Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: beauty, Chamonix, Christmas, diversity, holy spirit, Nationality, season, song, winter
I went to a Christmas carolling concert yesterday evening, held in a small, beautiful church in Chamonix centre w great acoustics. It was organised by a grassroots activist organisation out of Massachusetts who actually take goods and care into Ukraine several times a year. A woman sang a haunting carol in Ukrainian, many songs were in English, French, a couple in Swedish and German, reflective of the diversity of Chamonix, and on several occasions (and even as I write this) I fought tears. My mother used to call this time of year “the season of the heart.” It’s true…

Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: angry, anxiety, confused, family, Grief, life, love, mental health, stressed, worried, writing
In the last few years I have become more anxious. A downright “Nervous Nellie” who is quick to anger and fears everything. If people leave their garbage behind in a movie theater I want to accost them, force them to collect their rubbish. If someone takes up two parking spots in a crowded parking lot, I fume and fret and want to leave a nasty note on their windshield. If people walk through a door and don’t hold it open for someone behind them, my blood boils. Cutting lines makes me want to physically assault the offenders. I’m afraid of everything: being fired, being disliked, being a bad mother, being a bad wife, being a bad friend, being anywhere for a new World War, being destitute in my retirement, being riddled with cancer.

While always neurotic, I have emphatically not been untenably anxious before. In fact, despite the constant stream of self recrimination which has been my thematic backdrop, I have prided myself on being the bravest person I have ever met or known. My life has been dynamic, dramatic, with many career pivots in hyper competitive fields, a few husbands, several international moves, and it has been fantastically interesting and I am grateful for so much. But there have also been incredible disappointments and losses. Through it all I have been resourceful, resilient and intrepid. Always. Till now. Now I can feel the anxiety stream through my body like an electrical current at the slightest provocation. See the aforementioned. My body becomes rigid, my lips pursed, my eyes mean and dark.
Granted, I have had concentrated “challenges” in recent years: three eye surgeries and two foot surgeries. A terrible menopause, bleeding three weeks of every month for two years, culminating in my becoming anaemic (no doctor – female or male – would help). I found out the father that I had known my entire life, and who is dead now, was not my biological dad — memories, perceptions of my family and my identity shifted seismically as a result. My niece died in an accident, my mother died six days later, I became estranged with my remaining family after being unfairly excluded from participation in our collective familial grief and then the spreading of my mother (and father’s!) ashes. When my stoic son burst into tears of astonishment and hurt because of how his mom was being treated by the family, and my husband (who is my Jiminy Cricket, never shying from telling me the truth of matters and critical to a sharpened point) steps in to protect me, it’s time to excuse myself from the table. But that sadness remains, like an amputated limb. A year after these events, I was hospitalised for nine days and almost died due to an inflamed colon and three months later had 16 inches of it removed. Can’t help but think it was metaphoric. I’m a high school teacher, and I work very hard, yet as a contractor in a competitive market, every year for five years I was told that that year would be my last — it was a terrible period of uncertainty.
Because I perpetually want to understand the world around me, despite my simultaneous belief that the world and life itself, is chaotic and certainty in any regard is an illusion, two theories emerge as to “why?” I seem to be this way now: either I have early onset Alzheimers, a cruel disease that both my mother and my great aunt were afflicted by. Or, my hypothalamus is attuned to stress and a consequent “fight or flight” state of being. Having closely observed the decline of my mother’s mind and personality in the last few years of her life, dementia is horrifyingly fraught with personal tension. If my body is forsaking me, then honestly, I do not know what I can do about it in real or effective terms. As I keenly felt during Covid – 19, I wish that I had paid attention in biology class and understood the body’s machinations. Likely because I find the possibility of losing my mind too scary to light upon for too long, particularly in my ignorance of the delicate dance of one’s bodily synchronicities, I’m leaning toward the scientifically unsound notion that because I have spent my life in a state of extreme stimulus, my mind, body, soul, does not understand the calmer life I lead now. Life in which I am more stable than I have ever been personally, professionally, and practically. If so, then the answer is to learn how to calm my physical impulses and mind down. Simple, but not easy.
My great uncle Dick used to ask “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” This never made much sense to ten-year-old me, but it does now. Some days I feel like a teenager, others as though I am in the purgatory state of my late 20’s, other moments 45, and others 90. It is bizarre and interesting. It is agelessness, despite what my body tells me and what society’s superficial perception of me is. I used to think that by the time I got to the age I am now, the “old double nickel,” that I would have it all figured out. Be like the sage on the mount. But I find I’m frequently making mistakes, learning things I never knew, and perpetually evolving. It’s actually pretty awesome in the truest definition of the word. But it is not something for nothing. Due to the acute grief of recent years, I truly understand that life is fleeting and I have it good — I want to revel in that truth every day and be the best mother, wife, friend, person I can be. Most pressing is that I have to learn how to cope with my short fuse and anxiety before I hurt myself or anyone else…(any ideas?). While I figure this out, my instinct – the hail Mary – tells me to eat well, sleep well, move a little each day, and take deep breaths. Gulp.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Book reviews, books, dr-seuss, elizabeth-strout, fiction, Jane Austen, john-irving, Mark Twain, oscar-wilde, reading, sherman-alexie, tommy-orange

As a child I read my mother to sleep each night. We shared the classics, coming-of-age tales, newly released novels, short stories, and many books the rather uptight librarian at my grade school thought summarily inappropriate for my age (but which provided opportunities for discussion at home with my parents). Humorous, moralistic, insightful, entertaining, thoughtful, bizarre tales were discovered, with themes that covered the gamut of human experience: love, hope, rejuvenation, identity, grief, loss, loneliness, isolation, injustice, fear, sadness, outrage…it feels good to feel deeply for the characters and their circumstances within a book. It reminds us of our collective humanity and builds compassion. If I managed to make tears slide from my mother’s eyes as she listened intently to a particular passage, I would finish the page and ask her if she wanted me to read it again.
I have never killed a spider, despite their terrifying me, because of Charlotte’s Web. Dr Seuss’s morals remain stalwart guides for my own values. Archetypal characters from Winnie the Pooh serve to classify the personalities of those I meet and know. There is no hidden painting assuming the burden of our “sins,” as Wilde imagines, so one must watch one’s penchants for self destruction. The absurdity of Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle perpetually resonates. I mourned Anna Karenina for days after reading the novel. At a loss for what book to read next after finishing A Gentleman in Moscow, it was only The Brothers Karamozov that satisfied. Plainsong left my soul silent and thoughtful for weeks. Jet lagged and unable to sleep in a hotel in Bangkok, I cried alone when Sirius Black died. A poignant scene from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn still haunts me years after reading it. Zenzele, A Letter to My Daughter recalls the dusty roads and sounds of baboons in Zimbabwe. John Steinbeck encapsulates my gorgeous memories of California and a mythologized USA. Tommy Orange and Sherman Alexie are responses to an idealized America. Twain’s quips are brilliant anecdotes. I chuckle to remember incidents in The World According to Garp and remain in awe of Irving’s prescience of modern culture. Jane Austen and Elizabeth Strout would be guests at my dream dinner table.
Considering the stories I have loved over my lifetime swells my heart with fond emotion. Invaluable friends and inspirational “guardians,” various epochs of my own life are chronicled by when I read these books and first met their authors, much like a great soundtrack enriches a movie. My mother, now dead, remains alive for me whenever I pick up any of the books we shared. There is a reason Victorian men did not like their wives to read fiction and Faust swore he would relinquish his books to save his soul: novels explore, describe, and expand upon the human experience — both our triumphant selves and our worst selves – and consequently make our understanding of “mine own” and the world around us richer, more infinite in its possibilities. They give us knowledge. They remind us that we are not alone. Yes, reading is magical indeed, “98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.”
Filed under: Book reviews | Tags: books, humor, humour, hypocrisy, Kurt Vonnegut, modern life, Nazi, propaganda, satire, self conscious, society, success, World War II
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. Kurt Vonnegut
I’ve been re reading Kurt Vonnegut’s “Cat’s Cradle” and “Mother Night” to contend with the global absurdity of the world and the need for humour…just ordered his book “A Man Without Country,” which I’ve never read before…
As is expected with Vonnegut, “Mother Night” is an acute observation of the spectacle and hypocrisy of human behavior and society…it’s darkly humorous and irreverent.
A few quotes from “Mother Night” that I’ve found especially interesting/resonant:
“All people are insane,” he said. They will do anything at any time, and God help anybody who looks for reasons.”
“The people she saw as succeeding in a brave new world were, after all, being rewarded as specialists in slavery, destruction, and death. I don’t consider people who work in those fields successful.”
(Regarding how Armistice Day changed to Veteran’s Day in the USA) “oh, it’s just so damn cheap, so damn typical,” I said. “This used to be a day in honor of the dead of World War One, but the living couldn’t keep their grubby hands off of it, wanted the glory of the dead for themselves. So typical, so typical. Any time anything of real dignity appears in this country, it’s torn to shreds and thrown to the mob.”
“I had hoped, as a broadcaster, to be merely ludicrous, but this is a hard world to be ludicrous in, with so many human beings so reluctant to laugh, so incapable of thought, so eager to believe and snarl and hate.”
If there is another life after this one, I would like very much, in the next one, to be the sort of person of whom it could truly be said, “Forgive him – he knows not what he does.”
This cannot be said of me now.
The only advantage to me of knowing the difference between right and wrong, as nearly as I can tell, is that I can sometimes laugh when the Eichmanns can see nothing funny.
Filed under: Corona 2020 | Tags: Castex, Chamonix, Children, Confinement, Covid-19, ego, elementary, Emmanuel Macron, Enfants, enseignant, France, Haute Savoie, health, Jean Castex, l'ecole, L'organisation mondiale de la sante, Les Houches, Macron, primary, professeur, Sante, school, science, Securite, WHO, Xavier Roseren
Bonjour Monsieur,
J’ai lu (Le Monde et Les Echos) qu’il n’y avait pas de précautions de sécurité Covid-19 pour les enfants des écoles élémentaires de moins de onze ans dans toute la France au retour des écoles le mois prochain. Est-ce vrai? Si oui, comment est-ce possible? Il a été largement démenti que les enfants ne peuvent pas attraper le virus (100000 aux États-Unis cette semaine, Reuters), il est largement admis qu’ils peuvent le propager, et l’immunité collective signifierait 60 à 70% de la population testée positive pour Covid -19.
Mon enfant de neuf ans comprend certainement le protocole de santé, mais c’est un enfant qui est impuissant face aux autorités adultes, et qui ne pourra par la suite pas maintenir des distances de sécurité, se laver les mains régulièrement, garder ses effets personnels des autres enfants, ou aérer le salle de classe dans laquelle il est assis toute la journée (ou insistez pour que les classes soient à l’extérieur lorsque cela est possible) s’il n’y a pas de règles en place que les adultes doivent exécuter et suivre pour le bien-être de tous. Comme nous l’avons déjà vu avec le port de masque «obligatoire», de nombreuses personnes ne suivent pas ce protocole, même s’il est défini par la loi, mais nous devrions essayer de définir des paramètres.
L’Organisation mondiale de la santé et divers syndicats d’enseignants (y compris le mien) conseillent d’étaler les salles de classe pour permettre la distanciation tout en permettant une fréquentation régulière en classe et le port obligatoire de masques par les enseignants et les travailleurs pour assurer un retour en toute sécurité, ainsi que des fenêtres ouvertes, un lavage régulier des mains (il n’y a jamais de savon dans les salles de bain de l’école de mon fils!), des entrées / couloirs se déplaçant dans l’un ou l’autre sens, et une désinfection régulière des surfaces. Ceci afin de permettre à la fois d’aller à l’école mais aussi de ne pas infecter notre population avec Covid-19 peu de temps après avec une augmentation des «clusters».
De plus, nous vivons dans un endroit très touristique, et cet été a de nouveau été extrêmement occupé par les voyageurs – à la fois ceux qui viennent et ceux qui sont en vacances dans d’autres pays. Je connais plusieurs familles dont les enfants fréquentent l’école locale et qui ont voyagé à destination et en provenance de différents pays avec peu ou pas de respect des protocoles de sécurité. En conséquence, leurs enfants pourraient être asymptotiques, ou malades, et nous ne le verrons pas complètement se manifester avant la fin septembre, après le retour des enfants pendant deux ou trois semaines.
Pourquoi agir de manière à ne répondre qu’à la crise? Pourquoi ne pas anticiper la crise et agir en conséquence? Encore et encore, les professionnels de la santé et les scientifiques disent que NOUS AVONS LE CONTRÔLE avec ce virus si nous avons simplement un leadership clair et la discipline pour adopter des mesures de sécurité. Quelle excuse avons-nous pour ne pas faire ce que nous pouvons?
Enfin, à part une brève communication en mai du bureau du maire disant que la fréquentation serait obligatoire pour tous les élèves, nous n’avons reçu aucune information de l’école ou du bureau du maire local concernant les protocoles de sécurité pour nos enfants ou les attentes pour nous parents. C’est négligeable. Si nous n’avions pas eu l’incroyable professeur de classe que nous avions, nous n’aurions rien su, et de nombreux amis se sont retrouvés dans cette position, s’appuyant plutôt sur des ouï-dire (ce qui équivaut à la désinformation et à la panique).
Nous devons faire mieux si nous voulons éviter un autre confinement ou, bien pire, une société très malade et contagieuse qui entraîne la perte de nombreux êtres chers.
Merci d’avoir pris en considération ce que j’ai écrit ici en tant que parent, professeur, et membre de votre électorat très préoccupé.
Veuillez recevoir, Monsieur, mes salutations distinguées.
Filed under: Corona 2020 | Tags: America, Boris Johnson, Brexit, Capitalism, Corona virus, Covid-19, democracy, Dominic Cummings, Donald Trump, Dr Fauci, elections, England, media, news, Politics, profiteering, Russia, taxes, UK, USA, virus, voters, voting
Courtesy is only a thin veneer on the general selfishness. Honore de Balzac

Email correspondence with a dear friend in London:
A worker in my mom s retirement community tested positive, so they’re on strict lockdown again. My poor mom has barely left her flat in five months. I know that numbers are climbing again everywhere, but I can’t help but marvel/be stunned at how countries like England, the USA, have botched this so completely, and why folks still refuse to simply follow minor safety precautions. And, liberal countries, semi-socialist countries such as Germany, Italy, France, are the ones that hit down hard when they needed to even as the more right-wing-leaning countries that are supposedly ‘tough’ waffled so much. And even in Western Europe, where folks are generally aware of the danger and governments have been clear and precise, folks refuse to wear masks, etc. Can people truly be so selfish? Or is it that they’re truly stupid? I simply don’t understand…(and, of course, for me, understanding the “Why?” of something is key to some semblance of control).
I’m sorry to hear that. It’s hard on your Mum. As to why Britain and the USA have handled the crisis so badly, I would say that both countries are not being run by governments at the moment but by ‘anti-governments’: populist leaders who repeatedly declare their contempt for experts and civil servants. Long before he started insulting Dr Fauci, Mr Trump was insulting everyone from the FBI to climate scientists whilst Dominic Cummings has a long standing hatred of civil servants and his puppet Mr Johnson was elected to ‘get Brexit done’ rather than to actually govern a complex post-industrial country. Covid-19 caught both these ‘anti-administrations’ on the back foot and neither has ever recovered. Britain just lurches chaotically towards an inevitable second wave – the return to lockdown is already underway – whilst the death count in America is increasing so fast it almost defies belief. On the plus side it surely spells the end of Trump come November, and indeed Mr Johnson will be replaced before the next election (much as Mrs Thatcher was in a previous era). In the meantime we must endure the consequences of their rank stupidity.
Well said. I do hope you’re right about the removal of Boris and Trump, though I am skeptical as the powers-that-be are one-and-the-same (moneyed interests wanting to avoid taxes, unfettered profiteering, Russian collusion…). Add to that, I think that Trump has a following akin to a cult who will ‘walk through fire’ to vote for him in November. The ‘left’ will have to vote en masse to counter the weight of the (archaic) electoral college, propaganda, targeted social media misinformation campaigns, ballot tinkering, and voter repression. Not to mention the ‘left’ is often divided in their beliefs about a candidate’s attention to their ‘pet’ interest and consequently don’t vote…but, I’ll hope I’m very wrong in my prediction.
Filed under: Book reviews | Tags: action, an, anti heroes, books, detective genre, entertainment, hard-boiled detective fiction, heroes, reading, summer, suspense, Victor Carl, William Lashner
Down-and-out Philadelphia lawyer Victor Carl yearns for the opportunity to sell out. Get rich. Be respected in the legal community. Have hot women begging to date him. Then William Prescott III, upper-cruster from one of the city’s most distinguished firms, comes knocking at his door. Prescott wants Victor to represent a councilman’s aide who is, along with his boss, accused of extortion, arson, and murder. It’s a high-profile court case that promises everything Victor longs for, and all he has to do is turn up and do whatever Prescott tells him to. But Victor can’t be quiet when it’s clear someone is setting him and his client up to take a nasty fall. He may be desperate, but he’s no one’s patsy.
I read a Victor Carl short story by this author, which inspired me to buy a book about him ‘cause it was well-written, I like the hard-boiled detective fiction genre, and characters such as Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe. These guys were tough mavericks in violent, double-crossing milieus, who were unflinching in their determination to achieve justice. This book doesn’t disappoint in terms of its main character, plot, and setting, but it is overly long and consequently repetitive, while Hammett and Chandler’s novels are concise and to the point – just like their (anti) heroes.


