My kid did it

I know it is blurry, but that's my kid walking across the stage at Usher Hall in Edinburgh on her way to pick up her "parchment" that says she has a Master of Science in Human Resources. Me proud. You betcha.

Mammogram

The see-your breath temperature is a pleasure after the too hot summer as I wait for the pre-dawn bus to take me into the city. When it comes it is filled with a few businessmen trying to beat colleagues into the office and high school kids on their way to the Lycée founded by Jean Calvin 500+ years ago.

The curriculum is modernized from the old Latin, Greek, Bible and Hebrew of Calvin’s time. One sun-bleached blond teenager sits in the aisle, her notebook on her lap finishing her math homework by copying answers from long exercises onto a single sheet. I’m always impressed by the notebook system of French schools and how neat the work is.

The lake is changing colour from dark gray to light gray as the bus passes it. The Jet d’Eau is not on yet.

I’ve allowed time to try a Pumpkin Spice Latté and pumpkin muffin at Starbucks before my appointment. I read the Tribune de Genève, finding the plans to substitute train service in some areas with buses and the story of a robber who dressed as a bank employee complete with badge allowing him code access, interesting.

“24 juillet 1942” I tell the receptionist at La Maternité. I know the drill. I’m a birthdate more than a patient.

“Follow the yellow line, first floor.” She hands me a sheet of labels coded with my medical history.

I don’t have long to wait. 

“Pourquoi six mois?” The technician asks after telling me to strip to the waist.

I tell her that I’m not taking the after-cancer medication, which is why I allow my breasts to be pressed into rectangles twice a year as a compromise. I don’t regret my decision. My joints no longer ache and morning sicknesses at my age was unwelcomed. The survival stats with my type of cancer, my stage, my treatment were not that different for those that followed the plan and those that did not.

The pressing over the doctor tells me I’m clean. Although I had a thermographie last month telling me the same thing, I’m relieved. A routine worry niggles at strange times.

On the way home I get off a couple of stops before mine to walk by the vineyards and watch the pickers with their metal baskets on their backs. The vendage is far from completed with many of the vines still heavy with grapes. A truck heaped to the brim with purple fruit is parked to the side and one of the pickers adds his bounty to the pile.

The lake is now in full colour. The leaves are yellowing, not the brilliant colours of my native New England but beautiful.

It is 10:45 and each moment of my morning has been filled with tiny delights and I’m so grateful for the Swiss medical system. I’m so grateful for being alive and able to be surrounded by so many sensations.

Surprize rainbow

Both my housemate and I had what the French call a white night. She's jet lagged from her flight from California. I slept hard for an hour and woke and couldn't fall back. Thus sleep alluded both of us.

In the morning we staggered into the hall between our rooms to exchange greeting grunts rather than our usual cheery "good mornings".

We did accomplish our usual morning tasks, let the cat out, let the cat in, make breakfast. 

I was starting my writing at my work station in my bedroom and she came back upstairs to get dressed. 

She called me to come quick. I crossed the hall into her bedroom and looked out over the lake. 

The Jura were hidden in gray clouds, but breaking through in the upper left hand of the sky was a 20% piece of a rainbow.

Who needs the pot of gold at the end? 

Not us.

Colour conversation

Her dark long hair and deep brown eyes reminded me of No. 2 son's girl friend as I sat down on the bench beside her to wait for the No. 5 bus.

What I also noticed even more were her beautiful mauve boots. I couldn't help but compliment her on them. Since French was both our second language we switched to English.

"I saw them in a store and it was a done deal," she said. "In Geneva everything is so gray."

We looked around. 95% of the cars were gray or black. Almost everyone had on gray or black clothes.

We spied one little boy in a sky blue sweat shirt and a woman in a hot pink jacket. Those were the only colours on the street.

I told her my theory that Geneva, Genève, Genf, gray, gris, grau all start with "g" for a reason. She nodded.

The number 10 tram came and she hoped on and I watched her mauve boots disappear as the doors closed behind her.

If I'd seen those boots it would have been a done deal too.

from www.Stretcher.com

I love this newsletter with lots of tips on saving money. I've enjoyed 

my European Christmases with each person trying to give one thoughtful gift.

But I loved this idea.

My Story: Recycled Christmas
contributed by Lorrie
How one family changed their Christmas
 
Frugal and green living has always been important to me. An
area that used to concern me for both reasons was the
Christmas gift-giving process. The insane obsession of finding
the right gifts (and lots of them) and then watching the huge
pile of discarded Christmas wrapping paper grow made me crazy.
So, a few years back, I decided to offer a new idea to my
grown children (now with little ones of their own). Everyone
agreed to holding our first "Recycled Christmas."
 
The rules of the "Recycled Christmas" were as follows:
 
1. All gifts had to be pre-owned or made from
recycled/recyclable materials in some way. It was okay if
someone purchased a new, even unopened item from a yard or
other secondhand sale or store. Items that came from a natural
source, such as honey, jams or jellies made from wild or
homegrown sources, nuts picked from a tree, dried herbs, etc.
were all just fine. They were especially good if they were
packaged in secondhand jars or other containers. Craft items
made from recycled items were also acceptable.
 
2. Each person was required to submit a list of items that
they would be okay with receiving from pre-used sources. This
list needed to be available sometime before the end of summer
(to allow for yard/garage sale purchases). Like the entire
"Recycled Christmas" idea, gift selection is more time
consuming than the traditional "run into the store and grab
something" method, as it requires really giving thought to the
person you are giving. My feeling on the time investment is
that thinking about my loved one and their interests and likes
is an important part of the process. So, I don't mind
investing a bit of extra time (plus, I love yard sales!). I
also found that I was able to streamline my time expenditure
by using eBay, Etsy, and other such online services.
 
3. All gifts must be packaged in containers that were made
from recycled materials and/or were recyclable. Gift bags
could be made of any type of recycled fabric (pretty
pillowcases tied at the top with ribbon don't require any
sewing and are great for larger packages). Any type of jar or
tin could be used (I especially like popcorn cans because they
are pretty and stackable for storage). Wrapping paper could be
made out of decorated paper bags, newspaper, or brown packing
paper. Gallon metal cans, decorated with ribbon or paint,
could be turned into buckets and covered with recycled tissue
paper from other gifts. Even kitty litter buckets could be
decorated to serve as great wrappers.
 
4. During the holiday gift-giving gathering, we would all
share where and how we got great deals on items that were
purchased, traded for, and sometimes even found for free. Now,
I know it is not traditional to reveal such secrets, but this
part of the process helped us to realize how we can be quite
frugal and earth-friendly while still giving great gifts that
people really want. It also  allowed us each to share lots of
creative ideas.
 
As we set out on our "Recycled Christmas" idea, each family
could set a budget for how much they would spend per person
and then buy gifts accordingly (something anyone on a budget
should do anyway). The other option was to simply try to find
the best deal on a special gift for each person (and maybe
save a little money in the process). For our first "Recycled
Christmas," we all pretty much went with the first idea, which
resulted in us all (there were seven of us at the time)
spending over four hours opening gifts. Everyone got lots of
things they wanted, but it turned out to be a bit
overwhelming. The next year, we opted to go with the second
idea of just looking for a nice gift at the best price
possible. This was more fun and resulted in some really
creative thinking.
 
Creativity flourished with our "Recycled Christmas." There
have been great buys from yard sales, flea markets,
Craigslist, etc., including CDs and DVDs, an entire set of
depression glass, lots of tools (and toolbox), fishing gear, a
vintage breadbox, great clothing, Wii games and accessories, a
television wall mount, books, and lots of toys. Our families'
crafting skills rendered lovely aprons and dish towels from
recycled fabrics, functional coupon holders (with coupons
including some for free items), homemade beeswax candles in
baby food jars, and Italian-themed artwork. My daughter even
made stockings for each family member that reflected that
persons interests from recycled shirts or sweaters. Some gifts
have been traded for, resulting in no expense whatsoever, such
as an entire set of cast iron cookware (skillets for my
daughter-in-law and a Dutch oven and griddle for me from our
wish lists) for a set of DVDs. This summer, an end of the day
yard sale allowed me to get a huge lot of Thomas the Train
engines, cards, and tracks in a nice Rubbermaid bin for $5.
This allowed for me to prepare a wonderful gift for one of our
grandsons and sell the excess pieces on eBay (to help pay for
this and other gifts). Other freebies have come from "curb
alerts," including a barely used paper shredder and electric
ice cream maker.
 
Now, I know that this idea isn't for everyone, but if your
family will buy in, it can save everyone money and result in
some really enjoyable holiday experiences for all, while
caring a bit more for our planet.

Where does the time go?

The days are much too short and it doesn't have much to do with it being autumn.

Between the newsletter, wonderful guests, getting Murder in Insel Poel ready for my publisher (where did all those typos come from and shouldn't that paragraph be tightened, that sentence polished a bit more?) the days seem about an hour long.

I am thinking ahead to the next book. We have tickets to go to the UK combining the research trip with Llara's graduation and a bit more moseying around Scotland. I'm itching to start something new.

None of this is a complaint. I wouldn't change my life for anything. 

Happiness is

Hearing my daughter say, "My dissertation was accepted." Onto graduation at Napier University in Edinburgh. I was proud of her before, even prouder now...Also guilty of really, really liking my kid.

haiku

The last summer rose
drops its petals in the sink
Bright red on silver

A surprize

There is something wonderful about having the gate bell ring and finding a delivery man handing me this bouquet. I should be smiling all day and then some. Happy anniversary back at ya...

Take me, please

The road not taken

A long time ago I was talking with a non-cousin...he had my mother's maiden name and we claim kinship despite my mother's family leaving the UK around 1635 and his is still there...

The subject of Robert Frost's The Road not Taken was brought up and I said it was one of my favourite poems.

Imagine my surprise and delight is too mild a world when for my 70th birthday I was given a compass whose top had the Frost poem engraved in the cover.

Truly a mind boggling/gobsmacked present that words of appreciation do not begin to match.

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