Well, I suppose I’m now another “unemployed” author – at least until I decide to start on the next novel:
So that’s that. PUBLISHED. Another year of work completed.
You may recall that post I wrote last summer about Frank Sinatra’s Strangers In The Night song. I enjoy settling back now and then to his music. Last night, pre-dinner, I was listening courtesy of my iPad to a Christmas present that had come, uh, my way….
If you don’t understand what all the “fuss” is about regarding Frank Sinatra and would like to, I recommend that Ultimate Sinatra. The 4 CDs version has a helpful background booklet on his life and career. The compliation includes just about everything that marked him out as a distinctive artist.
This post came to mind this morning because our chalet owner here in La Clusaz has had a habit of putting his iPod on the bar and playing Sinatra – even in a room populated mostly by other first-language French speakers. That’s not a shock, though. Sinatra has always been popular here in France:
The chalet staff is much the same as last year. The major change is the young Polish woman who worked in the bar, and whose French was so good we’d initially thought she was French, is gone. She had told us the job was only a stopgap until she got one in her field, so her departure isn’t a shock. (I don’t remember her field, but she was a recent graduate.) A similar aged Frenchwoman is in her role now.
At Swiss border control at Geneva Airport yesterday, I ended up within earshot of a “middle aged” American woman as I heard her explaining herself to the border agent. Apparently he had questioned her as to why she was in Switzerland. She stumbled a bit over words as she replied that she was here for a week’s vacation and lived in London.
Before she even said “London,” I’d had a feeling that was her “home.” For years I’ve heard her “accent” on most Americans long-resident here. The exception seems to be if they hail from the Deep South: that American accent seems to take a little longer to “Anglicize.”
Two years ago today we were told – I recall the Super Bowl being on and after hearing suddenly not caring in the slightest about the result. I just thought it appropriate to reshare it today. Have good day, wherever you are….
Today was Kam’s funeral, at 11am, in London. Since we couldn’t be there to say goodbye, I’m sure you’ll indulge me as I scrawl a few additional, utterly inadequate words about her on here…..
We knew Kam for almost 20 years. Suddenly, at just 45 years of age, she is gone. She died eight days ago.
She never joined Facebook; she wasn’t keen on social media. Email aside, Kam’s singular concession to instant communications was her mobile phone that was never out of her reach, and the texts that came flying our way often unexpectedly. When I asked again about Facebook a year or two ago, I received a bemused look, a smile, and finally a drawn out, soft reply: “Well, you know, maybe I’ll…. think…. about it….”
I knew that was Kam’s genteel way of saying, “Uh, Rob, no.” To her, “social networking” meant lovely, handmade Christmas and…
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My octogenarian in-laws have been thinking more than ever about what happens after one of them dies. After dinner last night, around the table a discussion arose among the four of us about their London house, and where would the survivor live, etc. My father now living without my mother in the same house they had bought together in Pennsylvania, and what he is going through as a widower, was the main immediate conversational catalyst.
However, my father-in-law insisted several times on taking matters too lightly for my mother-in-law’s taste. At one point, she put him on the spot: “Don’t joke,” she admonished him as he chuckled. “What will happen to you if I go first like Robert’s mum? You’re useless. You can’t do anything for yourself. You couldn’t live alone….”
Whenever I see reports like this, I sit up and take notice. I wonder: how I am doing? I have quite a few women characters, so I take my portrayal of them seriously:
Its main argument is:
….The plot of “The Little Mermaid,” of course, involves Ariel literally losing her voice — but in the five Disney princess movies that followed, the women speak even less. On average in those films, men have three times as many lines as women.
We’ve moved around so much in recent years our dog now lives with my in-laws. While walking him last night, I snapped this guy slinking around under the streetlights. You see them all the time after dark in outer London (the other night, I saw two of them together), and they always keep an eye on you from a safe distance: