Home in Switzerland

August already! It surprises me every time. We had a busy and fun July, visiting family and friends in the States. Wish we could have stayed longer, but it was still good to get home. It's very quiet in our neighborhood. I assume our neighbors are off enjoying a last couple of weeks of relaxation before the back-to-school craziness begins. As for us, we've been to the local swimming pool a few times, went to the natural history museum and to the annual Fête de Géneve,which is a big carnival on the shores of Lake Geneva. Donald left for Tanzania this morning for a week long company meeting. He's going to spend a couple of days on the island of Zanzibar before coming home. Then we're all going to Barcelona for a week. Sounds so matter of fact, doesn't it! Believe me, I am not taking this for granted.
Meanwhile, we are still a normal (most of the time!) family, doing laundry, walking the dogs, trying to figure out what to cook for dinner, etc. Just doing it all in Switzerland.

Enough Already

I usually avoid getting up on a soap box, but the ongoing wrangling over the budget has me in a state. It's clear that cutting back is necessary. It is also clear that deciding where to make those cuts has got to be almost impossible. Glad I don't have to do it. We are so divorced from the running of our country, understandably so. Most of us have all we can handle getting food on the table and making sure the kids are looked after. Which is part of the reason we have a representative government. We want jobs that pay a living wage, decent schools, health care, a roof over our heads. It's the American dream, right? We want our representatives in Washington, who are spending our taxes, to help us get these things. Unfortunately, they can't seem to avoid the tit for tat mentality. They spend far to much time talking and far too little time listening. They are willing to hold the country hostage to get their way. Kind of like a toddler having a tantrum. What do those of us in the cheap seats do? Give them a better model for behavior, I say. Rather than 'me first', let's try 'you first'. Make 'personal responsibility' a personal philosophy. Agree to disagree and get on with it already.

A New Year's Resolution.

It's been nearly six months since our move from Bellevue to Geneva. We have all gotten into a rhythm:school, work, french classes,walking the dogs, homework, etc. We have a few favorite places for take-out, a favorite destination for a weekend drive, and a growing collection of the basic services needed for family life. The woman behind the counter at a local tea shop knows that we like the raspberry sorbet and chocolate cookies she sells. We are on a first name basis with Bobby, a Bulgarian vendor at the Sunday market, who makes the most delicious grilled pork you have ever tasted. I have almost gotten used to the fact that most things here are twice as expensive as in the US. I have most definitely gotten accustomed to the possibility of fresh croissants for breakfast every morning. I found myself wondering the other day if this routine we have developed is setting a dangerous precedent. Is there a risk that life here will become 'routine'? I'd like to think not, but I suppose it's possible. Unless you are living in a war zone, or struggling to put food on the table, daily life is a rerun of the day before, whether it's in Bellevue, Washington or Geneva, Switzerland. How do we prevent our routines from getting stale? I walk our two dogs every day. If I am in a hurry, it's just a quick bathroom break. When I have more time, there are a couple of routes I usually take. The dogs are happy no matter which one I choose, but I find I am more likely to walk farther if I shake things up a bit. That's good for all three of us. I have never been one for New Year's resolutions, but 'shaking things up' sounds like a resolution worth making.
Keep you posted!

Cheese!

If you were not a big fan of 'Swiss' cheese when you were a kid, please raise your hand. I know, I can't see you, but I'm willing to bet more than a few of you raised your hands. The Swiss cheese of my childhood was sour and rubbery. Guess what? The stuff I was avoiding is as close to Swiss cheese as a soy burger is to a t-bone. A bit dramatic, maybe, but not too far off the mark. Cheese does not stay in the refrigerator long in our house. Granted, our refrigerator is not American-size, but you get my point. My daughter, whom I would not classify as an adventurous eater, has become a rabid fan of a traditional winter dish here, called 'raclette.' It's basically melted cheese, but there is nothing basic about it. First of all, there are many kinds of cheese to choose from when planning this dish. Second, preparing it is an entertainment all by itself. We are now the proud owners of a raclette maker, a device that allows you to melt slabs of cheese under a broiler, which you then pour over steamed potatoes, or crusty bread. It is usually served with tiny pickles (cornichons) and onions, and a plate of sliced meats (charcuterie). Add a cold beer, and ...well, my mouth is watering. Winter or not, many Saturday evenings will find us gathered around the coffee table, melting cheese until we can't eat another bite. Wonder what my LDL looks like?!

Winter Wonderland

It's snowing in Geneva. D'uh! Well, it doesn't usually snow that much in the city. Definitely nearby, because we are surrounded by mountains. My daughter Emilie bounced into my room this morning crowing with excitement. We've been living in Seattle for the past few winters, where snow is a rarity. Adults tend to see snow as a nuisance. We have to get to work, or do errands. The car needs snow tires, we have to shovel the driveway, etc. Growing up and taking on responsibilities tends sap the spontaneity out of us. But when I took the dogs out this morning, grumbling because I really did not want to get out of my warm bed, some of their excitement rubbed off on me. It's Saturday, and the only thing on our agenda is homework. The snow has been falling since early this morning and has the freshness and magic only new snow
can. The apartment is cozy, the coffee is hot. All I have to do (apart from answering the occasional question about cell division)is sit here and watch the flakes fall. Maybe we'll go out later and throw snow at each other.

La Serenissima

Venice is a city of contradictions. It is as impossibly lovely as it is fraying and down at the heels. Its main thoroughfares are crowded with stalls selling cheap trinkets, it's canals are often littered with trash. Yet if you follow some of these narrow, winding streets past the noise and tourists or take a gondola ride away from the Grand Canal, you find yourself gone back in time. The gondola glides under lace like bridges, the damp cobblestones lead to small exquisite churches and quiet, leafy squares. The only sound is the tap tap of your footsteps or the slap of water against the hull. When I visited with my children, we were all captivated. My daughter Emilie vowed to return there to live. We ate gelato and pizza. We traveled up and down the Grand Canal on the vaporetti (water buses), had the most luxurious hot chocolate ever (and the most expensive!)in St. Mark's Square, and bought blown glass and cheap umbrellas ( that blew up in the wind after one day's use). Among the many questions I was left with: why on earth would any one build a city like this in a lagoon? How do its modern citizens keep the sea at bay? How much longer can it possibly stay afloat? At least long enough for me to return.

Where'd she get those boots?!

I am in a constant state of lust. Oh, don't worry, it's not what you think. It's...shoes. Geneva is not Paris. What I mean to say is, it's not a high fashion capital, but it is a major western European city and many of it's citizens are ex-pats, working in high level jobs at multinational corporations. That means money. And I see evidence of that every morning and afternoon on my treks to and from school with the kids. Like many women I know, I love shoes. I do not have a huge collection and I generally wear the same ones till they wear out, but who doesn't love to look? What got me in a tizzy of longing this morning was a pair of knee hi gray suede boots with a flat heel. I was sorely tempted to ask the lucky owner where she bought them, but thought better of it. Probably would have choked at the price tag anyway. One thing I would like to know about these so lushly dressed women:where do they go after dropping off their children? Laundry? Walking the dog? Dressed like that? Doubt it! I am assuming that they are not trotting off to work. More likely an espresso with other similarly shod companions. Don't get me wrong, I'm not envious, though I would love to have those boots.