of my mammogram scheduled for today until last night when I pictured my breasts laden with tumours and falling off as soon as the machine pressed down. That it was a week and a day since the nasty little growth was removed form my right breast, didn't help my imaginings. After all, I've friends who believe in the evil eye if someone thinks that they are too happy about something, the evil eye will zap them -- and overall I found my cancer such an easy thing to go through compared to others, I was sure I'd be punished for being too smug.

The waiting room had this beautiful tree. The mammo and ecto both showed beautiful healthy breasts. Life is beautiful.

I found myself singing "if you're happy and you know it clap your hands" under my breath as I walked from La Maternité HUG where the tests were taken. And to second my happy mood I found a post it on the transportation ticket seller, saying, "Fall in Love with Life" in French.

I have, I have!!!

Changing Lives--AGAIN

People ask which I like better--my time in Argeles or in Geneva. I can't answer. Here's why.

Friends
Argeles: Good women and men friends lots of stuff to do. Very supportive atmosphere.
Geneva: Good women and men friends lots of stuff to do. Very supportive atmosphere.

View in morning:
Argeles: The red roof tiles against blue sky
Geneva: The Jura and lake in all its moods

Walk to water:
Argeles: 20 mins. to sea
Geneva: 5 mins. to lake

Bed:
Argeles: clic-clac as single or double very comfortable
Geneva: single with electric under sheet very comfortable

Kitchen:
Argeles: Tiny with wonderful tiles showing an antique kitchen, sleeping cat making dish washing a pleasure
Geneva: Modern kitchen, dishwasher, microwave, eat in.

Dining table:
Argeles: Looks like it belongs in a Swiss chalet
Geneva: Modern black glass with bright placemats

Television:
Argeles: more stations than possible to watch and small TV screen
Geneva: more stations than possible to watch with large TV screen

Nighttime activities
Argeles: dinner with friends, movie around the corner, DVDs borrowed from R who has a collection to rival a video rental store, concerts, settling in a place I love
Geneva: Owned DVDs with J and snacks from popcorn to champagne depending on mood, dinner with friends, movies, plays, concerts, settling in a place I love

Reading:
Argeles: French library and Barbara's bookstore for English
Geneva: French books stores and American library with English books

Language: In order spoken
Argeles: French, English, Franglais
Geneva: English, Franglais French

Writing:
Argeles: A few writers
Geneva: more writers

Movies:
Argeles: Around the corner or more VO in Perpignan
Geneva: Drive to movie, more expensive more VO

Afternoon tea break:
Argeles: La Noisette and chats with owners Sophie and Laurent and anyone who stops by, whatever pastries are there (hard to choose between them)
Geneva: At home hopefully with a cook piece of something chocolate

Company:

Argeles: I live alone and love it
Geneva: I live with a wonderful housemate and love it.

Shopping:
Argeles: All in walking distance.
Geneva: Greater choice but great bus or housemate transportation needed

Food habits:
Argeles: Fresh from farm, restaurants friends, more eating at home
Geneva: Good stores, but marchés are too costly, more eating in restaurants

Restaurants:
Argeles: Bartevelle, Cayrou, Flowers and some others in walking distance
Geneva: Marro, Mikado, Little India, Manora, and many, many others but need bus, car

Transportation:
Argeles: Little needed for everything is in walking distance. Bus service, friend's shared car, train when not in grève.
Geneva: Bus, train, housemate, friends

Laundry:
Argeles: Temperamental machine, that I've a love-hate relationship with but hate to part with...so many memories of load after load
Geneva: Big machine and housemate that shares doing it 

Degree of happiness at being there:
Argeles: 9.5 on scale of10
Geneva: 9.5 on scale of 10

I don't understand our economic system

This morning the BBC was saying how awful it was China only grew 8%, a figure that the rest of the world would kill for. But it wasn't as much as the 9 or 10 in the past. Sorta like how horrible the athlete only won the silver Olympic medal, what a failure.

I've a problem with growth on a planet with too many people and limited resources. As I often say, selfish dinosaurs are refusing to die these days to increase our fossil fuels.

The economic news is reported as the stock market. Yet three times the number of people who own stock are part of a co-operative but co-operative news isn't reported. The stock market may be great but shouldn't part of the financial news be how many people went hungry in the same country?

Why is it a tree is only counted in the GNP when it is destroyed not when it is giving shade, beauty and oxygen.

If we're healthy we don't contribute as much to the GDP as we do when we are in the hospital or die.  So all my healthy friends, why aren't you getting sick to help out the GDP in your countries.

Why should a citizen pay for a bad bank deal they never agreed to. Iceland refused and put the politician responsible on trial. It's like A loans money to B and B doesn't repay so A insists C-Z pay B's loan. And to do that C-Z sacrifice all they've ever worked for.

I will admit to being socialist. I do think a society works better when the stronger help the weaker, but I don't think the weaker should pay for the stupidities and crookedness of others.

There's the old saw that under socialism A has to give B one of his three pigs. They never go beyond that when B mates the pig and has lots of pigs, which he turn shares with others. B and the others are no longer hungry and A still has his pigs who hopefully by then has produced her own litters. Of course, somewhere in that story we need a male pig. It doesn't do A any good to have so many pigs he is up to his elbows in their s--t while B is starving down the street. The neighbourhood is better off when both A and B are doing well.

I wonder why I've never been asked to teach economics...

The detrius of brunch

So often we see nicely set holiday tables. This is the aftermath of my

Easter Brunch for my Swiss neighbours, my French teacher and an American friend

Sliced ham

Sliced salmon Shrimp

Scrambled eggs with oregano

Diced bacon

Sun dried tomatoes in spiced olive oil

Oriental mushrooms

Homemade cinnamon raisin bagels Cream cheese

Pineapple in its juice with finely chopped basil

Almond biscuits

Tea or coffee

Then we went to a beach which is still savage and walked among the dunes, the roar of the Tramantane drowning out the waves crashing to the beach.

All in all, a great day.

My big rocks

When I was little much more of these rocks were exposed. When I was three feet and stood between them, they were least three times taller than I was. These rocks were places to go read, have picnics. The acted as the badlands when I was cowgirl, they were Greek and Roman temples. Sometimes they were castles. Whatever melting glacier dropped them, gave me an unlimited amount of joy.

Tadpoles on the wall

I last saw my cousin when I was eight. Thus, when she said she and her husband would be in France I not only jumped at the chance, I jumped on the train to meet up with them on their canal boat in Montauban.

In one way I felt like identical twins must feeling being reunited after years of separation to discover that they are so similar. We have enough similar quirks, single daughters born days apart (and explaining why neither of us were at a cousin's wedding), similar tastes. Fortunately there was enough differences and her husband was able to tell us apart without difficulty. The discovery of another person is always wonderful. That alone would have been enough.

But then to be on this wonderful boat and going through nine locks and noticing tad poles clinging to wall where the water had deserted them, having the helpful locks keeper (or whatever he is called) drive ahead, and chat) helping a bit by roping the boat the way it should be, docking, have a great meal (while still talking, talking, talking) and going to sleep in a comfortable bed just made things better and better and better.

At breakfast I missed the muskrat, but the female duck that had been playing hard to get with two mallard males, seemed to have settled down. The beautiful weather of the day before, had disappeared but that did not slow us down from wandering through Montauban with its little shops and boutiques, oohing and ahhing over the patterned stone sidewalks, and find a restaurant that was dry and warm for lunch.

Having grown up without much contact with my father's side of the family and remedying it somewhat, my cousin also filled me on things, I had no idea about. A good time...? Even as a writer I can't express the total feeling of joy I had.

Olive oil

Joel is my olive dealer. His stand during the marché is the source of all kinds of olives: black, green, garlic, fennel, provincial, green and black olive tapanade, boiled garlic. He has a line of perfume made with flowers picked in Argelès and Collioure and named after the town. He's a terrible flirt. He wears a T shirt saying "Olive King." His last girlfriend, who helped him on the stand, wore one saying "Slave of the Olive King."

Now he is selling his own line of olive made from his own olives and packaged in a lovely bottle. Is it any wonder, that the idea of shopping in a supermarket is so unappealing when you can have such a personal relationship with your food, its producers and its sellers.

Years ago when the Bug was first in the US, it did not have a gas gauge. When one ran out of gas, there was a lever on the floor and the driver moved it and there was one more gallon. It was told that when a man bought the VW bug and kept bragging about mileage. Part of the reason, was that the prankster neighbour would fill up the bug with gas every night. This went on for several weeks. Then one night the neighbour drained the tank much to the surprise of the owner.

Why this story? One of the few things I haven't Europized myself with is my toothpaste. I love Crest's original formula: the taste, the colour, the memories. It doesn't help that it is hard to get. I sometimes ask people coming from the States to bring it as a thank you gift. At the moment I have extra tubes in both Geneva and Argelès. However, in the beginning of January, I thought my old tube was almost empty. I kept pressing and pressing. It is like the VW Bug, it still isn't empty. However, I doubt any neighbour is sneaking in and putting more toothpaste in my tube.

Just a wonderful morning

The sun was shining and the sky was an unreal blue.

The merchants had set up their tables up and down the village streets and were unloading them with veggies, cheese, meats, jewelry, clothes, olives, fruits, shoes and anything else that it is sold in a French marché.

I found a small gift for a friend, then stopped at my favourite spice/herb table for rosemary and thyme. He made me roll my "r" and I told him as a Bostonian I never used an "r".

White asparagus was for sale, enough for three meals for just 2 Euros. I gave in.

I stopped at the Algerian artist's. He had mended my obligatory French intellectual black leather coat. He offered me a coffee and we sat amid his paintings and chatted about the creative process.

My next stop was ma copine's shop. Another copine was there and we chatted about her heart attack and our lives in general.

I agreed to watch the shop while they went to buy bread, and gave in to Joel's olives, black this time. He has so many varieties.

My last stop was for bananas and cherry tomato's at Jean-Pierre's and Babette's. She's using a cane since her foot was operated on. J-P was busy picking out veggies for a man outside the shop in a wheelchair, and then J-P packed them into his sack.

Just one of those days that make life a gift.

few dinner parties

I do few dinner parties but if I could invite famous people living and dead here's some on my list. Not sure what combinations I would put together. Can you imagine Jean Calvin, John Know with Lady Gaga?

Invited for hormonal reasons:
Garou

Invited for hormonal reasons and I really like his politics
George Clooney

Invited for literary reasons
Emily Dickinson
Ann Beattie
Shakespeare
Alexander McCall Smith
Amy Lowell
Robert B. Parker
Salinger
S. Scott Fitzgerald but with out Zelda who has the same birthdate in July as I do, but I'd
be afraid she would ruin the party
Maeve Binchey
Zora Neale Hurston
Alice Walker

TV people
Rachel Maddow
Peter Lavelle
Max Keiser
Sir David Frost
Wolf Blitzer (only so I could call him on the stupid things he says and hope he leaves the
party)
Tim Sebastian
Stephen Sakur
Claire Chazel
Catherine Ceylac
Fareed Zakaria
Charlie Rose
Oprah

Historical figures
Teddy Roosevelt
Eleanor Roosevelt
Thomas Jefferson
Abraham Lincoln
Elizabeth I and Mary Queen of Scots at the same meal...It might be good for them to meet
Sir Robert Dudley
Julius Cesear
Frederick the Great
Martin Luther King


Feminist
The Pankhursts
Susan B. Anthony
Robin Morgan
Gloria Steinem
Bill Baird

There are more, but one can overdo entertaining.

Rethinking Starbucks

I've never been a fan of Starbucks in Geneva. I prefer the local tea rooms not some corporate behemoth. Of course, I don't consider their espresso brownies, chat lattes and blueberry muffins in the off limits purchases, but I can't get those elsewhere.

However, I was impressed with the fact they are using fair trade coffee.

I was even more impressed with their CEO on Piers Morgan who is opening factories in the US instead of outside. He talked of moral capitalism and supporting the communities where they do business.

I wish that once again...

I could call her on Skype or VOIP cheap or regular phone or or or...

I could hear her laugh tinkling through the phone line.

I could tell her how much I loved her.

We could laugh about how our friendship started because the same boy dated us. He became history our friendship did not.

I could thank her for what she did for my daughter, who now has a nose big enough to breath through.

I could tell her how much it meant that she shared her parents with me both when I needed them and when I didn't.

We could eat potato sticks and play gin rummy.

I could see her wonderful apartments created out of things found on the street and revamped.

We could speak in code...connect A and B it's nothing like that, I didn't know they made rubbers that tiny...we'd need an operation... Let's not meet and eat at (fill in the blank) Thursday at 7...don't you dare put lipstick on . . .

Eat wild raspberries and walk in the woods sharing secrets, hopes, dreams, fears.

She were there to share every bad thing making them less bad.

We could celebrate the good which in later years far outnumbered the bad.

I wish I could stop crying.

My daughter just wished me Happy Mother's Day

She was reminded when she went to Starbucks in Edinburgh.

However, it is not Mother's Day in France.

As an international family, I keep trying to convince her I should get a present for all the different mother's days in the countries where we are.

She's not buying it.

However, everyday is mother's day for me, because I have a great Kid. Too bad they don't have a Kid's Day. But would I give her a gift for every Kid's Day in the different countries?

Hmmmmmm

Done

Done

I've finished my spring cleaning and taken out three almost giant sized trash bags. If you consider I have a studio and am a minimalist on top of that, those who know me will wonder how.

Even minimalists have a latent rat pack gene, which may explain why I had two empty jars, six extra paper clips, clothes I would never wear, a huge rawhide dog bone (in case a certain German Shepherd, visited) five candles of the wrong shape and colour, a ball point pen I would never use, a pencil I would never use etc., etc. etc.

They and like stuff are gone, gone, gone, thank goodness.

Then I was able to move out the washer, the frigo and couch and wash the flour behind them, etc. arrange my closet in rainbow order and make sure I know where my five remaining paper clips are. Those are the ones that are shaped like animals that I love to use the one or two times a year I need a paper clip.

Now how long will my closet remain in rainbow order, my drawers remain free. I know when I did it in Geneva, I could guarantee six weeks.

Why?

I will be in Argelès.

And here in Argelès.

As they say on American TV when they give a news brief..."stay tuned, film at 11."

A visit to Pont du Diable Céret

The Pont du Diable (Devil's bridge)is a medieval stone arch bridge at over the river Tech Céret, France, built between 1321 and 1341.

The local legend is that the residents wanted a bridge to cross the river Tech and hired the devil as builder. His condition was that he would claim the first soul across. To outsmart him, the locals sent a dog across first. Some say it was a cat. But then for many years everyone was afraid to cross. My housemate and I crossed, but to date the devil has not come for our souls.

Guess what this

On the drive down to Argelès from Geneva, my housemate and I stopped at one of the rest areas.

I found a packet of these.

With the light they were beautiful.

spihc ptatop teloiv (read backwards)

Ladies who lunch

Two friends and I have started making lunch for the three of us. The only caveat is we try a new recipe.

I used the French Master Chef cook book which had magret de canard marinated in lime and mint and served with a nap of a strawberry/cardamon sauce, and asparagus and strawberries. As in all recipes next time I will change it and use more orange and less lime.



I also dressed up a can of tomato soup bought at the American store with cream and finely chopped basil.



Desert was fresh blueberries in a chocolate lined waffle like tart with a light coating of cream.

Champagne to celebrate my emancipation certificate.

Now I look forward to the next ladies lunch where I eat and don't cook.