Morsels of love

 

Auer salty butter caramel chocolates

Now admittedly I had to ruminate over the title for quite some time as my first

Pop-into-my-head title was Love Bites. That might not have played to well in some cultures. Then I thought of Love Bits. OK not to bad, but still not quite right. Then there was Bits of Love, but hey that could have been most anything.

Then, eureka, Morsels of love presented itself.

 

After all that just about a title you may be expecting a very erudite article: no.

 

Yesterday

1)   The door bell rang and I actually heard it

2)   I made it to the door just as the person was starting to walk off (I am rarely at home, very sporadic in my answering the door, etc.)

3)   A friend handed me a small gift bag and before I could even react was down the drive, back in the car and gone.

 

Ah ha, in the bag (from my favorite chocolate store, but that doesn’t always mean anything as I have been known to pack other presents in anything that comes to hand and my family and good friends know that the sack isn’t always, in fact is rarely, indicative of the present therein) was a delightful small package of my all-time-favorite chocolates!

 

Not sure what I have done to deserve them, but oh will they be (ok two already gone) greatly enjoyed!

 

Morsels of love from good friends.

Mixing up names

 

wordle

It’s not just an adult being forgetful or unconscious, in particular a mother:

It’s a proof of love

 

At least that is what a very small article in a magazine accompanying the Sunday paper informs me.

 

Thank goodness: my kids always thought that my calling them by each others names had some sinister meaning, or that I was having memory problems. Non several American psychologists have studied the question and determined that one most easily calls one child or sibling by another’s name when one loves them! And apparently the phenomenon is not limited to any age but can happen at any one of them.

 

I always told them when it upset them that they should be grateful that I wasn’t calling them by one of the cat’s names, but now I can say, it was love, pure love. Thank goodness.

 

Of course there is one small fly in the ointment: these were American psychologists….

 

https://images.app.goo.gl/HQjNBmTAtMvhPcd5A

Pretty as a picture or …

My Valentines.

I don’t know what it is, but there are “official” holidays that just leave me cold – that is if they don’t totally turn me off. Mother’s Day is the main one: I am a mother, and love being one, but was never able to convince my husband that one) he could buy the flowers the day before, hide them in a bucket in the cellar and present them through the children on the day or two) that trying to eat out that Sunday was not only double the money, but twice the trouble with restaurants brimming and the waiters and waitresses harried.

Valentine’s Day isn’t quite as bad – I can mostly ignore it.

With two cat’s in the house I have continual enjoyment – and love.

I also know that my kids love me every day of the year and not just on special occasions, but Clea here outdid herself the other day by posing in a frame.

And Babette spends mornings with her head on my hand, cuddled up as I work.

Love is where you find it – love is where you give it and to all of you, my family, my friends I am passing along the wisdom: Love exists all the time, every day, every week, every month, every year – it’s simply a matter of sharing it without needing to make a show. 

Ah the love…

I have just had the visit of a lovely family – distant relatives: her great-grandmother was my grandmother’s sister, but family IS family. Wife (she’s the relative and women come first right?), husband and their two boys, eight and five.

Over the course of three days we managed to laugh, eat and in general enjoy each other: through the fall and gastro-entiritis of my youngest, through the who-knows-what-it-was illness of their youngest, through the multiple changes of schedules, through a slice of “normal” life.

The two boys are being well brought up, yet are still boys. Nary a harsh word, nary a scolding yet they were put to rights when they stepped over the border. Love!

Love also let us enjoy the time together in spite of the stress of all the supposed “upsets”; love kept us going when it was rough and love will forever be in my thoughts when I recall those few days.

We will have other visits, either here or at their house and they may well go much easier without messes and accidents, but I’m betting that this one is going to be the one we remember.

The icing on the cake: the message that the eight-year old left on my mini white board – if saying goodbye without prodding is not a message of love I don’t know what is! I have been unable to erase it all week.

P.S. the “yes!” was the result of my handing him the almost-empty Nutella jar.

Les coeurs sur mon chemin ou Hommage à Miss Betty

Ces temps-ci je tombe souvent sur des coeurs: des coeurs naturels sur mes chemins de montage, mais aussi des personnes retrouvées ou nouvelles avec lesquelles j’ai des affinités.

pierre sur mon chemin

Ce matin lors de ma petite promenade dans la forêt cela n’a pas failli et comme je ne me promène que rarement avec de la musique je réfléchis plus que d’habitude ou peut être devrais-je dire que je tiens plus compte de mes pensées au lieu de juste les refouler.

pierre par terre

Nous venons de perdre Miss Betty donc je revois toutes les personnes que j’ai pu aimer surgir dans mes pensées. Que cela soit des personnes proches ; des ami(e)s de longue date; des bonnes connaissances; des nouvelles amitiés lorsque nous sommes en vie, ne serait-ce que quelques années - nous perdons sans faille tôt ou tard des gens autour de nous. Bien sur qu’il y a des décès qui nous procurent un chagrin plus vaste que d’autres mais même, connu que peu, il y a également des qui nous laisse une trace indélébile après peu de temps. Cela fut le cas de Miss Betty.

Sur l'écorce d'un arbre

Lorsqu’en 2014 une de ces filles m’a demandé si je pouvais -et voulais- les accompagner à Paris, je me suis arrangée pour le faire : bien m’en a pris. Lors de notre premier rencontre, Mme. Rosenquist m’a annoncé « tu peux m’appeler Betty ». Comme nous allions fêter ses 90 ans et par respect je lui ai répondu que je n’y arriverai pas… et puis… lumière, je serais confortable avec « Miss Betty ». Ainsi est née la légende de Miss Betty.

Que de rires, que d’aventures : ensemble avec ses deux filles nous avons favouait pas) et toujours prète à entreprendre encore quelque chose. Quel exemple de vie!s'aêté ses 90 ans avec une croisière dîner sur La Seine. Depuis notre hôtel nous pouvions voir la Tour Eiffel d’un côté et l’Arc du Triomphe de l’autre. Pour épargner des pas, ses filles avaient décidé de prendre des taxis – d’où mon utilité – et étonnement ceci est vraiment une bonne manière de se déplacer à Paris sans coûter vraiment beaucoup plus cher. Nous avons mangé dans les petits bistros vers l’hôtel; nous avons visité un magasin du chocolat ; nous avons été au musée Le Louvre (avantage à avoir des « handicapés » avec soi car l’on entre par une autre entrée) ; avons mangé des pâtisseries ramenées d’Angelina sur la terrasse à l’hôtel ; avons vu le vignoble de Paris ; en tout nous avons entrepris beaucoup de choses et Miss Betty s’est réjouis de tout – elle n’était jamais fatigué (du moins elle ne l’avouait pas) et toujours prête à entreprendre encore quelque chose. Et ses « bon mots » - nous en étions mortes de rires.

Quel exemple de vie !

Nous quatres: Miss Betty; moi; Dianne et Janine, ses filles

Alors, les cœurs vus sur mon chemin me rappellent de toutes les personnes disparues et vivantes que j’ai eu, ou ai, le plaisir de compter parmi mes amis – merci – la vie est belle !

Au creux d'un arbre

N.B. pourquoi ce blog en français lorsque Miss Betty était américaine ? Je l’ai connu le mieux à Paris. Traduction dessus pour sa famille et amis aux Etats-Unis

 

N.B. Why this blog in French when Miss Betty was American? I have known her the best in Paris. Below translation for her family and friends in the United States

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hearts on my path – a Memorial to Miss Betty

These days I seem to see hearts everywhere: many physical ones whilst out walking, but also those of persons with whom I have reconnected or who are new in my life but for whom I feel an affinity. This morning during my walk in the forest it didn’t fail and as I rarely walk with music I thought more than usual or maybe I should say that I took more account of my thoughts instead of just suppressing them.

We have just lost Miss Betty so all the people that I have loved arose in my thoughts. Be they family members; friends of long date; good acquaintances or those new to my circle of friendship from the time that we are born, one thing is sure – sooner or later we will lose someone that we know and love. Of course there are deaths that produce a grief deeper than others but even, known for just a short time, there are also those which leave us with an indelible trace. This was the case of Miss Betty.

When in 2014 one of her daughters (a close childhood friend of my sister) asked me if I could -and wanted to- accompany them to Paris, I was lucky enough to be able to make arrangements to join them: During our first meeting, Mrs. Rosenquist announced "You can call me Betty". As we were going to celebrate her 90^th birthday and as I had grown up not calling anyone older than myself by their first name, I replied that I really couldn’t and then… light bulb flashing, I said that I would be comfortable with "Miss Betty". Thus was born the legend of Miss Betty.

Oh the laughter, the adventures, the fun: together with her two daughters we celebrated her 90th with a dinner cruise on the River Seine. From our hotel we could see the Eiffel Tower on one side and the Arc of the Triumph on the other. To save her energy and steps, her daughters had decided to take taxis - thus my usefulness - and astonishingly this is really a good way to move about Paris as the cost really wasn’t much more expensive than busses and metros.

We ate in small restaurants near the hotel; we visited a chocolate store; we went to the Louvre museum (a big advantage of having a less mobile person with us – we had borrowed a wheelchair from the hotel for this particular excursion - was that we could use the separate entrance); we ate divine pastries brought back from Angelina’s on the interior courtyard of our hotel; we saw the last vineyard within the city limits; we did so much and Miss Betty enjoyed it all – she was never tired (at least she wouldn’t admit to it) and was always ready to undertake yet another experience. Her wit came to the fore quite often and we were in tears of laughter more than once. What an example in how to live!

So the hearts seen on my path today remind me of all the persons, missing and alive that I had, or have, the pleasure of counting as my friends - thank you - life is beautiful!

364 + 1 days in a year or…

Happy Valentine’s Day.

I have always been a wee bit allergic to Valentine’s Day:

–      as a child we had to make cards for everyone in the class so what was the point?

–      As a teenager, I seemed to never get a card from anyone that I was currently interested in, if even vaguely and of course wouldn’t have dared send one to any of my crushes (hmmm… maybe it was the same for them?)

–      As a young adult with no boyfriend, it was just another day

–      As an engaged person – there was one before the wedding and I can’t say that I remember anything about it.

–      As a married woman there were enough other important events – I mean Christmas wasn’t that far past, and after son number one we had just had his birthday; then there were all the upcoming birthdays – so that it didn’t get celebrated either unless we had ski holidays. That usually had me writing bad poetry (wonder if I will ever come across any of those – paper hoarder that I am).

–      As a widow – well what interest would there be?

I have been fortunate enough in my life to have had friends and family who believed more in the Carpe Diem school of thought; presents or cards came any old time and even birthdays quite often got celebrated way later.

Love – and yes I know that Valentine’s Day is supposed to be only romantic love – can’t be confined to just one day and to celebrate it then and yet not be loving the rest of the 364 days of the year holds no interest for me. 

Also love comes in many shapes and forms and can no more be confined to just “romantic” love than water to just lakes and oceans: either one celebrates it in however small a way every day, or it simply doesn’t truly exist.

So Happy Let’s-all-be-in-love-with-each-other-and-Life Day. Let’s all be kind at least 364 days of the year: love will find a way and hearts come in all sizes, shapes and materials.

 

hand-made heart from Harmony, CA, USA

Swiss coffee cream cover

natural moss heart from a forest walk

Brownie love

The summer I was sixteen my mother decided that we children should all have to learn how to plan meals, do the grocery shopping for same then actually cook the evening repast: she started with me – not because I was the oldest – as my job that summer was folding sheets hot off the mangle in the hospital laundry and since it was a miserably hot job we worked from 7 until 3 p.m. meaning that I was the first off work or out of school or whatever else my siblings were doing to occupy their time.

I have often laughed about that summer as I was the one who always forgot to salt the dishes that I made: this stood me in good stead when later in life my husband needed to be on a salt-free diet.

I managed, but certainly was never the cook that my mother was. Then there was boarding school until I got out of university and although I often worked in the cafeteria of whatever school I was then attending, cooking was limited to peeling potatoes, running the cash register, or even washing the dishes.

As a young wife I didn’t get much more practice as since we worked together and were self-employed we often ate out, had to entertain clients, or had little time: my husband thought that after we got home the meal should be on the table within the following 5 minutes. That didn’t leave much scope for fancy meals.

The kids came along and again it was more getting a balanced meal on the table in short order at least twice a day: as there is an age gap in between my two sons, often we had two main meals as one or the other had been missing at lunch or would be at dinner: again more utilitarian meals.

Throughout though I developed a love of baking – my mother’s sister made us pies, cakes and cookies even when we were small and weekends were never lacking in fine home baked items.

So at one point my husband and I decided that Sundays we would only have two meals – a late breakfast and an early dinner – thus allowing us to take the kids swimming in between. That worked until teenage dietary needs loomed, then I started making a fruit tart for “dinner” as they needed something.  Christmas has always been “my” time with cookie baking, fruitcakes, etc. I’ll start end November, beginning December and normally we’ll still have something in the freezer at least until my older son’s birthday end January.

I can’t remember when first I discovered the brownie recipe, but it has become a tradition. The one thing that I can always do well; the one item that a growing circle of friends love seeing come their way.  At some point they have asked for the recipe – as have my kids – but I thought to myself, no, that is the one thing that I do excel at in the kitchen, let’s keep it my specialty.

I always make them in the winter, but have been known to do so at odd times and recently the weather was cooler, I had the time and needed dessert for an evening meal so got busy. The resulting double batch were enjoyed as dessert, some went to one good friend, some to another, some up to my landlord in the mountains and some were even left home for my housemate, her husband and my son. I’m not very good with saying I love you or even writing it, but those for whom I make brownies need to know that that is my way of showing it. But it isn’t only me that uses “Brownie Love”:

My housemate sent me the following by e-mail this morning:

“This morning I found on the brownie pan a note
 *Proof of my love for you! I 'm drunk and that brownie looks so good"

I left a note and half a brownie "Proof of my love for you."

RRR”

Brownie love is a fine thing!

the latest batch

Highlight’s Antonyms

If I can look back over many highlights in my life

• Learning to read
• Getting my first library card
• Having a complete and stable group of friends in both school and church
• Getting to move to Hawaii for three years
• Going to boarding school
• Doing two of my university years in France
• Returning to Switzerland
• Meeting and marrying my husband
• The birth of my two sons
• Surviving two bouts of cancer
• Traveling to many wonderful spots on this earth (so many that the list would take up too much space here)

Those same highlights also had their antonyms in the many losses along the way.

Family alone:

• My mother-in-law in 1975
• My favorite aunt (and who’s name I share) in 1980
• The youngest German brother-in-law, 1992
• My father in 1998
• My husband in 2000
• The oldest German brother-in-law in 2001
• My sister-in-law’s father, 2004
• My sister’s father-in-law 2006
• My mother in 2009
• My sister-in-law’s mother in 2009
• My little sister in 2012
• And those for whom I don’t remember the year: my mother’s oldest sister; my father’s two sisters, brother; my cousins, a favorite German aunt and uncle

If I list them it is because they still live on in the hearts and thoughts of those who loved them.

Today in particular we remember my husband – the words that he wrote upon the death of his mother “Liebe ist Zeitlos” became our motto for those who left us thereafter.

Love is indeed timeless, an entity that continues with or without the object of that love. If we have and share love with many in our lifetimes, there is perhaps no other love as great as that we claim for the spouse: that person that we choose to share our lives with, our strengths as well as our weaknesses, for a time walking side-by-side. No matter the length of time, no matter the outcome (divorce or death), the love that made us willing to compromise with another human being in order to be at their side, the love that we nurtured for that period of precious time remains.

Baked Love

It all started at the book sale last week: one of my Mary friends (there is Mary A, Mary B, Mary D, Mary G, Mary H and Mary S so far, if I add the foreign language Mary's as in Maria there would also be F and T) had been helping out at the English-speaking library since 1956 and although she no longer is there every Wednesday, she still helps with the book sale.

She is also a neighbour living just below me on the lakefront.

We got to chatting – the usual “how are you”? We really should have coffee/tea”, etc. then she proudly announced that she would be turning 90 the next Wednesday – Nov.12^th.

Well I thought – need something here, but as was on a non-residue diet (don’t ask, it’s over and all is well) waited until Tuesday when I all of a sudden thought – ah ha, I haven’t made brownies in a long, long time, the weather is cooler, I have the time, let’s do it.

Then, as is my wont, started thinking…

I need to thank S for giving my younger son a desk and two sets of drawers and she loves my brownies; need to thank F who took me to the doctor; then it was going to be the physical therapist's birthday as well and, oh by the way, brownies would - if not make the pain go away - at least be a welcome comfort to my housemate who just lost one of her best friends – and whom I would be visiting.

Then, as I am making them (two double batches!) may as well make sure that I leave some for my younger son, who although he eats very healthfully has been known to make an exception for my brownies.

In short, I baked for friends and family because I love them. I’m not always so good with the hugs or words, but brownies I can bake. And I figure that “baked love” isn't the worst way of showing it.

Airport waiting rooms ---

True love.

After a long flight, waiting for my connecting one home I observed the following:

Several women of all ages; one or two businessmen (an early afternoon flight, which meant that most businessmen were either still having meetings or not yet ready to come for the next day’s appointments); several high-school aged persons, presumably school had either not yet started, or they already had a school break; one father and daughter and last, but certainly not least, one middle-aged man holding his sleeping wife.

Why were they there – and so tired – in the middle of the day? Return from a far-away vacation, family reunion? Whatever the reason his allowing her to sleep as comfortably as possible, leaning against him seems to me to have been ordinary love at its best.