In the Land of Many Fabrics

Thanks to @chris_saeger for referencing the 100th Anniversary of The Secret Garden. Barnes & Noble Community commentator Sarah-W writes about the life of author Frances Hodgson Burnett and reveals this nugget from Burnett's personal writings:

What is there to feed my poor, little, busy brain in this useless, weary, threadbare life? I can't eat my own heart forever. I can't write things that are worth reading if I never see things which are worth seeing, or speak to people who are worth hearing. I cannot weave silk if I can see nothing but calico--calico--calico.

Geneva is, without a doubt, a land of many fabrics. More than one person has remarked that Geneva is not truly Swiss, as most people here are from other lands. Having spent so many years in Washington, watching and welcoming others to my town, it is interesting to be on the other end of the spectrum. In a conversation with "international woman of mystery" Laura G, we discussed approaches to creating a community in a new town.


She pooh-poohed the commonly-held opinion that a new person should accept all invitations, pointing out that it could lead to a great deal of boredom and possibly expense. She recommended finding the nearest Irish bar and attending a pub quiz (musing: why are Irish bars ubiquitous?) Others befriend first the work network. And my boss recommended joining an outdoors group.
Last night, I made an another foray into that ritual known as "making friends." As opposed to earlier outings with people (coworkers and friends of friends) with whom I had a connection, last night's adventure was with a group called Glocals (Geneva locals - mainly English speakers), whom I joined for a regular run. Upon approaching the group, I was heartily greeting by a German woman who was pleasantly every cliche.  We had the option of an 8k run or "exercise" along the lakefront. Having opted for the run, I will discover later what "exercise" included. Although Desmond's pit stop meant that I lost the group - well, that and my tortoise pace - I completed an 8k circuit and was welcomed back. One Brit was pleasantly mocking the Germans with their phlem-filled conversation, at which I mused on what sort of mocking my American accent generates. Though many were on holiday, the group seems pleasant, and I'll return hopefully to reprise my beloved CrossTrainers from American Red Cross days.
Earlier in the week, I was pleased to receive the Genevoise farewell, a series of three cheek-kisses. Being included in this charming practice pleased me, as did a pleasant evening of throwing sticks in the river for Desmond and my friend's belly-flopping labrador followed by riverside cocktails for the non-canines. We overlooked a bridge off which men were plunging repeatedly. My Scandanavian friend and I agreed that, although the day was yet warm, the river might be a bit cool for us to partake in the activity. It seems this is a normal form of entertainment in the rivers flowing from Lac Leman. (And yes, of course there were some banana hammocks and other distinctly European forms of bathing attire. I had earlier observed that some women chose to bathe in the Lac in regular bras and swim bikini bottoms, while still others eschewed tops altogether.)

"As long as one has a garden one has a future; and as long as one has a future one is alive."

My new garden is composed of many types of flora, varied and unique vistas, and a babel of sounds. There is Hermes silk, American calico, British canvas, Glocal spandex, and Scandanavian knit wool. And I have a future here.