My best present

My best present is curled up in the next room reading a book. Having my daughter with me both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, is a treat. Even when she was little, her holiday was divided between me and her father, which we thought was fair. Only a couple of years ago, did I realise she wanted to stay home. As she said, "I didn't think I had a choice." (note to parents--look for what your children don't tell you.)

And then there are the years that neither of us can travel to the country where the other is living. Phone calls, emails and now Skypes are not the same as having her in hugging distance.

I sometimes envy parents whose grown children live in the same city or same area. On the other hand, I am lucky to have been blessed with knowing this kind and wonderful woman and sharing so much even after she left my roof (or rather I moved the roof and she began her own life).

Thus my walking-talking Christmas gift keeps on giving me great waves of happiness not just for two days, but for my lifetime.

The longest night

The longest night is coming, and for me that is more important than Christmas. It is the end of the old year and the beginning of the new. It is very important to me have something evergreen in the house as a symbol of the end of one year and the start of a new year. Every year, no matter where I am, I make sure I bring in at least a tiny evergreen branch.

For many years, although I've had wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Christmases, I've not had a real tree with the ornaments Llara and I made when she was three. This year I do.

The tree is tiny, but it's real. I've put cotton on it to reflect snow. I don't use lights or real candles as so many people who live in parts of Europe do.

It might surprise people when I say last year was a good year. One might disagree pointing out I had four eye surgical procedures, breast cancer, 27 nukings, and I lost my oldest and dearest friend. She's crazy, people might say.

On the other hand, I now see better, I've had wonderful medical care in the Swiss health system. I've made new and cemented old friendships, had a good writing year and seen another book published with a contract for the next, found a wonderful partner for my business, enjoyed trips to Saskatchewan, Scotland and Germany. I've laughed a lot. I watched a good friend turn 75 surrounded by people who love her. My daughter is in grad school in Edinburgh.

Soon the sun will bring longer days. In the spring new plants will once again push up through the dirt. To get to the new year, I celebrate the longest night.

The first snow

I usually love the first snow of the season. It hides the world and is an excuse for lots more hot tea, fuzzy socks sweat shirts. I get lots and lots of good writing done. I can play Christmas carols and I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas seems like more than a dream.

Today I don't love it. My daughter is due to fly in from Edinburgh. We were going to go the Café Soleil, a first meal tradition.

We've talked twice this morning, and I've emailed her ways to get here by bus. If the new bus routes in the city are confusing to those who use the system daily, she may end up in a strange place not realizing what bus goes where. That is if Cointrin stays open...please, please, please let it be open.

At least the The car will stay in the garage -- despite years of driving in New England snow, it is not my car and my housemate is too nice a person to have to be told that now is the time to buy the car she was vaguely considering buying because hers is a heap on the side of the snowy road. Geneva has too many drivers from tropical places and they don't know how to drive on a snow-covered road.

As much as I love living here with the view of the lake, this would be a time that it would be great to be in my old flat within walking distance of the airport.

Still, the most important thing is that my daughter gets here safely, no matter what time.

Meanwhile I'll drink tea, write and listen to carols but NOT I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."

I took this photo

I took this photo just because it made my eyes happy.

The Great Mattress Maneuver

My housemate led me to the attic to show me the spare mattresses. "S will probably be borrowing one." S is a neighbour and she has more guests than mattresses and beds. My housemate has more mattresses and beds than guests. In fact, since I'm alone I could sleep in a different bed each night for a week without being charged with sluttishness. And even when my daughter and good friend show up for Christmas they too can sleep around (the house).

There is a group of friends who do what they can to help one another out. S was one of the lovely people who drove me to be nuked and when she left on holiday, she found a friend who would do the same.

Sure enough S showed up with her son and took a mattress. I showed her the extra slatted frame.

"My husband and son will be back for it," she said.

They came, they conquered, they discovered the mattress too big for the slatted frame.

"Would it be too much to ask you to measure the other ones?" she asked in an email.

I wrote back, I would go on a measuring tape safari the next morning, which I did and found smaller ones. "Better have your husband double check me, though, I'm a number numbskull."

Within a few minutes Hubby and Son were back with measuring tape for the mattress swap.

As I pushed the button to close the gate after the car with the departing mattress drove away I hoped every will sleep well tonight.

Patience NOW

My new book won't be shipped from Amazon, wrote a friend who buys all my books. I don't ask her to, but I'm glad she does. She wrote about the delay "as you know, patience is not my strong point. I pray every night,'God please give me patience and I want it NOW!!!'"

One of the saddest days

Part of me will always love the man I thought my ex-husband was. After trying everything, I divorced the real man.

Part of me will always love the country I thought I grew up in. Like trying to save my marriage, I tried everything. I’ve made hundreds of overseas calls to Congress and sent thousands of emails. I’ve followed legislation from committee to signing. Most was about Bill of Rights issues such as the loss of habeas corpus. If the president does not veto the new amendment just passed by the Senate, than the military will have the power to arrest anyone, anywhere with no charges, no trial indefinitely. I have made no calls and sent no emails on this one. I am disengaging.

Today I divorced my country. The decision was not easily reached with too many facets to recount here just like I won’t recount the whys of my divorce to my ex-husband.
The U.S. Consulate is in Bern. The rain on my umbrella drowned out normal street sounds.
I was told I could tap on the door. A guard came out and growled I couldn’t bring in my pocketbook.

“What should I do?”

“Leave it in your car?”

“I haven’t a car.”

“The bakery down the street to the right will keep it for you. Three Swiss Francs.”

The woman at the bakery was friendly and told me I also had to leave my phone, my camera and my medicine. I could take my wallet and my passport.

Back at the consulate there was an airport-type examination, and then I went down stairs for a second examination. This man was friendly and we chatted as I waited my turn.

A woman called my name and asked for verification on the information I already provided.
Then the Counsel came out, a thin man with glasses.

He told me that my decision was irrevocable—I could never live or work in the U.S. again. I could never get my citizenship back--not tomorrow not in 30 years. I signed that I understood.

He asked me to raise my right hand and swear that I was renouncing. My eyes blurred. “Are you certain you want to go through with it.”

Then I had to take a second oath. “What if I change my mind here?” I asked. I didn’t want to change my mind, I was just curious.

“Then I would take this back and we could probably . . .”

I shook my head. “It hurts, but I’m sure.” I took the second vow.

Within two weeks to two months I will get my cancelled passport and my certificate of renunciation. I will then pay $450. I can take that around to the banks so I can resume normal banking relations because I will not be subject to U.S. FATCA legislation that has caused so many problems for Americans and will continue to cause problems and other financial institutions. If Switzerland and the US do not come to agreement about the US have access to Swiss police records, it is possible I would need a visa to enter the U.S. It is also possible I wouldn't get one. I knew when I started this that I might never be able to enter the U.S. again.

Leaving the consulate to retrieve my bag at the bakers, I vomited.

Like the day I was divorced, this was one of the saddest of my life. I don't regret the choice.

Sunrise in Insel Poel

The sunrise our last morning in Insel Poel, I had to do a sunrise alert to my housemate who quickly got her camera.

Gulp

I will admit I swallowed hard when the passport control invalidated my Swiss passport albeit for a good reason. I was about to do the necessary things for the biometric passport. There was a glitch. For some reason after my first Swiss passport was stolen in Barcelona a few years ago, it was still listed as valid.

This will be solved.

Rather then get my new biometric post in the mail, I will pick it up at passport control and sign a declaration of the theft in Spain.

After Monday I will have no passport until the biometric is in my hands. Fortunately I can still travel between European countries with my Swiss identity card, but I can't go to the US, Canada, Australia and many other places until all is sorted.

Day 4

The trip is going wonderfully. Yesterday we toured the island and got a feel of where the bodies washed up on the beach. When we saw the triangular stones over the graves, we didn’t understand, but at the museum this morning they explained that the prisoners, even the Jews, didn’t wear the Star of David, but the triangle with the colour explaining what type of prisoner they were.

The women at the museum greeted us warmly. This is where we came last year to pick up my housemate's painting done by a local artist and loaned for a special exhibition.

One of last year’s employees, who just retired came back to help us. At coffee break time, she’d brought ribbon and we worked on making Christmas decorations.

My German is so rusty but I caught about 1/3 of what was being said. My housemate was invaluable in the other 2/3rds.

The man Julia had worked with last year over the transport of her painting came with his wife to take us to a fish restaurant for lunch. His father had taught the artist who had done my housemate's painting and he showed us the house where the artist had grown up.

His wife had been raised on a huge farm, which was confiscated by the communist government, but the current government has made retribution by giving all five sisters a piece of a forest.

Interestingly, I always thought of the shape of the island as a lobster claw, but if you look at it another way it looks like a Gorilla with its hands on the ground.

The island didn’t get electricity until the 1950s and most was provided by wind power.

What seems out of place is the number of thatched roofs some with solar panels.

And as my housemate said, travel is broadening. When she said it we were eating a German breakfast with the fish, wursts, käse und brotchen

Day 3 was for the birds

We were learning the island, driving from one small town to an even smaller town. We’d visited the site where the bodies had washed up on the beach after the British bombed the Cap Arcona were buried.
As we turned into a country lane I thought the bush had strange flowers or puffs. They turned out to be a flock of birds.
“Stop,” I said.
My housemate slammed on her brakes.
“Look.”
As soon as she saw what was there, she reached for her camera. None of the birds seemed upset when we rolled down the window to take photos.
Routinely, 50 or so would take off, circle and then come back to settle in the bush or stop for a drink in the puddle below. Suddenly their normal tweeting took on a higher pitch and the birds buried themselves among the branches. A hawk swooped over them then flew away. The birds remerged, their numbers intact.

Day 2 Insel Poel

We arrived to the same place we stayed last year and where the next novel was set. But instead of a studio we had a two story house at the same price we paid for the Best Western hotel in Göttingen. The luxury seemed almost obscene after the camp.

Neuengamme Concentration Camp

The door wouldn’t open. Several people tried it until it gave.
I’d felt more than a moment of panic. I was at the Neuengamme Concentration Camp in Bergdorf, Germany and had spent the last two hours listening to survivor stories and looking at photos.



I’d seen the basement cave where prisoners were crammed together to make cloth.
The cold parade ground where prisoners had roll call every day was cold and wind swept. Even in my duvet coat and winter hat I felt the cold. What had the prisoners felt in their striped uniforms without any protection from the elements? The handwritten death book brought home individuals who died.



The medical lab was used to experiment with tuberculosis on children. They were murdered at the end of the war to keep the secret of the experiments.
A weeping willow still stood near one wall. The French prisoners were forced to raise food, although their own meals were coffee and a roll of breakfast, watery soup for lunch and coffee for dinner. Many died for causes related to malnutrition.
Concentration camps have been written about for years. It is another thing to see one and feel one. And the reason I was there was to get background for my next novel which deal with the Cap Arcona, a ship where inmates were taken with the idea of scuttling the ship. Instead the British, not knowing who was on it bombed it.



The door was finally open. Unlike the prisoners I could leave and return to my comfortable world.

German research project day 1

We logged 800K more or less and are installed at a Best Western in Gottingen.

Mack, our Tomtom (GPS) had a bit of a temper tantrum and refused to program itself even for Basel, but after Lausanne it behaved admirably. It helped us find the hotel, and we opted for the first possible to top driving/riding as soon as possible especially because we've at least another 400 K tomorrow and we want to stop at the concentration camp in Hamburg to research where the victims of the Cap Arcona came from.

The hotel in Kirchdorf has confirmed our reservation.

A tender moment

I saw the woman walk to the Rue Du Lac bus stop from my bus window. She held the hand of a little boy, three at the most.

The bus stopped.

A man jumped out, gave the little boy a hug and kiss, waved good bye and hopped back in the bus.

The little boy with a huge smile waved and blew kisses as the bus pulled out.

What I'm thankful for

Today is the American Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for...

1. My health
2. The wonderful Swiss medical system
3. My daughter who is healthy, happy and living in Scotland
4. My housemate/friend/editor of the 20 pages
5. My friends at all levels from those I have a cup of tea with to those whom we share our hearts and souls.
6. The people I've lost because I had them in my life. (I still wish they were here in body, but nothing takes them from my memory)
7. The absolute natural beauty that greets me each day and makes my eyes happy.
8. My writing
9. My journalistic work
10. The right to vote on so many things--from the unimportant to the very, very important. It's being a full participant in the democracy in which I live.
11. My curiosity
12. My sense of humour and/or the ability to laugh, a gift from Mardy and Susan
13. Enough pain, worry, sorrow to make me realize that each minute is a blessing to be treasured.

Happy Thanksgiving

Crisco and security

"We are doing a Thanksgiving dinner," my daughter told me on Skype. "Can you get Crisco at the American store for the apple pie."

Never thinking, I happily packed the can in my suitcase until we hit security and my carry on (all Easyjet allows) was pulled aside.

The security man, who was probably in his 20s pulled out the can and held it up. "What is this?" he asked in French.

"It's for a Thanksgiving apple pie. I'm taking it to Scotland where my daughter is cooking the meal for her friends."

The conversation went on including the recipe.

He put it back in the suitcase and zipped it up.

"Have a nice Thanksgiving," he said.

Moving cow

The Corsier Cow gets around. She is now in her third grazing place in front of the post. Although if we have two cows we could refer to them as "kine" according to my roommate who could hardly wait for a chance to use the word after she learned it. The Corsier cow didn't give her a chance, but the two cows on my daughter's dorm bulletin board did.

Scotland Weekend

Visiting my kid in Edinburgh was truly a gift.

However a second treat was meeting The Major, owner of our hotel which is also the club site for the Guards. He was dressed in kilt, tie, shirt and vest and we talked for just under an hour as he told me how as a tyke he had sailed from Newfoundland to Norway only to have the Germans confiscate his father's boat.

Another boat was lost to his family when the builder went bankrupt. And his father's suggestion about putting him in school was not impressive.

We spent most of the time enjoying pub grub, scones, walking around the city between construction projects (even more than in Geneva if possible) and having a great meal with her flat mates.

We've booked the hotel in May when my daughter will do a half marathon.

A Zurich belly dance lesson

My housemates’ sons give us Smart Boxes for Christmas. Depending on the type, they contain a series of things to do, see, stay or go to in Switzerland and the surrounding countries.

We’ve enjoyed nights in a castle and other fancy hotels.

This year on top of the hotel Smart Box we received a wellness (massages, etc.) and an adventure Smart Box.

On the adventure one we eliminated elastics that dropped us distances, anything with water where we might drown. Horses had some potential as did paintball, except between my cancer treatments and both our travels, expiration dates abounded.

Trying to decide what was left we spied a Belly Dancing lesson. Belly dancing is not new thanks to Arab friends, but a lesson? Sounded like fun.

The lesson was in Zurich. We debated staying with a friend’s, staying at a hotel but a crowded schedule and with two trips planned for Scotland and Germany in the next couple of weeks, the idea of sleeping at home was almost a luxury.

Bless the Swiss train system. We picked up the noonish train, had a wonderful lunch of Alpine macaroni and cheese in the dining car then had time to wander around Zurich for a couple of hours before locating the class.

The teacher was a smiley women of an indeterminate age dressed in aqua. Six other women and one man were suitably dressed. We were almost suitably dressed. The teacher provided us with bells on pretty cloth to tie around our waists. We jingled and jangled as we moved.

For 1.5 hours we shook things not often shaken, moved our arms in fluid motions and watched ourselves in the mirror with the growing realization belly dancing as a profession was a route that was closed to us.

The other dance students were impressed we’d come all the way from Geneva to the class. We were too.

Buying a pretzel was a necessity for the trip back.

Twelve hours after we left we were tucked in our respective beds, smiling at a day that we rated nine on a scale of 10.