Bite Me

So instead of reading a blog about the wonderful holiday I had in London last weekend; meeting up with an old friend and our exploits at Gordon's Wine Bar, the Veuve Cliquot Champagne bar at Harrods and how much fun we had, you get to find what happens when I get bit by insects in Switzerland.

I love all things Swiss, if you've ever read anything here, you know this is true. I've adjusted to the change in climate, food, culture with great ease for the most part (and yeah, maybe a few pounds). But Swiss insects,like mosquitoes and horseflies seem to have some unusual properties that my body cannot handle. Keep in mind, I'm from Canada. I grew up in Manitoba and have been bitten by mosquitoes the size of sparrows, I've survived multiple wasp bites, bee stings and one very nasty bite from a black widow spider (while living on the Wet Coast) without much more than some ice and calamine lotion. Also 'the itch' from Clear Lake on so many occasions during my childhood, I should be scarred. But no, I am Canadian, little biting black flies and dense clouds of mosquitoes don't phase me.

The first summer here, my arms were covered in swollen red oozing bites that I attributed to spiders in the new house. The second summer, after having gone back to Canada and been bitten by both Albertan and Manitoban bugs with no horrendous reactions, I was amazed to return home and watch a simple mosquito bite turn into some large, red, owwy mass that took days to subside. Last summer, I dragged out the Deep Woods Off and basically coated my arms, legs and face every night before I went to bed.

Yesterday I was cleaning the pool and got bit by a horsefly. This is what my thigh and knee looked like this morning, even after icing it for hours last night.






In desperation I took some Benadryl today, all the while knowing that antihistamines are like dropping (bad) acid for me. I get woozy, see little trails of light and basically feel worse for the cure. Then I went and passed out for 4 hours. I still feel achy and weird, but the swelling has gone down a bit and the bites don't look quite so angry.

Summer Fun

Ack! Has it really been almost two months since I've posted ? And it looks like squatters have been in here while I was away.

* kicks the empty beer cans into the corner, wipes away some cobwebs*

Ahem. Yes, well, what have I been sooo very busy doing that I couldn't even stop in and drop a line or two? It all started with the very early arrival of summer this year. Seriously, since the beginning of April, we have had maybe 3 days with rain and temps above 20C everyday. And with the arrival of summer, I was compelled to deal with some VIP's.

Very Important Projects.

The first of these was dealing with the terrasse, which I let slide into some state of disrepair and stainage last year.

Before                                                             After

Once the entire terrasse had been swept and power washed, we had the 70 year old Ungaro (yes, we ARE equal opportunity employers!) come in and repair all the cracks and spalling grout,despite his fervent wish that we replace the entire terrasse with SMOOTH rock.

Then there was this bit of street side property that has been a weed and nettle infested eyesore since we moved in.

This required the accumulation of some rocks:




Weeds begone...                                                             Eh, Voila!

Now if that wasn't enough there was another thorn in my side that had been poking at me since we moved in, this slope:

It is much steeper than it looks and cannot be mowed, which means that for the last two summers I have waved the weedwhacker over it and tried to keep the bunch grass and dandelions at bay. But no more, no I am SO done with that shit. I have rocks:

Probably not nearly enough, but enough to start. Stripped and ready to go!

Also, I have the cutest helper in the world:

Did I mention that I'm walking 5 km a day as well? Yeah, because hauling rocks and digging dirt doesn't burn enough calories to rid me of a winter of fondue and raclette, apparently.

The Big G and I have done a bit of travelling in the last few months; Basel, the UK, a wonderful luxurious weekend in Lugano and have more travel coming up : 5 days in Paris (starting this weekend !!!) and then I'm off to London to meet up with an old friend. As always there is more than enough to do and see in Switz alone and if I drag myself away from landscaping long enough I hope to do some Swiss tourism this summer too!

And the pool is open and should be warm enough to swim in by the end of the week! Yaaaaay summer!

Please Don't Hate Me Because I'm Lucky

Last week, while we were standing smoking outside a restaurant in Paris (and yes, somehow the anti-smoking league has managed to get even those Gauloise smoking Parisiens to 'step outside') my brother commented on how my good fortune occasionally strikes him as, well, ... irksome. Nevermind the fact:
1) That much of the good fortune in my life has been the result of people I met through him, as well as having him for my brother
2) He was standing WITH me on a street in PARIS !

But he has a point...I have been extremely fortunate for most of my life. This is not to say there weren't times of great economically-driven stress, times when all I wanted was for someone to love/love me who wasn't neurotic and fucked up, when loss and pain and fear broke my heart. But over all, I've been one lucky bitch ... and it's not fair. I'm not a bad person, but I'm not a particularly good one either. There are people in the world who give more of themselves,who do truly good works for simple rewards, people who change this planet for the better and I can only hope they get the joy and happiness from their lives as I do from mine. And I know there are people who seem to have it all; money, love, family, education and they are miserable. So perhaps being fortunate isn't measured only by how much you have or where you have it. Maybe there's an element of perspective to it all.

All of this is a preamble to me posting the photos below. I want to share my pictures, my love of Paris with you, my faithful blogreaders. And if you feel a twinge of envy (justifiable and not really too bad of a sin) please know that there is much in your lives (that you share here on the interwebs) that assures me that you, too, are very fortunate.



We did, indeed, get to stay at the Hotel Caron de Beaumarchais, and it was as charming and wonderful as I had hoped.





We went to Versailles (The Big G had never been) and as it was a Saturday and packed, we spent most of our time wandering around the gardens.

But my favorite thing was just wandering around Paris (although we did see a couple of excellent exhibits Tresor de Medicis and France1500).

Birthday Bonanza

I haven't been much of a webmonkey lately, sometimes real life takes precedence, consequently my comments on other blogs have devolved into the cyber version of the "hi...howyadoingniceseeingyou" grunt in passing, and for that, I apologize, you people deserve better. Even the Image du Jour has fallen by the wayside...I know, it's pathetic. But I have excuses (lots and lots of excuses). For starters there's this guy:



Roscoe is a going concern, wanting to go outside like the big kitties, coming up on the 4 month mark and feeling 'his oats' these days, so much so that his current nickname is 'Nads Lebowski/Roscoe Testiclees'. He does get to be outside without the dreaded 'baby harness' tied to a long rope now, and he will come when he's called (in typical cat fashion, ie. when it suits him). He is a constant source of amusement, distraction and pure joy (yes, yes, I know that the same thing can be said about the interwebs).

It's also been the latter half of the month of September, and in this household that means BIRTHDAYS GALORE!!! On September 22, it was not only the equinox and a fantastic full harvest moon, but also The Max's 18th birthday (my baby...how in the world did this happen?):



(the shaved head thing?? I have no idea)

A beautiful fall day (much like the day he was born) segued into an evening of champagne and present opening:



And then onto Max's favorite meal: fondue...mmmmmmm fondue:



Three days later it was my birthday...and yes, I am officially an an antique now. Quick! Trot me on over to the Antiques Roadshow and see what I'm worth! So another evening of champagne, presents and MY favorite meal (schnitzel) ensued.



Also, The Big G spoiled me silly with this gift:


Squeeeee! I fear the Image du Jour may digress into pictures of my kittehs and Swissitudes, but I will try to restrain myself.

Because two bottles of champagne on Saturday wasn't enough, Sunday was The Big G's b-day. T'was another beautiful autumn day so we walked over to St. Barthelmy (the next village over) and put the Pentax through it's paces:







There were presents to be opened, and, of course, more champagne and then The Big G's favorite meal, steak & pomme de terre (that's my guy!):



Well fed, well fêted, we are. I must admit though, I think I've developed a taste for champagne in the evening...anyone having a birthday soon?

At Last!


In November 2007, after spending an idyllic 10 days in Switzerland, accepting the Big G's proposal of marriage and realizing that I was going to up and move The Max, the 3 kittehs and myself to live in this mountainous little jewel of a country, I submitted my first visa application to the Swiss consulate in Vancouver. Yesterday, almost three years and an unbelievable amount of nonsense later, I received copies of our 'permis de sejour' . What a long strange trip it's been.

March 1, 2008, Max, the kittehs and I arrived in Geneva, with no visa other than the standard 90 day tourist visa (implicit) that all Canadians get. And we were a little concerned...to be legal, the Big G and I would have to get married within that 90 days...of course, he would also have to get divorced first.*Ahem* Needless to say, that didn't happen for another 18 months, a bitter and sore point that I have yet to find forgiveness in my heart for. But no matter, we bought a new (ancien) house in summer 2008, went back to Canada for a visit, returned to Switzerland with not so much as twitch out of the immigration service at the Geneva airport.

In January 2009, I paid slight attention to the fact that Switzerland had become a nation member of the Schengen Agreement and we made plans to go to Canada for an extended vacation, possibly with a wedding, for July 2009. Knowing that we had long overstayed our 90 days in Switzerland, we had a little story brewed if we were asked about how long we had been in Switzerland; we hadn't really been here that long, we'd been traveling in France, Italy, etc, never overstaying our 90 days...should have worked, except...Schengen...we'd been in schengen the whole time and that, according to the officious, Swiss German Immigration official at the Zurich airport on our way out, was very, very bad. As the minutes before our flight was due to leave ticked away, The Max and I sat in one of those little rooms where they take the bad people, filled out forms and were told, by a slightly nicer but still officious Swiss German Immigration officer, that we would most certainly be fined and could be banned from entering Switzerland for up to two years, but that any decision or judgment could be appealed.With a strong sense of foreboding, we went to Canada, (where there was no wedding *sigh*), and visited, swam, folk fested, all the while wondering how The Max and I were going to get home.

A plan, of sorts, was hatched where we would travel to the UK (not a full member of schengen) and try to *ahem* sneak into schengen via France, thinking that immigration control at the Dover/Calais port would be more relaxed than an airport.Looking for all the world like two day tourists, with two HUGE suitcases, we bought our ferry tickets, boarded the bus and were whisked to French Immigration.After a quick scan of my passport, the nice and polite French officer asked with some concern,"What did you DO in Switzerland???!" Apparently, my passport now had a serious interdiction on it, with no explanation as to why...I could have been a serial killer, a drug lord or even an investment banker, and there was no way a suspected criminal was to be allowed into Schengen.The Max, however, could go if he wanted to (he gathered up his bag and ran to the bus, quick like a bunny). The British police were called to escort me back into the UK (and very kindly drove me to a nice pub where I could down some 'courage' and call Big G who was waiting in Calais) and thus began the exile.

For those of you who have been reading this blog for a while now, you know that The Big G came to Blackheath every weekend and we spent many many hours having 'the visa conversation'. We had heard no word from the Swiss authorities on the outcome of the forms that were filled out at the airport, other than a bill for 600 francs, which was paid, and waited and wondered and worried how to begin to solve the mystery of my schengen interdiction.When The Big G finally got his divorce decree in November, and after some furious letter writing to the Canton, we received a letter stating that as we were soon to be married, I could come to Switzerland for ... you guessed it ... 90 days. I got on a plane on Christmas Eve and on arriving at Geneva airport, no one even scanned my passport so we were still left in the dark as to wtf was going on with schengen.

In January 2010, The Big G and I flew to Canada to get married and when we returned to Switz, there was a lot of confusion for the Immigration Police at Geneva. Fortunately, we had a copy of our 'acte de mariage' and despite whatever the schengen computer was telling them, they said I now had the 'constitutional right' to be here and was effectively, a resident, but we should contact the ODM and get this straightened out if I didn't want a hassle everytime I traveled. More letters were written to the canton, showing that we were now married and btw, could you please look into this schengen thing for us? In the meantime, since my original visa application had been mysteriously cancelled in September, The Max and had to start that whole process anew, filling out new, complicated schengen visa applications which required we get new passports, as ours were about to expire in less than 12 months.Ah yes, and the consulate in Vancouver??? They made it clear there was no way I could be applying for 'regroupment familiale' while living in Switzerland, to which my response was, 'Yeah, whatever.'

In March, The Big G and I had to go back to the UK to close up the exile flat. Armed with my new passport, the schengen scanner didn't detect that it was actually me, the dangerous criminal, and we left and re-entered with no problems. We returned home to find a somewhat schizophrenic letter from the Canton, stating that the Schengen Authorities (or ODM) considered me 'a threat to the safety and security of the nation' and I was banned from entering until August 2011 and we should really look into clearing that up...oh and by the way, please go and register at the local commune so that we can issue your permis de sejour. Uh huh..ummmm...gotta love interdepartmental bureaucracy. It was time to get a lawyer...

Herr Kenny (This is actually his first name, something I find endlessly amusing for some reason) spoke with the officials at the Canton, who assured him that YES, I was allowed to be in Switzerland, and as stated before, now had the right to be here because of my marriage. The ODM/schengen guys told him that the Canton had it all wrong, had mishandled the dossier and that, NO I was NOT allowed to be here.So, Herr Kenny took the ODM to court (actually it's called a tribunal here) asking to appeal the interdiction and be allowed to remain in Switz until the appeal was completed. The tribunal looked at the case, pointed out over and over that I was married, but declined to tell the ODM what to do and gave them 30 days to present their case. The ODM's response was basically, "Oh yeah, right, we don't think you're a criminal anymore because now you're married so we're taking that nasty little flag off your passport now." Herr Kenny scores one for the little guys!!! In less than 2 weeks after the ODM backed down, the Canton issued our permis de sejour! Phew!

And that, my faithful bloggy readers, will be the last time I write about, think about or care about 'the visa conversation'.

Legal!!!



Yahoooooo! Long, possibly boring, post to follow!

Gesundheit

So, I have yet another cold...and I know I'm repeating myself, but I really don't do sick very well. The last cold/cough/plague that I endured had me coughing so hard I know I herniated something, the pain from which lasted longer than the cold itself. Currently, my nose is a shiny, sore, red dripping mess and the virus has migrated to my bronchioles, which of course, leads to...coughing, hacking and me holding on to various abdominal areas (not to mention squeezing my legs shut) so I don't splat my entire body all over the place (or pee my pants, gawd menopause is fun).

Tuesday, before I was infected, we made plans to go up to Meiringen for the weekend, a beautiful spot in the Bern Oberland mountains most noted for the 'death' of Sherlock Holmes at the hand of Moriarty, when they both fell over the falls (Arthur Conan Doyle actually had to 'revive' Holmes after public outcry).So I'm hoping that by tomorrow my head will stop being a snot factory and I can go enjoy some altitude and fresh air.

The wonderful picture above is from a project called ...Gesundheit which "aims to be the biggest artistic study of sneezing to date" and has some wonderful shots.

This Blog Is Brought To You By Grappa Nardini

So I've been pretty busy lately. Every weekday morning I get up at 5:30 am to take The Max to Lausanne Gare so he can catch the train to Berne to attend his German class, something I've been doing since February, but this week, instead of crawling back into bed and catching a few more hours of the precious precious sleep, I've come back home, made myself presentable for public inspection then driven back into Lausanne to attend French class.Yes, after 2 years (less 6 months exile) in Swiss Romand, it is apparent that I am not magically going to be able to speak French through some invisible osmotic process, despite the fact that I can read it quite well and if I pay attention can follow a TV program. But I really can't speak it...a combination of my confusion around the extremely complicated French grammar, my execrable accent and the fear that my usually erudite self will appear completely moronic has prevented me from uttering little more than the standard politesse phrases and forced the Big G to handle any conversation 'en francais' more complicated than ' Bon jour monsieur'. And I'm really enjoying the classes, being in a group of other people who are in the same boat has taken the edge off my self consciousness and after only a week, I'm already being able to 'think' of ways to say the things I want.But today I couldn't go to class due to a swollen lip, facial abrasions and sore knees resulting from an encounter with Grappa Nardini.

Last night we all (The Big G, his son Matthew and gf Monica, The Max and myself) went for dinner and had fondue chinoise,

a tasty Swissy kind of meal that involves thinly sliced pieces of meat that are cooked in a broth at the table then eaten with a variety of flavored mayonnaise sauces, as well as yummy pommes frites and a large salade melee.We ate until we were uncomfortably stuffed (a common side effect of fondue chinoise) and consumed an extra bottle of wine in the process. I think that's where it all started to go wrong for me. We came home and had our nightly ritual of Nespresso deca and a schluck of grappa and I went out on the terrasse to have a smoke and wrangle the kittehs back into the house. Stryder,

(this guy ⬇)

was arsing about and I leaned off my chair to grab him and fell flat on my face on the patio that is paved with STONE. Actually I didn't fall quite flat, as my rather Gallic-shaped nose hit the ground first and deflected my head so that instead of breaking my nose I scraped the hell out of my lips and the nostrils on one side. Yes, there was blood...and I think the only reason I wasn't howling in agony was because of the influence of my good friend Grappa Nardini. I stumbled into the house and after rinsing off the blood, hastily applying ice and repeatedly asking the Big G, "Is it straight? Is my nose straight??" my abraded knees and I went to bed.When I limped my way into the bathroom this morning and caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror I knew no amount of coverup was going to stop people from assuming I'd been involved in some domestic dispute. Rather than attempt the challenge of explaining (in FRENCH!) what had happened, I've opted to skip class today. And no, I do not have a drinking problem.

Honestly...

The delightful Dani Dragonfly has bestowed yet another award and honestly, I am again flattered and grateful (grateful because I was wondering what the hell I was going to blog about) and so thank you ma petit lilubelle! Although I am going to play loose and whacky with the rules, because I'm like that.

So, seven tidbits about me that:

a) I am willing to reveal

b)Won't bore you all to tears

c)Will not incriminate me in any court of law

d)Will not embarrass, shock or awe my family and friends

Hmmmm...not as easy as it seemed at first. Did you know that quickly repeating the phrase 'Honest Scrap' sounds like 'Honest Crap'? So here's some honest crap:

1. I have big ears. They don't stick out (thank heavens!) but they are large and flat and have not been seen in public for some decades now, thanks to having long hair that covers their pancake-like placement on my skull.Despite the fact that they are not beautiful little shell shaped pink orbs, the lobes are pierced and I wear the same pair of earrings for years on end, because why bother with all that frippery if no one ever sees them?

 2. I smoke. And I'm mostly unrepentant about it.I willingly tolerate being a modern day leper and go stand out in the weather to get my fix and don't smoke in my home either. Nor do I smoke a lot...I have been smoking cigarettes for 35 years now, never more than half a pack a day and in the last few years I've made an effort to 'smoke healthy' which means only smoking the first half of a cigarette and being picky about the kind of tobacco and additives that I consume. That said, I would rip The Max's arms off and beat him with the bloody stumps if I ever caught him with a cigarette in his mouth.Would I like all the health benefits that could be mine if I quit? Yeah sure. Am I going to quit? No, not likely. I did quit for a year once, but in all honesty, I like my nicotine...a lot.
(As for smoking any other...uh...substances, I refer you to disclaimer c) above)

3. I'm related to famous dead people. Although I was born in Canada, my parents didn't become Canadian citizens until I was 8 or so and I grew up listening to my grandmother regal me with our 'illustrious' ancestry. Not only am I related to Martin Van Buren, the eighth POTUS but am also eligible to be a Colonial Dame of America because I can trace my ancestry back to the Mayflower. Woo hoo!

(I also grew up never knowing my aunts,uncles, cousins and other relatives because they were in the States and we were...on the Prairie). I learned to sing the American National Anthem before Oh Canada, I still say zee instead of zed and am always mistaken for an American wherever I go...thanks Mom and Dad for that midwestern twang.

4. I am spatially challenged.I have no feel for linear measure, cannot comprehend what it means when someone says a room is 30 x 20 meters and am forever trying to fit large things into small spaces. This is a constant source of amusement for the Big G. Remember on those IQ tests they used to make you take in school there would be a whole section that was devoted to figuring out what shape a flat piece of paper with some lines on it would fold up and form? (actually, does anyone remember IQ tests? Anyone?) I would sit there with my 2B pencil clenched in my sweaty hand, feeling like the village idiot because I wasn't an afficionado of origami, eventually defaulting to randomly guessing at a, b, c or d. Fuck you Mensa, I never wanted to join your little club anyways.

 5. I have a lisp...after some years of speech therapy as a teen it is slight, but I can fall into full-on Thylvethster thpeak after a few glasses of wine. Needless to say, Sylvester is my favorite WB character, despite his unrelenting quest to eat the Tweety Bird.

6. The Max was born at home. This is one of the things I am most proud of and most grateful for. I had been involved with midwifery and had attended a half dozen births or so before I got pregnant and there was never any doubt that I wanted to give birth at home attended by a midwife. Giving birth is a profound experience in any location, but it was wonderful to be in the comfort of my own home, with friends and a truly dedicated, professional and compassionate midwife, Noreen Walker, to support me during labour and celebrate with me after The Max was born. Even if you would never choose to have your baby at home, please support your local midwives, they are caregivers in the most literal sense of the word and can be an asset at any birth, at any location.

7. I love ironing. Shut Up! I love ironing so much I iron the sheets, the tea towels and even t-shirts ( I must add that the nature of clothes dryers here in Switzerland requires that you iron just about everything that falls out of them in a wrinkled, twisted mass).But I find ironing soothing, tranquil and meditative.There's little else when I'm in a crappy mood that can calm me as much as watching all those nasty wrinkles smooth into fresh, warm, flat cloth. Now if only I could achieve this with my skin.



Phew...that was more difficult than I thought it would be, I feel....naked! Now instead of handing this award out to 10 bloggers I'm simply going to list a few blogs and sites that I visit everyday because of their honesty and candour.

Deus Ex Malcontent
Amalah
Common Dreams
Rants from the Pants
Hobocamp
Rainbows! Puppies! Leukemia!

And to wrap it all up, here's Billy Joel: