Better use of sheep

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In Ceret I spied a cute poster using sheep which reminded me of the battle of the sheep in Swiss politics. The UDC/right party has used sheep with a racist black sheep standing for foreigners to be kicked out of the country for referendums.

The opposition took it to the next level by showing multi-colored sheep kicking the UDC out. The caption reads, we are not sheep in French. For those not familiar with Swiss politics, the UDC is one of the major parties.

Sheep may not deserve to be used as subjects of racism despite all the black sheep cliché. Most are content to be a field munching grass. 

Symbols, however can be far more powerful than words.

Poor sheep.

That will cost two chickens

James Pimm is an English doctor who always wanted to be a painter. Now he is doing it from his studio in Ceret, France where he lives with his wife pretty blond, a patchwork quilt craftswoman.

He is working on developing his style by offering portraits at very low prices. For the one on the left above he charged two chickens. The man sold chickens on the marché.  The one on the right was from the fruit dealer. Pimm took the payment in fruit.

Of course not all his work is bartered, but his prices are reasonable, lower than the quality of his work should demand.

He is a tall man, who works from sketches, photographs and sometimes with people who sit for him.

Although still developing his talent (and aren't all artists doing that?) he says he doesn't just want someone sitting and smiling. The portrait of Rachel above is pensive. I told him I could easily use it as a writing exercise for students who could assign all types of stories to why she wore the expression she wore.

This woman is serious but she has a dreamier expression than the pensive woman above.

And he has a sense of humor. He practiced with an Einstein portrait, but unlike most portraits he has replaced that famous formula E=M2 with "I'm working on it" written in its place. He's working on it too only his "it" is his technique.

Visit his website www.jamespimm.com to see more of his work.

I was an illegal immigrant

A few years ago I stood up at a conference where the discussion was illegal immigrants and banking and announced I'd been an illegal immigrant. There was a sudden hush. A well-educated, middle-class journalist didn't fit the stereotype.

I'd lived in France longer than my visa trying to find work.

Mostly when we think of illegals it's: 

• Latins pouring over the US border
• Africans crossing the Med 
• Middle Easterners fleeing wars
• Asians trying to get to Australia
• Africans fearing slaughter by other tribes

I wouldn't have the nerve to equate my situation with theirs. I just wanted a better social contract and wasn't fearing for my life. My immigration was on a plane and I'd been bumped to business class. My Japanese chins were in the hole of the plane.  I remember eating lamb and drinking a glass of champagne. I was not on a boat that might capsize crammed shoulder to shoulder with other people.The people on the boat above could die of dehydration.

Immigrants have always felt persecution long before signs in Boston windows said, "No Irish Apply" or Jews being sent back to Hitler.

In Argelès in 1939 100,000 immigrants suddenly showed up fleeing Franco and were placed in unbearable conditions in a make shift concentration camp on the beach where many starved or froze to death.

Mankind has never learned to solve the problem of immigrants nor looked at the causes.

Many Latinos would love to stay in their own country but trade policies have made it impossible to sell their farm products. That's just one example.

We as a race haven't learned how to handle tragedy immigrants. We shun them, say they want to steal jobs, don't want to integrate.

Are there other ways like:

• How many chances have they been given to integrate? 
• Why couldn't there be language and culture classes? 
• Why couldn't there be an adopt an immigrant program where people take one or more into their homes much like little kids were taken into homes in the countryside to keep them safe for bombings?

Better yet, maybe stop the causes of desperation by looking at the impact of trade treaties and wars before starting them. 

Ange leaves home

Ange was a manipulative little creature, but she was bored. Thus she packed up and moved out. She is living with Swedish friends and their animals and has found a new boyfriend. She thinks he kisses better than the Scoob.

Flight Behavior

Flight Behavior has a dual meaning: Flight of butterflies, flight of a woman into a new life. As always Kingslover mixes stories with lush language and social commentary. She is one of those writers that I wish would produce a book every few weeks.

Some interesting interviews with her are on youtube.

This butterfly is not a monarch as those in the book, but stopping to watch it on a flower was just as lovely.

When you can't sleep

I couldn't sleep. The light was just beginning to bring definition to the plants and furniture on the patio outside our bedroom window.

Last night I had planned to make strawberry-cinnamon muffins, but company and phone calls, all welcomed, made it too late to start a project.

Rick does Sunday breakfasts, but there is no rule that he can't have a little support. Thus I got out of bed and started to bake.

Half will stay with us, half will go upstairs to our landlady and her guests.

Here's the recipe

• 1/4 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1 egg
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 teaspoon to tablespoon cinnamon depending on love of cinnamon
• 1 3/4 cups regular flour
• 1 cup strawberries finally chopped

Preheat oven 375°F or 190°C

Put dry ingredients in one bowl, wet in another. 

Sift dry and mix into wet.

Fill greased muffin tins (makes eight). 

Cook 25 mins. or until done.

I suspect I could make this into a cake but haven't tried it.

They say when life gives you lemons make lemonades...how about when you can't sleep make muffins?

Marché pleasures

As much as the farm fresh vegetables, brownies and flowers one of the pleasures of the twice-weekly, marché is sitting and people watching from the front tables at La Noisette.

We often discuss the clothing of those ambling by. No Paris runway during fashion week has such a variety and probably wouldn't want it.

At my age I still love clothes and can't help comparing what I see with what I might wear. It is a balancing act between being "lamb dressed up as mutton" and looking like an old fart, the latter which I never want to fall into. I like trendy things, but need to hide the less appealing parts of my body.

One of the women that passed today must be pushing her mid eighties yet was chic in her slacks and top. We won't discuss those crammed into outfits made for a person several kilos less.

We point out different animals, cute kids, how much people are buying, what we are having for lunch, what we read on Facebook as we sip our moccachinos. Last week we photographed passing dogs. We are thinking of doing tallies of things like number of t-shirts with writing in English vs. French, people wearing shorts vs. skirts, etc. our own mini social survey.

And of course none of it would be as much fun without that weekly moccachino. All the staff know we want only half the whipped cream and to leave the calories in the part they don't add to our cups.

Then we toddle off to get our own flowers and veggies. Good mornings as we say good morning or bonjour to those we know passing by.

Time contrasts

I grew up in Reading, Massachusetts. The next town was Wakefield where we bought my Brownie outfit and ate at Hazelwood Cottage. I thought their tomato juice with a slice of lemon was the height of sophistication. Reading High's first football game of the season was always against Wakefield.

My brother fished in Lake Quanapowitt which was on the border of the two towns and when it was really cold, we would skate at the edges, never in the middle.

My first grownup job was as a file clerk on the shores of the lake for American Mutual Insurance. Three days and I was reapplying for university.

Today I had lunch in Perpignan, France near the Castillet which goes back to the 12th century some 500 years before the first white person settled in Wakefield but was first part of Lynn, then Reading before going out on its own.

Leaving the restaurant terrace, I came across a sign for another place called Wakefield with its signs all in English.

Hmm...Maybe I can leap time and continental barriers and visit Wakefield in Perpignan without the lake, without the brownie uniform, without the job...

And a little dog shall lead them

Last week when I was photographing cute dogs at the marché I ran across this wonderful ten-week old Jack Russell.

She was full of puppy kisses to share.

Today, since it was Rick's day to cook, we were at La Noisette for lunch. A writer friend from the Geneva Writers Group (and also a former colleague at IEC) is visiting and staying in the nest.

He joined us for lunch.

At the next table were the same couple and the same puppy. Obviously the day had been too much of her and she slept through the conversation between the two tables.

The couple is Belgian and spends about four months a year here. Hopefully we will overlap again for more puppy kisses and human conversation.

Dogs have always been a great way to meet people.

Clinic entertainment

I was in a clinic waiting for a blood test. Watching this little girl and her big sister (not shown) were better than any movie.

First the younger taunted the older until the big sister couldn't stand it and pushed her down. The child started to cry. I couldn't see any tears, and I bet there were none.

The older girl pretended to help her sister. 

The mother wasn't fooled or at least wasn't partially fooled and the older sister was sentenced to a chair sit.

Despite being told not to take the barriers down, the child continued. 

The older girl reacted.

The mother sent the older girl outside the glass doors (in France kids are allowed to be outside without parents around).

I'm sure the little one thought "victory" as she stuck her tongue out at her sister who could see through the door.

Sadly, I was called for the blood test and never learned the outcome of the mini-drama which I'm sure is enacted in hundreds of ways every day.

Old/New restaurant

The restaurant has been on the road to the Argelès-sur-mer plage for eons.

I've walked by it a zillion times. Only once did I stop and that was over a decade ago to have a glass of Banyuls with a friend as we walked home from the beach.

Today Rick and I stopped for lunch.

We ate on the terrace under fines

with a dog as a neighbor.

And a twisted tree for atmosphere.

We won't walk by another zillion times.

When writers live together

Some people talk love in the bedroom. We speak grammar.

This was Rick's and my discussion this afternoon. I'd gone into read and he joined me.

RICK: They took out my Oxford commas. (He's talking about an article he'd sold and was published)

ME: You and I will never agree on Oxford commas.

RICK:  Hmmm

ME: A comma is shorthand for and. Thus when you use the Oxford comma it's like saying and-and. Deep down I don't see the need for it. (I love being on soap boxes)

ME: I have less books left to read than I want.

RICK: (After a long silence.) Fewer

ME:  What? (Laughing.

RICK:  Many people make a mistake all the time between fewer and less.

He got me. I wasn't sure of the difference. I reached for the Ipad. 

Merriman-Websters says fewer--a smaller number of persons or things.

The are wordier with less: 

" not so much : smaller in amount or number

The traditional view is that less applies to matters of degree, value, or amount and modifies collective nouns, mass nouns, or nouns denoting an abstract whole while fewer applies to matters of number and modifies plural nouns. Less has been used to modify plural nouns since the days of King Alfred and the usage, though roundly decried, appears to be increasing. Less is more likely than fewer to modify plural nouns when distances, sums of money, and a few fixed phrases are involved <less than 100 miles> <an investment of less than $2000> <in 25 words or less> and as likely as fewer to modify periods of time <in less (or fewer) than four hours>."

I read it to him. He replies hmmm. I think he's falling asleep. He's not.

RICK: Look up the difference between fewer and less.

Grammarmonster.com says.
Use less when referring to a single item.
Use fewer when referring to more than one item. 

The Oxford Dictionary says:

Use fewer if you’re referring to people or things in the plural (e.g. houses, newspapers, dogs, students, children).

Less is also used with numbers when they are on their own and with expressions of measurement or time.

I'm glad I learned something. 

I'm glad I live with another writer. 

 

 

Artistic memories

I was sitting at La Noisette in Argelès with my artist friend Bruce Davidson many years ago. As always he was sketching, this time the pigeons on the church steps across the street. His sense of whimsey is such that he added a pig.

Today, Rick whose desk is on the other side of the wall called, "Guess what came up on Google." I walked the few steps to check it out. It was that same sketch.

I have a copy hanging on my wall in the nest.

I adore Bruce's work and also have the two paintings of birch trees he gave Rick and I as a wedding present, but I also adore him for his imagination and his friendship.

http://bdavidsonart.com/

Self investigation 1, 2, 3

Once upon a time there were three very active little boys (no ADDH). 

Investigation 1

One day as they were rough housing they knocked over their mom's favorite lamp.

It had belonged to their great grandmother. When the mother saw it, the oldest of the boys, John said, "Don't worry Mom, we'll investigate and will see what happened."

So they did and issued a report that a big wind had blown through the closed window and knocked over the lamp.

They had lots of stats about wind power and even showed from weather.com that there were high winds that day. Of course, they had cut off the part that said "High winds of 84K/H 90% chance" and it was for Mexico City and the prediction was for the next week.

Their mother was very happy.

Investigation 2

The next week the mother had baked cookies for a charity event. The boys came home from school and divided them all up between themselves.

When the mother discovered they were gone, she asked the boys.

John said, "Don't worry Mom, we'll investigate and will see what happened." They got very busy with their computers, especially Photoshop.

Two days later they presented a five page report about how the dog next door had undone the screen, climbed through and eaten all the cookies. "He even forgot to put one screw back," Nathan, the middle boy said holding out his dirty hand with one screw from the screen. He walked to the window. "See it fits." His mother didn't notice that the screw was from the inside not the out and was pleased with the report.

Investigation 3

The mother was called to the grade school. Her three sons had been accused of locking several first graders in a shed, drilling a hole in the roof and dropping feces on them. "Don't worry Mom, we'll investigate and will see what happened."

The report said that it was the first graders fault. They had insulted her and so to protect her and teach them a lesson they locked them in a shed and threw shit on them to show them that they couldn't say shitty things about their mother.

The mother smiled and was happy she had such good sons who could monitor themselves so well.

Taking water for granted

This fountain was once the source of water for the houses surrounding it here in Argelès-sur-mer. We used it that way too when we arrived one Good Friday to find our water had been shut off. 

Somehow the automatic payment hadn't work and the offices to pay the bill wouldn't be open until after Easter Monday. As soon as we paid the bill, our water was turned on, and we no longer lugged the pail from house to fountain, fountain to house.

Today, as I walked by the fountain, a neighbor was sitting on one of the benches reading his newspaper.

He told me that even last year, there was a Greek woman who had come to the area as a child, walking all the way during WWII who didn't have running water in her house and would come out and fill her pail and carry it back into the house.

He also told me how the Germans had invaded her home and had killed her sister.

We sometimes forget when we put on the dishwasher, washing machine or even flush the toilet we are not that far away from a life that something as simple as turning on the tap, was far more difficult.

And even if we are not living where a soldier may invade our home and kill someone we love there are too many places in the world where it can happen just as some women have to walk miles with water jugs on their head for basic cooking and washing needs.

We take things for granted that for others are miracles. Tonight when I turn on my tap to get a glass of water for my bedside, I will be grateful I don't have to find a fountain, well or stream.

 

Mornings are the bestest.

Yes they are!

After years of rushing out to get to work, I still revel in not having to rush most morning.

We wake, read, chat, check emails, etc. One of us will get tea for both sometimes with a cookie. Eventually one of us will get up to take a shower, usually to find the other has put the other's towel and robe on the towel warmer.

The other, when the shower is finished warms our partner's towel and robe.

We each make our own breakfast unless it is Sunday. Then Rick does something special. Sometimes we head for our computers, sometimes we watch the news.

Then we are ready to start the day. It might still be early or it could be mid morning depending on when we woke.

Instead of alarms we are gentled into our days.

Yup, mornings are the bestest, but the afternoons and evenings are pretty good too.

Ok, it was dumb

Rick made a wonderful meal, but unfortunately some of the couscous stuck to the pot. I used the method of soapy water on simmer, which my grandmother and mother used. A video here suggest salt too. I went onto other chores.

Then Rick picked up his keys on his way to see Sikzzo, a cat we are checking on daily while his parents are frolicking in Italy and I decided spontaneously to go with him.

We came back to the smell of burnt toast, only it was charred couscous on the pan. I'd forgotten to turn the stovetop off.

I did discovered the charred bits flaked off easily, more easily than any other method I've ever used.

Rick calmly said, "Please don't do that again."

Dear NSA

It has been a while since I've written, but I'm busy. Besides I know you can follow me through my webcam and my on-line posts so you know we had a great holiday in Andorra. My dumb phone is locked and you know that I never, ever, ever use my smart phone.

In fact, I don't know where it is. If you know can you tell me please.

I was a bit annoyed when Obama said spying would continue according to The Guardian. "The Obama administration has asked a secret surveillance court to ignore a federal court that found bulk surveillance illegal and to once again grant the National Security Agency the power to collect the phone records of millions of Americans for six months." I'm sure you found that a great relief.

I decided the NSA really stands for NO SECURITY ANYWHERE.

What do you think?

Love,
DLN

The living yuck

PLACE:  Reading High School shop, Reading, MA

DATE:  Sept. 2014

PEOPLE: Rick, my daughter Llara and me

Last September when Rick and I were doing a nostalgia tour of where we grew up, we also had my daughter Llara with us.

We were in the high school memorabilia shop when I suggested Rick and I buy matching shirts.

From across the room, my daughter uttered "YUCK!!!! That's for old people on cruises."

We ignored her, so this photo is for her taken by the brownie lady. It isn't a selfie and we aren't staring at the camera.

SO LLARA, THIS BLOG IS FOR YOU.

Chiens à là Marché

Why not photograph the many dogs that go to the marché, we asked. We couldn't find a reason not to. Added a dimension to the day after breakfast at La Noisette where V-Duc is a regular at La Noisette was taken by his owner for us. This morning we found him outside the door. Since we weren't feeding him, he ignored us and the local flic.

Please, please, please let some croissant fall. Or even a bit of egg or or or anything, please.

This dog just wanted to walk on. His master was more interested in the shop window.

The world of a marché can seem like just feet and ankles to a small dog. Some may have preferred to stay home.

Let's take a rest and watch the shoppers go by.

A ten-week Jack Russell had to share puppy kisses. Puppy breath is wonderful.

This dog, which my daughter would describe as a seed for a real dog, dressed up for the marché.

This dog had a bandaged foot but marched along nicely with his owner who was in a wheel chair.

This boxer thinks he is just another flower.

And he earns money for his master by being extra cute.

And I must ask V-Duc's owner if he posed for this t-shirt.