Life in the J Peterman Catalog

The 'Rio de Janeiro' dress was described thus:


We Weren’t Born to Follow
Wonderful, terrifying, possibly clairvoyant. Knocks you out with a glance. Laughs when you can’t get up. Oh yes.

She’s imperfect, real. Flawed but very close to beautiful.

Clear-eyed, knows more than she really wants to. Protects the innocent. Teases the powerful.

“Indecent,” she whispers as she gathers this dress from your warm outstretched hands. “After all these years.”

She gets up around noon and does whatever she does. When she shows up, she’s late. When I put my foot down, she laughs.

When I met her in Rio de Janeiro, she was wearing this.

It whispers with or without a breeze.

Trust me.

The catalog describes a life that doesn't exist for most of us, but its playful escapism makes me smile. So does this charming anecdote.

Geneve, I think I like you | Genève, je commence à vous aimer

The plaque I pass daily
without noticing

Tonight, I began to like Geneva a bit more. This evening's walk was punctuated by cannon fire. Yes, you read that correctly. Ambling through the streets of the Vielle Ville, admiring the glow of illuminated snowflakes against the deepening nightfall, we were startled by a loud sound. Curious people (and pup), we walked toward La Treille, where several hundred people were watching and participating in a commemoration of Geneva's release by Napoleon's troops in September 1813 and its declaration of independence on 31 December.  (They were speaking French, but of course Americans speak English...)

Why did this tickle me? I find the Genevois habit of commemorations quite charming. That these secretive and upright people will tog themselves out in historic finery, seemingly at the drop of a hat, shows a touching homage to tradition. The uniforms come complete with furry high hats that remind one of British bobbies, as well as furry backpacks, with blankets (yes, Swiss Army blankets) and tin pots attached.

An Angel Gets Her Wings

Tonight, as I was changing the lights on my Christmas tree (favorite lights+wrong current=poor idea), I kept accidentally ringing the bells that are nestled on several branches. Each time, I thought of It's a Wonderful Life, where Clarence announces that each time you hear a bell, an angel gets his wings.
For the past month, my friend and former coworker Dawn has been on my mind. She was diagnosed at the beginning of November with late stage cancer that had thoroughly invaded her body. I was invited by one of her dearest friends, another coworker, to join Hugs for Dawn, a Facebook group.

Customer Service... Not

Signal #102 that living in Switzerland is different: customer service is about the commercial entity, not the customer.

I called my bank to make a request (email takes several weeks to receive an answer). I need to go in to the bank in person to accomplish what I need. In the particular bank, there are no appointments, so one must go, and there may be a wait, said the receptionist.

Then, I called the rental agency. The one person who handles my rental is out till later. I was asked to call back later (no voicemail and no message-taking on their end).

A wooden leg named Smith

Last night I finished an eleven day conference. As I was pushing my scooter from its parking spot, a car turning the corner ran into me, knocked me down, and ran over my foot. In contrast to my last accident, which happened days before my brother's wedding, this has been a relatively easy experience. The Swiss health care system was incredibly efficient.
My coworkers have been lovely. One escorted me to the hospital and then to my house, where he took Desmond out and even gave me a lesson in how to use crutches. Another took care of bringing my scooter to the office, and yet another took the computers I was carrying. The Danish Red Cross team witnessed the accident, and they gave police statements and cared for me while I was waiting for the ambulance.
Last weekend at TEDxRC2, I saw a presentation by a doctor from Afghanistan who ran a prosthetic clinic. He told us about an afternoon when the streets of Kabul cleared suddenly, leaving only a man, Mahmoud, in the middle of the road. The man had no legs and only one arm. Although the doctor's clinic had been closed by the government as "non-essential," Dr. Cairo asked Mahmoud to meet him there the following morning. The leg-less man, with a line of others, were queued before the doctor arrived.

After Mahmoud received prostheses and learned to use them, he returned to the clinic, asking for a job. He said that he was tired of begging and wanted to do something that would make his family proud. He didn't want a hand-out; he wanted work. The doctor was skeptical, but gave Mahmoud a week's trial. Mahmoud became the most productive worker in the artificial leg factory. This instigated a policy of "positive discrimination," wherein the clinic proactively tries to hire people with disabilities to create opportunity and hope for others. (P.S. Keep an eye on www.tedxrc2.com for the touching video of Alberto's story.)

Black Thursday? What next?

The NYT had an article on Veterans Day about stores in the U.S. opening late at night on Thanksgiving evening in order to beat the Black Friday rush. On the same day on Facebook, a friend posted a picture of Nordstrom's sign, which announces that they do not decorate for Christmas until after Thanksgiving. I have boycotted Macy's since 1992, due to their progressively more advanced Christmas decorations, which I believe now appear around Labor Day. Barring the obvious arguments about loving the season you're in and the commercialisation of a religious holiday, I think there are some other considerations afoot with this advance Black Friday movement.

I live in Switzerland. One of the first things I learned about Geneva is that all businesses are closed on Sunday, with the exception of 1) restaurants; 2) bakeries (the Swiss feel fresh bread is a natural right); 3) farmer markets like the one right near my flat; and 4) businesses willing to pay double their employees' salaries for working that day. This is because they view Sunday as a family day. They also close business around 7pm daily and actually in the past few years voted against having later shop hours. The result is that not only is it somewhat harder to get quotidian errands done, but one also does much less mindless shopping. I consume less here - and that's actually rather good.

It Isn't Enough to Love; We Must Prove It

I just finished reading The Happiness Project, picked up during a layover in Atlanta. Tonight, I glanced for the first time at author Gretchen Rubin's site, and her video challenge of the week is to hug more, kiss more, touch more (appropriately, of course). She closes her brief injunction with a quote from St. Therese of Liseux: "It isn't enough to love; we must prove it." (N.B. I know Mom will love this quote, since she urged me to visit her patron saint's chapel last year while I was traveling with a friend in Normandy.)

Reading about a contemporary's search for greater happiness, divided into 12 monthly installments, struck a chord with me, particularly as the reading coincided with the celebration of my birthday, an entree to a new year. I don't know whether to call it stubbornness, procrastination, or simply the hunt for the "just right," but I am still formulating my resolution - my challenge - for this new year of life.

But I'm coming close. A friend posted a birthday wish on my wall, that he hoped this was the beginning of a year full of magic, wisdom and love. And those are the right elements.