Feeding children

When I was a little girl, I was told to eat everything on my plate, children were starving in China. My two reactions were:

1. How does my eating something I don't like (which at the time was almost everything except cucumbers) help those children?

2. Send them my breakfast, lunch and dinner, except the cucumbers.

My brother who was some years younger was told children were starving in Korea.

My daughter could have heard "eat everything on your plate, children are starving in Ethiopia" (she only wanted peanut butter and baloney sandwiches...I still grimace at the thought)  but I vowed never to use the "...children are starving in..." with any young person whom I was feeding.

Instead we listened to "We are the World," and "Do they know it's Christmas" and made donations to Oxfam and other relief agencies. And I encouraged her to make her own peanut butter and baloney sandwiches and at least try all the other food I put on the table.

But now, with the 16.7 million food insecure kids in the US do the Chinese say to their child who is staring at a plate and not eating, "Eat up, children are starving in the USA."?????? Please read the article below on the state of children's hunger in the US. If you don't read the whole thing, here are some stats.

http://feedingamerica.org/hunger-in-america/hunger-facts/child-hunger-facts.aspx

Food Insecurity

• 16.7 million children lived in food insecure households in 2011.[i]
• 20% or more of the child population in 36 states and D.C. lived in food insecure households in 2010.  The District of Columbia (30.7%) and Oregon (29.0%) had the highest rates of children in households without consistent access to food.[ii]
• In 2010, the top five states with the highest rate of food insecure children under 18 are the District of Columbia, Oregon, Arizona, New Mexico, & Florida.[iii]
• In 2010, the top five states with the lowest rate of food insecure children under 18 are North Dakota, New Hampshire, Virginia, Minnesota, & Massachusetts. [iv]

Emergency Food Assistance

• Nearly 14 million children are estimated to be served by Feeding America, over 3 million of which are ages 5 and under.[v]
• Proper nutrition is vital to the growth and development of children.  62 percent of client households with children under the age of 18 reported participating in the National School Lunch Program, but only 14 percent reported having a child participate in a summer feeding program that provides free food when school is out. [vi]
• 54 percent of client households with children under the age of 3 participated in the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC).[vii]
• 32 percent of pantries, 42 percent of kitchens, and 18 percent of shelters in the Feeding America network reported "many more children in the summer" being served by their programs.[viii]

Poverty

• In 2011, 16.1 million or approximately 22 percent of children in the U.S. lived in poverty. [ix]

Participation in Federal Nutrition Programs

• In fiscal year 2010, 47 percent of all SNAP participants were children[x]
• During the 2011 federal fiscal year, more than 31 million low-income children received free or reduced-price meals through the National School Lunch Program.[xi]  Unfortunately, just 2.3 million children participated in the Summer Food Service Program that same year.[xii]

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Gun fight

Growing old is mandatory

Growing up is optional

That's what one of my T-shirts says, and the optional part was proven yesterday. I was happily on the couch when I was hit with a stream of water. Seems Rick had found two water pistols at the marché.

At least he armed me too and had NOT given into his urge to hand me mine sans water. During the day, there were a few water skirmishes. hmmm not the paintball I want to do someday, but certainly more appropriate inside in a nice apartment. 

Our aim was impressive with targets being hit often enough to do a shooting instructor proud.

Maybe not the normal activity for people whose combined ages surpasses 130 but it certainly makes the day fun and that should never be optional, it should be mandatory.

The word update is the same as f--k you

Went to the database I use for my database to send out my newsletter www.cunewswire.com to change some of my clients.

They updated it. 

Once again computer people have taken a program that was chosen for its simplicity and completeness and made it more difficult to use.

Update is becoming a four letter obscenity. The colour of this blog is blue based on the colour of my language as the time it took with the new database doubled.

Too fond of books

Years ago a friend gave me this for my front door. She said it looked like me based on my big glasses (before my eye surgeries). We are both women who eat books. Never do we get together where a book isn't exchanged and our emails are filled with recommendations.

In ordinary times it is not unusual for me to read 2-3 books a week, but with all the workload lately and social life, my reading time is condensed.

I did just finish a French novel, but when I read French it is much, much slower. This one took almost a week. I often find myself reading each paragraph twice, but it does help my vocabulary.

And there's my newspaper reading on line in English and French which includes a dabbling into US, British, French, Swiss, Israeli papers and other papers in English when there's something happening in their part of the world. Although it is not reading, I try and check news stations from the Middle East, Russia, Japan, France, Britain, the US or whatever we can get. It is amazing the different perspectives. Sometimes I wonder if they are reporting the same story, and I suspect the truth is somewhere in between.

Sitting near my bedside or in the bathroom (my ex-husband once answered when I knocked on the bathroom door, "One more chapter") which could be known as the Reading Room, there's a Kate Atkinson novel and a Oliver Stone book that is calling out loud, "finish me, finish me."

There's a couple of mysteries on my book shelf waiting for me.

My housemate wrote me about having a day in which she mainly read. I know under ordinary circumstances she is as busy as I am and that she is at the chalet having some downtime. However, I'm jealous.

Maybe, just maybe after I finish the next newsletter and get the first full draft of my next novel together, I'll take a day and do nothing but read. Hmmm...maybe the sign is right. My brain has become addled.

I love my pig

Ever since I spent a day entering sales figures years ago when I worked for Digital Credit Union. I got up and before I could go back, something went wrong. 

I was faced with a blank screen and nothing was saved. This was the old days when computing was in its infancy and automatic saving didn't exist.

Despite better recovery methods, I'm still paranoid about saving things. In fact, I back up my documents three ways.

• Hard Disk
• Dropbox (even if the NSA is looking)
• And on my pig

A pig you might ask. Yes, it's my USB key (not UBS the Swiss bank or what I call the Ugly Bank of Switzerland) which may have some resemblance to pigs if you believe pigs' bad press of being greedy.)

Sometimes people who happen to be near my laptop will ask why a pig is sticking out of my computer. I tell them it's my USB key. Some give me a long oooookaaayyy and probably vow not to let their children near me while others ask where I found it so they too can take a boring element like a USB key and make it a bit of fun.

Meanwhile, my pig is useful and knows he will never become bacon.

I have a new smart phone

I also have a dumb phone that I hate having. I use it when I'm lost or late. It took me a couple of years to use 100CHF in my pay as you go phone. Mostly SMS telling my daughter where to meet me in the airport or my business partner to tell him I'm on the train and will arrive at 10:10. I won't give the number out except to people like my housemate or the person I'm meeting.

The phone is off 99% if the time. I only put it on to make connections, physical connections when meeting someone.

At one point I had it in a case that looked a Dalmatian. It made using it less onerous.

I do not want to be in touch with the world 24/7.

I'm not a Luddite. I am on the computer sometimes 10 hours a day.I handle hundreds of emails weekly FROM HOME. WHEN I GO OUT I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH THEM. SO FAR NOTHING HAS BEEN SO IMPORTANT IT CAN'T WAIT AN HOUR OR SO.

Rick just bought me a smart phone and I threw a hissie fit in the bank office where it was being activated (it still isn't). Poor man.

I suppose it will be helpful for banking and tweeting from the conference I'm covering in Ottawa next week.

However, I do intend to encrypt it https://www.seecrypt.com/ to protect it from US spying.

I can wait until I get home to check the hundreds of emails I get weekly. I can wait until I get home to check facebook and any other thing that I use the computer for.

Strangely I don't mind talking on Skype. In fact my housemate will Skype me from the basement to my first floor workspace with nice messages like "want to go to lunch at ____fill in the blank." Rick and I talked for hours on Skype.

In other words if you want to communicate with me, please don't phone me (including my landline) use

• Facebook
• Skype
• Email

And best of all let's sit down over a nice cup of tea face to face with no buzzing, ringing interruptions.

Rick says I'm going to learn to love my smartphone. Stay tuned. Film at 11.

Give up Google

I never used Google search. I used them for translation and for maps. I used dogpile, and I don't know if they are participating in the spying program.

Instead of google use startpage.com as a search engine. It is Netherlands based and doesn't store anything at the end of the day.

And for those that think the NSA/Prism programs are okay, did you think the Stasi in East Germany and the KGB in Russia in spying on East German and Russian citizens was just fine then you are consistent. If you thought that was wrong or at least felt a bit glad you didn't live in a Communist country, then why would you think it okay for your calls to your lover, your druggist, your boss, your bill collector be stored?

I also wonder when someone responds wrong doing on the top, it is the revealer not the commiter of the crime that gets punished.

Solution

For the past year or so I've been meeting with my friend, sometime via Skype to do free writes. At first we would spy someone and make up a story writing like mad for ten minutes and sharing what we wrote. 

Later we tried photos and finally we selected at random a sentence from a book. Some of these I've put on the blog http://flashfictionexercises.blogspot.ch/

However as tourist season heats up when my writing buddy and I meet up at the café there are too many distractions including people we know who stop to chat.

Solution?

Do it chez moi. The advantage here, is that we can drink maté. I put the leaves in about a third of the glass, sprinkle cardamon on top, and add hot water. I have my Syrian silver straws, and as we drink down, we add more hot water. I can never drink it without thinking of my wonderful days in Damascus with friends, sipping maté, talking, eating nuts, talking, sipping, talking, eating...and wish that it were possible to do it now but not as hard as I wish that all those I care about there will be all right.

Busy, busy, busy

We've been busy, busy, busy. 

Trips to Perpignan to do Rick's paperwork, but compensated with an ice cream cone, a concert with La Bande à Pepère (see youtube below) in near a near by village during the fête de music where bands play all over many European countries--we left late, got lost, but still arrived in time to hear the end of the concert which had been moved indoors because of the weather. Afterwards we met the band and had a drink at a café and got lost on the way back, laughing most of the time.

From the café after the rain stopped we watched the sunset on the longest day of the year.

There was an apèro on our terrace with the upstairs renters and the following night there was the first apèro with our Danish neighbour with tables out on the street. I love that neighbours up and down the street put tables out on the street under the flowered canopy and eat, talk, play games.

This photo taken from my nest's window to show how narrow the street is, and why it has earned the title of La rue plus jolie dans le village.

And we went to the movie Mud in v.o. with an American couple which meant the need of a good Indian meal before. I doubt any of the characters in the movie would ever have eaten Indian food. This morning we were still discussing what might have happened after the end of the story in the movie.

Tonight is a cabaret show put on by the Argelès Gospel Choir...yes French people singing gospel. Tonight is the Fête de St. Jean with the Catalan Sardane. Sadly there will only be fireworks instead of the corefoc where people shoot fireworks off their bodies to the beat of a drum. I miss the corefoc but know I can still find it Spain.

Next week, not much is planned. Inhale, exhale, inhale

I was an illegal immigrant

When I hear the anti-immigration rants, I have to remember I was once an illegal immigrant.

I stood up at a conference once that was discussing this issue, and announced I had been an illegal immigrant. It shocked people, because as a white, well-educated woman of a certain age I certainly don't look like one. My appearance helped, because my chance of being stopped by the police because of the colour of my skin or clothing was almost nil. I could be considered a tourist.

I wanted to change countries. My reasons were the same as any Mexican or African who risks their lives to find a way to better support themselves and their families.

Of course, I didn't come from poverty but I saw that if I moved to Europe I could have health care, reasonable working hours, better and more secure retirement and a decent vacation mandated by law. And I knew I'd be paying higher taxes, but when I did the math, financially I still came out ahead. I didn't use the maternity benefits or the cheap university fees (my daughter did study in Germany with a tuition that didn't go into three figures annually, however but that is another story).

Thus I moved to France illegally. I even worked illegally, with my salary going to friend who deducted the difference it would make in his taxes.

After time I found work and became legal in Switzerland and after 15 years became a citizen.

Compared to many immigrants in Mexico for example who can no longer earn a living on their farms because of NAFTA dumping cheap goods, I had it very easy. I never had to flee bullets and mines in a civil war. I could say that I was a privileged illegal immigrant by the accident of my birth.

Still I cringe when I hear how illegal immigrants are often abused, condemned for wanting a better life. I only wish governments would find a way to help them integrate into the societies where they want to spend their lives instead of harping on those that rob and cheat when they arrive. As always the majority suffer for a small, small minority.

The fuzzy chicken

I was so disappointed when Rick and I were at the chalet that the fuzzy chickens that I wanted to show him weren't there. However, yesterday my housemate who is up there now, posted this the same time The Guardian published this

'Perhaps it is no coincidence that the animals we think of as being the most stupid – pigs, chickens, sheep – are also the ones we don't always treat too well. However, humans might be the ones who have to rethink the definitions of "bird-brain" and "pig ignorance".
According to a new report, chickens appear to be much more intelligent than previously thought, with better numeracy and spatial awareness skills than young children. "The domesticated chicken is something of a phenomenon," Christine Nicol, professor of animal welfare at Bristol University, told the Times. "Studies over the past 20 years have revealed their finely honed sensory capacities, their ability to think, draw inferences, apply logic and plan ahead.'

So not only are the chickens cute, they are brighter than I thought.

Living in history

How many nights have I danced by this building during the summer street dances? How many times have I sat in the café across the street on a hot day and had a cold beer or on a cool day and had a hot chocolate?

Currently it is the music school, but once it was the village mairie, the village hall.

Only this week I discovered this plaque although it does look new. For those that don't read French, it says on 29-30 April, 1942 50 brave women demonstrated against the Vichy government. It is a tribute to those women who contributed to liberty.



At that time there were still close to 100,000 people in refuge camps on the Argelès beach. All were refuges of the Spanish Civil War that had streamed over the border in January 1939.

It so easy to think of what exists today, a tranquil village to enjoy and not remember the horrific events that went on in the past.

Yesterday, in Perpignan, I discovered something wonderful about Rick. Many French cities have signs telling about the place where people are standing. Some of the information goes back to the ninth, tenth centuries although more involves the 1200s and 1300s.

He loves to read them too. We talk about what life must have been like then combining our historical knowledge.

Just another reason to keep him.

Stripes

"Rick, we have to talk," I could see my daughter saying to my fiancé with several eye rolls had she been with us this morning instead of in Geneva. "You can't humour my mother this much." She's become quite fond of him and already has warned him of my foibles, which hasn't stopped her and I from having a loving relationship over the years.

I don't think he was humouring me as much as teasing. We'd been talking about how much I like things symmetrical and neat. I'd gone back upstairs to my nest from the warren to do some work.

When I came back down, he said look at the couch. At first I didn't see it.

He'd lined the one pillow's stripes exactly with the couch pattern and then placed the black billows strategically.

In his honour, I'll colour the type in this blog to match the couch stripes.

Composing--early morning entertainment

Place:                              Argelès-sur-mer Gare. Quai 1
Time:                               7:15 
Reason for being there:   Meeting Rick's train from Paris

For those that have never travelled by train in France, it is necessary to "Compostez" your ticket in the yellow machine which stamps the date before you board the train. Without it, if a conductor checks your ticket, there is a cash payment required immediately.

A young couple appeared, probably just out of the lycée. They were dressed in hiking boots. She wore shorts and a plaid top. He was in jeans and a T-shirt. They had four tickets, probably one for each of them allez et retour...

He pushed the ticket in the machine. A bell, no click of the stamp. He turned the ticket each way.

Nothing.

He tried all four tickets all ways.

A woman with a green suitcase came up. Put her ticket in and click, it was stamped. She went down the stairs to the quai 2.

I suggested he hold the top of the ticket closer. 

Nothing for all four.

An elderly man and his wife went to the machine and their tickets went through -- no problem.

The girl tried, the boy tried. She tried again. One ticket got stamped. Three did not.

And so it went. Others had their tickets stamped but the kids were still stampless on three tickets. Now a crowd was watching and making suggestions.

A second ticket garnered a click. 

More people with tickets that pleased the machine de compostage made suggestions.

Finally, after many, many tries the third ticket was stamped.

More suggestions. The fourth ticket began to look a bit worn.

Finally the kid pushed the ticket as hard as he could into the yellow mouth.

Click.

Everyone cheered.

The train pulled in and everyone got on as Rick got off.

Seagulls and noise

When I wake in Corsier it is often to bird song trilling and occasional cars and the clip clop of a horse out for a morning walk.

Argelès is different. There's the garbage man, voices and sometimes birdsong. During the day children's voice filter up to my nest.

I like both. One is peaceful: one has the sounds of daily life.

This morning however, there was a seagull conference and whatever they were discussing, they were not happy about it. I knew it had nothing to do with the reddish tiger cat that patrols the roofs. He was on the ground not paying attention to anything but settling into a sunbeam.

Seagulls are not that common in the village even though we are really, really close to the sea.

Made me think of the Neil Diamond song Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Father's day

I hear that in the US today is father's day. Even if I'm wrong, I've been thinking about my father, Jimmy Boudreau, a lot today.

If he had not died at age of 69 and one day, he would be 100 this coming December. If there is an afterlife his beloved 2nd wife has just joined him.

I had to decide between my father and mother, who made it clear I couldn't have both. I went years without seeing him until I was in college and my friend Paul Harvey found me in the nook where I studied. "You are wanted in the office," he said.

My father was waiting for me and he took me to lunch. Bridges were started then built as strong as the Chinese Great Wall.

He introduced me to his wife, his step children who became my brother and sister. He became my haven when my mother had me arrested as a stubborn child at 20 for trying to marry my soon-to-be husband.

He introduced me to his family via a wedding shower of aunts, uncles and cousins I'd not met since before kindergarten. All had money for me to finance my voyage to Germany to join my husband who was in stationed in an Army band in Stuttgart. As I opened each envelope, I looked around the room at faces much like mine, not knowing whom to thank.

He never told me what I should do, but whenever I came up with an idea he would ask, "Have you thought of..." What he asked about always happened. Always.

When my marriage broke up, he offered a place in their home for me and my baby daughter, but he was relieved I didn't need it. He and my stepmom were just free of all children. 

When he had a heart attack first in Maine and then in Florida, I rushed to his side despite his saying "no need." There was a need. The nurses knew that I flew in helicopters and I was a PR executive and a great mom and and and and...

He found it hard to say "I love you"  but would answer "me too" when I said I loved him whenever we parted or finished a telephone call. I never gave into the temptation to say, "you love you too?"

In a way, I'm glad that he didn't know I moved to Europe and became Swiss and then gave up my American nationality, although I did it for the same reasons he migrated with his family from Nova Scotia. He was, like all converts, a strong patriot, a Republican. My stepmom was a Democrat. Each election they would decide not to vote because they would just cancel each other out, but more than once they met up at the voting booth and sheepishly would then go to dinner. I have no idea what he would think about today's political situation.

I do wish he knew that I've published eight novels with the ninth in production.

When he died there were no regrets other than I was deprived of him. We'd said all that needed to be said, understood all that needed to be understood. I suspect if he'd been around during my teenage years we might not have formed such a strong bond. He wasn't good with teenagers, but he was perfect for adult daughters.

Look what I bought today

At the marché today I found the white pocketbook I've been looking for. The one I bought five years ago had given up. Only 10 Euros and NO BRAND NAME to be removed.

With luck this one will last another five years.

And I didn't have to go into a store either.

Happy, happy days.

Bartavelle

Bartavelle is my favourite restaurant in the whole wide world and I try to eat there as much as possible. Owners Stephanie and Thibault consider food an art form. If they've enchanted the locals with their food, their daughter Margaux has won the hearts of the neighbourhood.

I try and eat there at least once a week and with each course I search for words to describe it to do the food justice. Tonight I found all the words I can think of and will take a cheat sheet with me next time so when Stephanie asks if it was fine I can check off all that apply without resorting just to "excellent". Here's a beginning list, but I'm sure there is more.

"amazing, astounding, awesome, brilliant, excellent, fabulous, fantastic, incredible, magnificent, marvelous, outstanding, peachy, phenomenal, pleasant, pleasing, remarkable, sensational, stupendous, super, superb, swell, terrific, tremendous, delectable, delicious, delightful, ambrosial, delish, distinctive, divine, enjoyable, enticing, exquisite, fit for king, good, gratifying, mouthwatering, nectarous, rich, savory, scrumptious, spicy, sweet, tasteful, tasty, tempting, well-prepared, well-seasoned, yummy, appetizing, flavorful, flavorsome, full-flavored, good-tasting, heavenly, luscious, tasteful, zestful, succulent"

The food is beautifully presented and excellent value for money. Thibault buys only the freshest everything locally, thus we may have a pesto made with olive dealer Joel's olive oil, fish that were swimming the day before, veggies that burst with flavour.

If you're in Argelès drop in at 24, rue de La Republique. But telephone for reservations at +33 (0) 4 30 44 50 56.


Easy to find. Look for the church tower and walk to the river for a couple of blocks. It is on the river. You'll be glad you did.

Dumb, dumb, dumb

I had a beautiful ceramic, softly coloured butterfly shaped key ring. All my keys were not just coded to different doors but they matched the colours in the keyring. Notice the word HAD. Every time I used them, I smiled.

Yesterday I took misc. glass to the Place du La Republique where locals can recycle glass, plastic, paper. 

 As always I used my wonderful rainbow shopping basket to carry what I was throwing away.

  

Because it is easier to dig my keys out of the basket than my pocketbook/purse/handbag (the choice is yours Rick) I threw them in the basket.

I was merrily throwing away bottles and I reached for the chipped glass and tossed that in too.

Merde…

As my hand let go of the glass, I realized that my keys were in it. I could hear the glass break at the bottom of the beige container.

Fortunately a friend has copies now marked with a Rolls Royce Ribbon thanks to my fiancé so I didn’t have to wait for him to return from Paris to get into my house.

When I talked to Rick about it on Skype, he smiled. We both do dumb things like this so we both are secure we will never put down the other for such actions.  He knows he just built up a solid dumb things allowance on his side.

The keys have been replaced for my flat here, but I will still need those I carry for a friend to her front door and the gate and door keys for Geneva.

Besides not liking doing dumb things, I will miss the butterfly key holder and the matching keys because it was just so pretty to look at each time I had to unlock a door. Although the new keys are colour-coded and a pretty blue...they just aren't the same. Sighhhh...

Price of being dumb, dumb, dumb.