Free Write- The Joys of Dog Walking

For the two writers in France, our favorite café was closed for repairs, but the alternative La Bronzette provided great chocolatine (pain au chocolate) as we prepared our pens and notewbooks. Rick's prompt was the joy of dog walking. Like Rick, Julia in Switzerland wrote a memoir. D-L did a fiction piece. The joys of three free writes is there can be great similarities of great differences.

Rick's Free Write

The legendary golfer Walter Hagen advised, “Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. And be sure to smell the flowers along the way.”

When I take Sherlock for a walk, it’s not flowers he’s smelling.

Typically, it’s urine-drenched weeds, bushes, poles, the sides and corners of buildings, pretty much anything vertical against which he can lift his leg.

He has a world-class three-legged stance, ambidextrous, and often stretches the loose leg higher than his little body.

I’ve read that male dogs try to spray as high as they can to make it seem – to other dogs who come along later – that they are bigger than their reality.

Whenever Sherlock encounters another dog in person, he feels compelled to leave a ‘p-mail’ message almost immediately after.

The streets of our village can be a merde minefield, one reason we rarely walk at night. In Switzerland, there are more farm fields to traverse. In addition to dog droppings, we need to watch for horse and cow plop.

Sherlock almost never goes the same route twice in a row. If yesterday was the ‘Nellie’ route (past his girlfriend’s house), today will be the ‘Nelson’ route (a friend’s French bulldog). The worst, for me, is the long pull up the hill to the parc mairie in Vandoeuvres – easily his favorite.

The walks are not only necessary, they’re good for him, and if I must admit good for me as well. The joy is in his eagerness to put on his harness, and his anticipation of treats on our return.

Amazingly, I’ve never stepped in shit in either place. (Now I’ve probably jinxed that.)

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.

D-L's Free Write

Walk ten steps, stop, wait, walk twelve steps, stop, wait, walk five steps, st...

 Zorro was especially slow this morning. His sniffs took longer, his pees definitely so, and he must be waiting for the park to dump.

Despite the sun, the wind felt cold, damned cold.

Getting Zorro at the shelter seemed like such a good idea during Covid. Those eyes, peeking through the bars, had trapped him. The dog had been such good company while he was isolated.

Now he worked hybrid going into the office three days a week. Those boring walks before work were never fast enough and he was often late for work.

He thought about taking Zorro back to the shelter, but the dog loved him, and he had to admit he loved the dog, but those walks...

They arrived at the park. He unleashed the  dog. Zorro bounded off in search of his four-footed buddies.

He sat on a bench waiting the 20 minutes for Zorro to exercise. The wind nibbled at his cheeks. Mentally he ran over the day's presentation.

"They are having fun," a woman with beautiful blue eyes sat down beside him. She owned a golden lab. He'd seen her many mornings, wanted to say hello, but always something stopped him.

He looked into her eyes and thought back to the day he'd met Zorro. He was a sucker for eyes.

"I've seen you here a lot," she said. "I'm going for coffee after. Do you and your dog want to join me?"

Bless Zorro, he thought.

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at:. https://dlnelsonwriter.com     

Julia's Free Write

Opening the door, my mother pronounces “out you go.”.Cindy, our lovely, unexpected “gift” hastens to comply. But then we were in a house with multiple gardens. Cindy loved nothing more than stealing our rare ice cream from behind our backs.

Change of lives – and another inherited pet: Dash.  He really wasn’t much into dashing and went more reluctantly into the garden.

A period of time – and several moves later – Teddy entered my parent’s lives: chosen this time, he was much babied. Still, out into the garden though.

A university student, I moved into half a house and have no clue as to how my housemate and I ended up with Marla. But even there, there was a quiet street and a mini, enclosed, garden: the joys of walking the dog passed me by entirely.

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

The Statue Weeps

 

Walking the beautiful streets of Colmar, France we stumbled across the home/museum of Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi, the man who sculpted the Statue of Liberty.

Inspired by the Roman Goddess of Liberty, it was dedicated in October 1886. Fund raising was done in both France and the United States.

It became a symbol of liberty and of welcome to the United States. 

A plaque with a poem by Emma Lazarus, one of seven children born in a wealthy German-Jewish New York family, is on the statue. She spoke several languages and worked to bring victims of pogroms as refugees to America.

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"  

Huddled masses may be people who walked thousands of miles instead of taking a ship. 

Sadly with each passing day, the values Statue represents are being whittled away.

But it is not just the refugees or immigrants that are in danger of losing their liberties. It is the citizens already in the United States that are in danger, as shadow president Musk and Trump are sharpening their knives to reduce what Americans should take for granted.

Some were already in danger as the right to control one's body or to vote as voting laws are being/have been gutted. Others?

 Departments that give life a quality are being dismantled for the alleged reason of saying money and stopping corruption. 

• Education. Between banned books and reduced funding for education damage the future of children. It will also encourage ignorance and guarantee that they won't fight power.
• Even America's nuclear safety was put in danger until the idiots in charge realized that the people they fired were in charge of the safety. 
• FDIC, that insures people's bank accounts, is being looked at. 
• So are bank rules that prohibit banks from ripping people off. 
• Safety regulations at work may go away. 
• Medical costs and alternatives will go up, up, up. The U.S. has already has the worst system in the industrialized world.
  

Everything that adds quality to American lives may disappear.

Men of questionable abilities and morals are being put in charge of departments that Americans need to protect themselves.

Meanwhile, the president supports peace talks in the Ukraine without including the Ukrainians- He threatens to displace a people from their homeland to build a hotel. 

My list covers only a fraction of the damage being done.

Lies, lies, lies and misrepresentations fill the airways and internet. 

Has the lady's lamp been extinguished? Can it be relit? 

Only if the people fight back by action...demonstrations, calling legislators throughout government.

Act!

 

Prostitution (and me).

Geneva's red light district is between Cornavin Train Station and the Jet D'Eau. France and the Alps are on the opposite side of the lake. On a clear day there's a great view of Mont Blanc. Unlike many red light districts in other countries, Geneva's isn't tacky or seedy. Geneva doesn't do tacky or seedy.

The area has schools, nice flats, a variety of restaurants and the American church which houses a 10,000+ book English library. There are luxury hotels, one of which has a theatre where musical stars of all genres have appeared. Swan Lake performed there. Even a former Swiss president has made her home in the district. She is about as opposite in appearance from the women who prowl at night looking for clients as is possible.

Prostitution has been legal and regulated in Switzerland for 83 years. 

One day, going to the library on my lunch hour, I saw one of my coworkers with one of the working girls. He saw me, he saw that I saw him. We never spoke of it. Prior to the sighting, in meetings he might give me a lot of backtalk.

After?

I could guarantee his support on everything I supported.

On trips through Paquis, the name of the area, I used to regularly see one of the women with a little white dog that may have had poodle and Westie genes in her background. What did she do with the pup when with a client?

There was a restaurant below street level, but visible, where the women would gather between clients.

When visited by a former Boston neighbor, a pastor and his wife, I took them to see the Reformers Statue of William Farel, Jean Calvin, Theodore Beza and John Knox, early Protestant leaders that turned Geneva from being Catholic to a form of sour Christianity. I didn't say anything in advance to my former neighbors about finding their faces creepy if not hate-filled. 

After, we walked through Paquis on the way to a favorite restaurant. A few women were doing early evening trolling. "I prefer this to the statue," the minister said. "More life."

I taught a class at Webster University. For a project four my students produced a film on Sex Trafficking. What they didn't realize was that they filmed it in the lobby of my apartment building. They were surprised that I lived there. They told me the script was fictitious.

For one of my novels set in Geneva, I wanted to interview some of the prostitutes. At the time, my French was too weak. I tried to find someone to act as translator, but no one wanted to. I suppose I could have tried English, but I was uncomfortable and I had enough detail that I didn't need to talk to anyone. I regret not doing it. 

If I were going to write about those women's lives, I would now, but I'm not. Invading their privacy is something I feel I have no right to do for a regret.

Free Write - The Piggy Bank

Maybe this prompt wasn't as fair. Two of us own the piggy bank and the owners are in a different country from the third Free Writer.  Yet each week the one who selects the prompt has an advantage of seeing it in advance, although this time only the prompter saw a photo before the other two. Our Free Writes are not contests. The idea is to trigger the imagination to write for 10 minutes on anything that comes into one's head. We love seeing what we come up with.

D-L's Free Write

"It's time," Anne said to Kai. "Our annual emptying of the piggy bank. "I wonder how much this year."

In past years they had collected 1002, 765.20, 798.11, 999.99 Euros in pocket change.

They had used the money for rent, car repairs, and a two-day skiing trip in Liechtenstein.  

As tradition had it, Kai had to struggle to turn the heavy pig over. When they'd spied the pig in a charity shop, the owner made them promise to not break her.

The month before, they'd been in Stuttgart, Germany and visited a pig museum www.stuttgart-tourist.de/en/a-pig-museum with 50,000 pig figurines and drawings.

"Whew! Got it," Kai said. The pig, named Patricia, was on her side. He opened the plug keeping the money inside. 

Kai stuck his fingers in the hole and pulled out a torrent of coins.

"That's obscene," Anne laughed.

"It'll take a couple of trips to the bank," Kai said. The bank was around the corner, closer to walk than park in their parking lot. "At least they have the automatic coin deposit. Remember when we had to wrap the coins?"

Anne did. It took most of a Saturday morning. "She'd enjoyed it for a while, then it grew tiresome.

Kai put the coins in two cloth bags. "You coming with me?"

"We can go to lunch after, "Anne said. "Celebrate our annual pig ritual."

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at:. https://dlnelsonwriter.com  

Rick's Free Write

Piggy bank.

Pigskin.

Pig in a poke.

Pigs in a blanket.

Piggish.

Pork face.

Eat like a pig.

Like a pig in slop.

Piglet.

Porky Pig.

Pigs don’t have the best of reputations. They are portrayed as fat, lazy, dirty.

Maybe they are quite happy. Except, of course, when they get packed off to the abattoir.

Peppa Pig.

Boss Hogg.

We have a pig in the spare bedroom. At some point a sorcerer turned him into ceramic and put a slot for coins in the middle of his back. He’s got a hairline crack on one side, not our doing.

The antiques dealer who sold him to us made us promise not to smash him (the pig) to get at the coins. More than once I thought about breaking that promise as I shook at the coins and the last few wouldn’t fall through the hole in the bottom. It felt almost obscene to be reaching into the hole with my finger in search of the final centimes.

Managed to get them all after several minutes of fingering and shaking.

Put the coins in a sack and walked to the bank, where they have a coin counter. My arm almost fell off from the weight.

More than a thousand euros, collected over many months.

The pig now has an empty belly. He’s lucky my hammer was in the other room.

Petunia.

Note: Rick thought afterward he could have added when pigs fly to his free write. If he ever did a second draft he could add it then.

Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices.

Julia's Free Write 

Sniff, sniff, sniff – my nose is to the ground.

I am not exactly the right color, but covered in mud, it doesn’t much matter.

I root and search throughout the field, looking for just the perfect tidbit: perhaps a bit of carrot, leek or potato. Oh, wouldn’t it be great to find a bit of apple.

Surrounded by family and friends, a great field and sunny weather: it’s a wonderful life.

My mother just gave birth to some more (8 to be exact) siblings, but they’re way too young to be introduced to my life.

My father seems to have disappeared – I heard rumors of the ever-feared “butcher” whispered by some of our older family members.

 Oh, but what is this? My tummy feels funny; heavier and heavier – not a pleasant feeling at all, but one that foretells of liberation, a time when I will be emptied and become a “real” pig, for now you see I’m only a ceramic piggy-bank and it was all a dream.

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

Did They Die For Nothing?

 

It was an almost hot June day in Normandy. The sky was a brilliant blue, the well-trimmed grass green. A few people  walked through the cemetery, but the only sound was birdsong. The white crosses went on and on. Each one had the name of the person buried, usually young men not even into their mid twenties.

Earlier that day I had seen a film of soldiers in full gear on a boat. Their faces were grim as D-Day was about to begin. I'm sure many, if not all, were now under those crosses. They had given their lives to defeat Hitler, to protect their own country. 

Those that survived went home to wives, children, parents. They would use the GI Bill to get an education and build careers that benefited themselves, their families and the country. I've heard so many children, grandchildren and great grandchildren of the men who fought in WWII say those former soldiers didn't want to talk about the war.

Did the soldiers in WWII die for nothing? The few decades after the war ended, were some of the most prosperous in U.S. history, not just in money, but quality of life. Progress was made for minorities even though there is still work to be done. 

What would all those soldiers, those that died in Normandy and those that made it home, think when they see the country they fought for being torn apart by a demented president, unelected shadow president, corrupt officials who are too afraid to fight back? How would they feel when program after program was being destroying reducing the quality of life of their grandchildren and great grandchildren? Those who would have remembered the Great Depression, how would they feel to see the FDIC, created in their lifetimes to protect citizens savings, be hollowed out? How would they feel to see programs for the ordinary citizens be stripped?

I ask again - did they die for nothing? 

Yes! 

If the takeover of the U.S. government isn't stopped, they will have sacrificed their lives for nothing.

Call and email congress. Protest. Fight back. 

This artwork was near the American Cemetery in Normandy. One way to peace to make sure that the American government is legitimate. What is happening now, it is being taken over little by little. Sorta like Hitler did and with a president who talks about taking over other countries, war could be next.

 

 

Meeting my Dad,etc.

 

"Your father is at Administration, my best buddy Paul said. "They've been looking all over for you."

I was a college freshman. I'd found a deserted staircase in the music building where I could study and listen to the different music students practice as I studied. Paul knew of my hidey hole.

I'd not seen my father for over five years. My parents were divorced. The cliché that they mixed like oil and water was much too mild for their relationship. They were like people who threw gasoline on the raging fire of our family. The divorce was a welcome relief.

At first my father used his visitation rights regularly, but suddenly he stopped coming. He never missed a support payment, however. My mother had always made it clear that if I chose my father for anything, I would disappoint her at different levels.

I still didn't understand why he had deserted me.

My immediate reaction was to tell Paul to tell Administration they couldn't find me, but my curiosity was too strong.

He didn't look that different. He wore a good business suit. As a salesman for a tool company, he was always a snappy dresser.

He suggested we go to lunch. Although I had a class, I agreed. Once we ordered, he asked me about my classes. Somehow he knew how well I'd done in high school, how I worked as a cub reporter for a daily newspaper, and I almost never played golf. As a kid, I had been forced to take lessons on Saturday mornings when I would have preferred to watch cartoons or to pick blueberries when we played as a family -- outings were always tension filled. He knew I was engaged. Since we were from a small town and my mother's best friend's husband was a close friend of my father, I didn't need to ask how he knew.

That he cared enough to follow my activities, reduced my anger somewhat.

I knew he had remarried to a woman my mother described as an ignorant tramp. My father had met her when she and her then husband had given dance lessons at the country club where my parents were members.

I'd met her at the dress rehearsal for a club talent show. She and her husband dressed in Civil War costumes. Hers was white with violets and a hooped skirt. It went with a green velvet bonnet tied with a purple ribbon and had a big purple feather. They did a waltz. When she saw how much I loved the dress, she said I could borrow it. I wore it all the next day. Then my father took it back to her.

I debated asking him why he deserted us, except since he continued paying child support that wasn't total desertion. 

He said that the last time he'd visited we were sitting on our front porch. My mother had had him served to appear in court for larger child support, which was granted. He said he has always complied with any request she made as far as court appearances were involved, but he never went back.

It wasn't the last time I saw him. My fiancé and I went to dinner with them, unbeknownst to my mother. His wife was there. They give us a wooden salad bowl bought from Welch's in Scituate where they lived. I still have it 42 years later.

While waiting to go overseas where my fiancé had been assigned to the 7th Army Band, I lived with my father and stepmom. My mother had tried to get my elopement annulled. I discovered my stepmom was anything but an ignorant tramp. She was a warm, loving, generous woman who made my father happier than I had ever known him. She played a mean game of gin rummy, worked as a school secretary, had a good sense of humor. 

I learned that my father had wanted to make contact with me for a longtime, but was afraid of rejection. After listening for much too long, she told him to try. He would never know what might be if he didn't.

My father was one of 10 children. As adults there were regular get togethers and activities. I had a chance to meet my grandfather shortly before he died. My aunts and uncles had children and I found a bunch of cousins. Because my mother had considered them ignorant foreigners and because they had moved from Nova Scotia in the 1920s, I had missed out on lots of family fun. I was accepted with open arms.

My father, stepmom and I developed an ideal relationship, almost of storybook quality. Their love and support helped me thru a divorce and being a single mom. When my dad died, my stepmom and I continued that relationship. She stayed with me in Boston. My parents had moved to Florida, my dad's lifelong dream. She visited me in Switzerland after I moved there. 

We did have one cross word, well almost cross in all the years I knew her. I had put an iron away when it was hot, and she said she wished I hadn't done that. I found out how she stopped my father from making comments about how he didn't like how my husband treated me. Not a man who could share his emotions easily, she encouraged him to let me know how proud he was of me in getting my degree, developing my career and raising my daughter. 

I'd visit her in Florida. We'd do the early bird specials. She'd beat me mercilessly in gin rummy, watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, guessing at the answers.

My parents' divorce was a good thing. My father's remarriage was a good thing. My stepmom was a good thing. I am so grateful to myself that I didn't refuse to meet him that day when my buddy Paul told me my father was at Administration.

The Blizzard of a Lifetime

 

Forty-seven years ago, a bad snowstorm had gone out to sea and decided to turn around. We were back at work, but the forecast and the storm's change of mind meant businesses and everything were closing down under the new threat.

My housemates worked at Harvard Medical and Simmons College both in walking distance of our Wigglesworth Street home. My daughter's school in Cambridge was closed. Two rows of townhouses Wigglesworth and Worthington could have been put down in London and looked like they belong.

I worked for Polaroid's Credit Union in Cambridge and rode the Green Line E as far Northeastern University. I walked the last three stops. I was lucky. Many people didn't make it home. Others were stuck in their cars for a few days. Over 100 people died. Some 4500 people were injured.

The storm went on and on. We were located near several major hospitals: Peter Bent, Brigham and Women's, Children's, etc. Because of the hospitals electrical wires were underground, so unlike many in the region, we never lost electricity. We'd had a recent fuel delivery so there was no danger of freezing. There was enough food.

For us it was a week of tea, reading, playing games, watching TV. The house we co-owned and had bought at the low price of $15,000 when other houses in the area cost $50,000 and up was a handyman's nightmare. We were doing the renovation ourselves, so this was a gift, time to strip paint, lay tile, redo medallions in the ceilings without cramming it between work and grad school. 

Our poor German Shepherd, Nikki, however, couldn't go into the backyard. The door was totally blocked by snow. 

We assumed that the white lump on the street was our car. At one point we walked on its roof. After shoveling it out, we realized I'd left the car window open a crack. Snow filled the car.

When the snow finally stopped, we helped two elderly neighbors shovel out. It was a special neighborhood where we knew most of the residents: people who'd lived there most of their lives, medical personnel from the hospitals and students. Harvard Medical, Harvard Dental, Simmons, Wheelock, Wentworth, Mass College of Art were some of the colleges within a short walk.

When the stores were able to open, one of my housemates made the several block walk to Stop & Shop with a list of what we needed (not much) and what our elderly neighbors needed.

My other housemate, who worked for Simmons, went to the campus to help with those students in the infirmary because the medical staff could not get into the city.

My dad informed me that his beloved 34-foot cabin cruiser which he'd built himself was destroyed. It had been docked almost a half a mile from Scituate harbor for the winter. The photo is not his boat but resembled the photos that I no longer have.

My boss, who headed the Polaroid Credit Union, had been given permission to go into the office to provide certain procedures to guarantee salaries would be available for people when they dug out. This was still pre-ATM days. Travel except under special conditions was forbidden.

A week later things began to reopen, but my daughter's school would be closed another week. We walked to North Station to put her on the train to her father's. She was still too young to be left alone for long periods of time. Her father, who worked for the police force, was on a call when the train reached his town. He had another cop pick her up.

My housemates were in walking distance of the house so they went back to work. I could walk to where the T went underground. Much of the staff living outside the city still could not get to work.

Nine months later Brigham and Women, which concentrated on maternity care, gave out t-shirts to new-born babies saying "I was a 1978 Blizzard Baby." T-shirts saying "I survived the Blizzard of 1978" can still be purchased on line.

When my husband said to me this morning that the blizzard was 47-years ago, I was shocked. In many ways it seemed recent. With the exception of my dad's boat, we were not negatively impacted. Because we were warm, safe and were given a respite from our overly-charged lives it was fun. We made unexpected progress on the house. I do not negate the suffering of others stuck in their cars or in their homes without heat or food. The deaths are still a tragedy, The $520 million in 1978 dollars for clean up and repairs caused hardship for many.

That the storm has been called one of the three worst ones in U.S. history is not a surprise.

 

Happy/Miserable

It's a battle between being miserable about the coup going on in my birth country, genocide and cruelty in general and making my life worth living. Each morning, something that is anti-anything good about the U.S. is undone, another incompetent, immoral or just plain crazy person seems to gain more power and those who might have a chance to stop it don't do what they could.

At the same time, I'm trying to be happy in my personal life by appreciating people and things around me. 

I never pass this small cabinet I found in a second hand store. The colors and design make me smile. I wonder who painted it.

Flowers. At the moment mimosa sweetens the air. The yellow is a bit of sunlight in my living room. It makes walking thru a room a pleasure instead of mundane.

A piece of artwork from a local artist. I'm slowly naming the tiny birds: Tweetie, Chirp, Sally... It is the first thing I see when I wake even before I hear the news and the dangers the world is facing.

I decorate my laptop because black is boring. Each time I open it, I notice the angels' trumpets and wings. Does it make me write better? I don't know, but I feel happy as I begin working.

A kiss or cuddle from my dog or watching him do zoomies. 

There are so many other things each day if only I take time to notice, feel them, appreciate them.

• Watching a child laugh. 
• There was a cat that sat outside a neighbor's shop every morning and spent the day inside. They moved and the cat went with them, now permanently homed with them in a new store down the street.
• The wind caressing my cheek, sometimes nibbling and every now and then biting.
• Colors.
• The huge trees with their crevassed bark when we walk Sherlock near our home in Geneva. We had fun standing in a hole of one and pretending we were dwarfs.
• A cinnamon bun. 
• Watching a Netflix holding my husband's hand.

A complete list would be impossible. I want to observe the little things during the day and revel in them. It could be a sight, smell, taste, feel...things that say this is what matters. To savor them is to be truly alive.Not seeing them reduces the quality of my life, never mind eliminates a detail to include in my writing. Not seeing them, feeling them, tasting them, smelling them allows the evil of war, coups, cruelty to other creatures to win. Finding the good does not negate the bad, nor does it mean not to fight it, but it does give me the strength to fight back.

 

 

An Amazing Answer

 

A short time ago, when I found a postcard in a book in a kiosk. There was an address from the sender. I sent this letter, never expecting a response.

Dear Sally : 

My husband just came back from walking our dog Sherlock with a book, No Time for Goodbye. Inside I found a card with your address and a message to your friends Carl and Ha (I think that’s the name). My husband had found the book in one of those kiosks outside a boulangerie.  

I added the photo of the kiosk and copied the message on the card before continuing. 

Of course, you may have moved long ago. Your card is dated 21 September ’08, well over a decade ago. From the warmth of the note and if you are still at the same address, I hope this brings back a pleasant memory.

Tomorrow, I will drop it in the mail. Do I expect to ever get an answer? Probably not. Maybe someone will be at that address and open the envelope. I can imagine any number of reactions. 

No matter what.

Today I peeked into the lives of Sally, Paul and Carl. May they all be well and happy.

Then today, I opened my email and received an answer.

Dear Donna,

My wife, Sally and I were delighted to receive your extremely thoughtful letter dated 28 January.  It took us a few minutes of serious thought to get to what we think is the solution!

Very distant relatives and lifelong friends, Paul and Carlotta Olivier, lived very close to you in the Rue des Jurets, Choulex.  Sadly, they are both dead.  Carlotta was educated in England and loved to read books in English. Sally used to recommend books to her and sometimes to send them. Carlotta was the last to die and the house clearance must have resulted in the book finding its way to your local kiosk!

It really was extremely kind of you and your husband to contact us; it actually created happy memories.

With many thanks and very kind regards.

 

In this world of estrangement, hatred, bigotry war, racism, and fear, when lives touch each other over the decades in a positive way, there are glimmers of hope. I'll never meet any of these people, but there is a good chance I'll walk Sherlock by Paul and Carl's home and know, it wasn't just a house, but a home where people lived and love. 

That's a gift!

 

Free Write - Jigsaw Puzzle

 

Although we are in two countries, Switzerland and France, thanks to the miracle of the internet, we still were able to "meet" and share our thoughts. Julia, a fan of jigsaw puzzles, used a photo of her latest for the prompt.

Julia's Free Write

Piece by piece, slowly and often more by shape than color…It a been a lovely day, a ride up the mountain by cable car, ending in a longer-than-expected walk, opening onto a natural ring of mountains surrounding the almost obligatory lake: we were in the Swiss Alps after all.
Sunny, the place had its’ share of visitors,  in spite of being off the beaten track.
They were grateful- and more than happy to pay- that there was a taxi service for the return trip.
So, opening her Christmas present brought it all flooding back. Amazing that her son had purchased just that one!
The days, weeks, and months passed as it was started stopped, rolled up for this or that dinner, game or meeting.
Partially destroyed by first her cats then her grandsons, here it was, finally finished; the wonderful puzzle  - a slice of her life.

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

D-L's Free Write

 "I found the last bench piece." Jason pushed it into the puzzle.

Janice smiled at her husband's pleasure. For years they had lived in unconnected harmony, ever since Kai, their youngest had left for uni. He now had his doctorate.

She had her part time work at the library, knitting, gym. He had his sports and garden and sports and meeting his buddies for coffee Saturdays morning and sports. He took some carpentry projects if they interested him.

She had found the 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle in a charity shop wrapped in plastic so it was most likely complete. Once home, she put it out on the dining room table.

The scene of a lake and mountains reminded her of their honeymoon in the Alps and the puzzles she had done during blizzards when she was a child in Maine.

Amazement was the only word she could think of when Jason sat down and began joining pieces. They has spent several evenings working on it together. One night she made popcorn for the two of them.

Periodically one would say something, first about the puzzle, then about one of their kids or friends. It was more than they had said to each other in months.

"Do you want to order take out? Chinese?" she asked. 

"Let's go to the China Moon. No dishes for you to do."

"I'll make a reservation." Maybe she was making a reservation for a different relationship.

Jason kissed her hair when he walked by to get his jacket.

D-L has had 17 fiction and non fiction books published. Check out her website at:. https://dlnelsonwriter.com   

Rick's Free Write

I was puzzled. Where could that piece be? A thousand-word puzzle of a Swiss mountain lake scene, and I couldn’t finish it because of one lousy little piece of meadow grass.

I’d been working on the puzzle, on and off, for several weeks. I was in no hurry, obviously, but now that it was almost finished, I WANTED TO FINISH!

I looked around my office floor, trying to see a tiny ½-inch piece of cardboard of irregular shape. Green, or maybe plain. I got down on my hands and knees (until my knees couldn’t take it anymore), looking under the card table the puzzle was on, under the desk, the bookshelves, the printer stand… I checked every shelf, the wastebasket, lifted the edges of the rug…

If I don’t find that stupid piece, my mood would be shot for the day. I won’t get anything productive done.

I went in the kitchen, checked the recycle bin. Of course, if it was ever in there it might have been thrown out weeks ago.

The bedroom! Maybe it stuck to my sock and was in the bottom of the laundry hamper.

I ended up scouring the entire house, every room, even the car. I pulled everything out of its storage place and put it back. By the end of the day, the house was in the best order it had ever been.

It’s their fault! The manufacturer missed a piece. Maybe they did it deliberately to torment me. I’ll never buy a puzzle from them again! Maybe never buy another puzzle ever.

I scrunched up the nearly finished puzzle and started to toss it in the wastebasket. When I...

 Rick Adams is an aviation journalist and publisher of www.aviationvoices. com  

POV Summed up in Poem

 

As a writer, I know that point of view is important. This poem really shows the power of POV by having the dragon, maiden and knight all express their opinions. I adore the poem and it led me to write several short stories with different POVs. Enjoy.

Not My Best Side by U. A. Fanthorpe

I

Not my best side, I'm afraid.
The artist didn't give me a chance to
Pose properly, and as you can see,
Poor chap, he had this obsession with
Triangles, so he left off two of my
Feet. I didn't comment at the time
(What, after all, are two feet
To a monster?) but afterwards
I was sorry for the bad publicity.
Why, I said to myself, should my conqueror
Be so ostentatiously beardless, and ride
A horse with a deformed neck and square hoofs?
Why should my victim be so
Unattractive as to be inedible,
And why should she have me literally
On a string? I don't mind dying
Ritually, since I always rise again,
But I should have liked a little more blood
To show they were taking me seriously.

II

It's hard for a girl to be sure if
She wants to be rescued. I mean, I quite
Took to the dragon. It's nice to be
Liked, if you know what I mean. He was
So nicely physical, with his claws
And lovely green skin, and that sexy tail,
And the way he looked at me,
He made me feel he was all ready to
Eat me. And any girl enjoys that.
So when this boy turned up, wearing machinery,
On a really dangerous horse, to be honest
I didn't much fancy him. I mean,
What was he like underneath the hardware?
He might have acne, blackheads or even
Bad breath for all I could tell, but the dragon--
Well, you could see all his equipment
At a glance. Still, what could I do?
The dragon got himself beaten by the boy,
And a girl's got to think of her future.

III

I have diplomas in Dragon
Management and Virgin Reclamation.
My horse is the latest model, with
Automatic transmission and built-in
Obsolescence. My spear is custom-built,
And my prototype armour
Still on the secret list. You can't
Do better than me at the moment.
I'm qualified and equipped to the
Eyebrow. So why be difficult?
Don't you want to be killed and/or rescued
In the most contemporary way? Don't
You want to carry out the roles
That sociology and myth have designed for you?
Don't you realize that, by being choosy,
You are endangering job prospects
In the spear- and horse-building industries?
What, in any case, does it matter what
You want? You're in my way.

Victims

 

Trump has often said NATO, Panama and other countries take advantage of the U.S. turning the U.S. into a victim.

Merriman-Webster defines victim as: 

• one that is acted on and usually adversely affected by a force or agent
• one that is injured, destroyed, or sacrificed under any of various conditions
• one that is subjected to oppression, hardship

Hmmm...I don't remember NATO or any country attacking the U.S. I do remember, ever so recently, the U.S. threatening to attack Panama and Greenland.

Hmmm...I don't remember the U.S. being injured, destroyed or sacrificed by Greenland, Denmark or Panama. Charging for services is NOT injuring a buyer.

Hmm...I don't remember any huge oppression, hardship or mistreatment to the U.S. by other countries.

He seems to think that when a country looks out for its own interests it makes the U.S. a victim because it will not put the U.S. interest before their own. 

He claims he is a victim of the deep state, Democrats, Biden, Etc.

Likewise when he is called to account for his bad behavior, he is like a child saying, "My little brother is picking on me," after he himself was the guilty party.

The words "witch-hunt" fall from his lips regularly. I'd love to have the number of times that he has said that when Congress and others were annoyed that he tried to overthrow the government.

As the coup in the U.S. government is ongoing by a billionaire and a demented man pretending to be president, the real victims will be the U.S. middle and poorer classes as they lose protections they have been granted. 

It will be the children who go hungry and who are not given a decent education. They will be the victims of their own government.

It will be the people who can't afford the medicine they need because prices have been allowed to soar. They will be the victims of their own government.

It will be the services that are no longer a part of the society that once was the mark of a civilized society.

It will be the climate that will send hurricanes, fires, tornadoes and floods and anyone in their wake will be hurt.

Call Congress, House and Senate. Tell them to save the country while they still can.

 

The 2nd Coup

  

Make no mistake: January 6 was a coup, an attempt to stop the verification of a legal election. 

It was not an insurrection. It was a coup.

It was not tourists with an overwhelming desire to visit Nancy Pelosi's office. It was a coup.

America is now experiencing a second coup that started January 20, 2025. It puts every American living in the country in danger of much more than more expensive eggs.

Musk, who has no official job, no security clearance, nothing that would under the government from its founding give him the authority he is welding. He now has access to everyone's financial records.

Different agencies are being gutted. All are under threat including the FDIC that protects American bank accounts.

Regulations that protect Americans with safe water, air, food, transportation, business practices are being dissolved.

Monies that should be spent are being stopped threatening the daily lives of millions in the U.S. and around the world.

War is being threatened against U.S. allies like Denmark and Panama. News agencies have been banned from the Pentagon which will mean that citizens will not have information they need. 

A country like Greenland has been said to be necessary to American security that is why the U.S. needs to take it over.  Sounds  lot like what Putin said about the Ukraine. What if Europe decided for its security it should take over the U.S.?

People are losing their jobs in different agencies for doing their jobs on all levels.

Much of what is being done is illegal.

The list goes on and on and on.

Tariffs will hurt American jobs and incomes and threaten the world financial markets.

Congress is approving cabinet members. Most do not have the qualifications nor the morals to hold their posts. 

This is a coup, a destruction of the American government. 

Where is the resistance? I've often said that Americans were so sold on the propaganda that America was the greatest country on earth that they accepted conditions that would be unacceptable elsewhere, healthcare being an example.

The Republican party is approving every cabinet appointee. Some Democrats are approving some dangerous cabinet nominees. Your Congressmen and Senators are helping America's destruction. It has been said that they are afraid of being primaried. Call them, email them, write them and tell them NO! 

I don't know if Trump is a puppet for the oligarchs. For years the ultra rich and lobbyists have pulled strings. If Trump were to die tomorrow, J.D. Vance is waiting in the wings to be the next marionette. 

What will emerge is nothing like any place non millionaires will want to live. Even they will have problems because climate change does not ask income before generating a weather catastrophe.

What are you doing to stop this coup? What will you tell your grandchildren what you gave up?

 

 

Where will we eat?

 

"Where will we eat?" A usual question when we head to the South of France from Geneva. Many of the autoroute stops don't allow dogs and the restaurant chains are boring. Some times will go off the autoroute to see what we can find. Friday was the usual dilemma. Do we go in and buy sandwiches and eat in the car? 

Nah, let's leave the autoroute and get off at Montélimar with its castle on the mountain. The city is  known for nougat.

There wasn't much until we saw a MacDos (Mickey Dees to Americans). "I suppose that could be a last resort," I said, but we weren't ready to settle.

There is a row of restaurants and we wandered in Le Moderne, who welcomed us and our dog Sherlock.

The atmosphere was warm with unique artwork.

Almost immediately this was placed on the table. Loved the tie on the yummy bread, even more after I dipped it into the local olive oil. The bits of sausage, also local, were a real taste treat.

We each had a starter. Mousse of foie gras for Rick, who is normally a finicky eater, but wolfed it down. The crust on my starter was so good, I could have made a meal of just that.

Rick's veal was accompanied by original potato bar with bacon in the middle.

My confit canard was topped with mashed potato arranged in pretty little bubbles. Unfortunately, I started eating before thinking to take a photo.

The croutons were so good, that both Rick and I saved them for the last bite.

Presentation is always nice to have and theirs was beautiful and original, but the food exceeded the presentation. The service was friendly and efficient. As I raved about each mouthful, I noticed the Michelin stickers for 2013-2024. They were mentioned in the guide book for each year and we read their write up. Every word was true.

I told Rick, we need to make this a regular stop when we travel back and forth between the two countries.

Better than MacDos and better than a picnic in the car. In fact, I decided it was the second best restaurant I've eaten in for years and years. The other is around the corner from our flat. I just wish Le Moderne was closer to us.

If you are anywhere near Montélimar, it is worth stopping. They speak excellent English. Reservations 04 75 01 31 90. Website www.restaurant-lemoderne.fr Warning. Looking at the photos will make your mouth water even if you just eaten.