Daily Prompt: In the Summertime – don’t believe the meteorologists

If it’s autumn or winter where you live, what are you most looking forward to doing next summer? If it’s spring or summer where you are, what has been the highlight of the season so far for you?

A Sunday afternoon walk through the Einsiedelei, Rüttenen

Walking on shady paths in the local forest is one way of escaping the heat of the Summer days, because those days have now arrived. I was getting advance warnings from Mr. Swiss that next week we will have tropical heat and next week has now arrived. I often think he missed his vocation as a weather expert. He watches the daily weather report on the TV with eager eyes, passing negative comments about the guy who is telling us all about it. This weather expert is not an expert and does not have a clue, but there again he is a Eastern Swiss and the Eastern Swiss are not the same as we central Swiss. They have banks and think they invented meteorology. The guy always talks about the “temperatura” but the temperature always does something different to what he says. Swiss meteorologists seem to speak a different language to the rest of us, so perhaps they are just not understood by us Bernese/Solothurn Swiss. OK, I mean they are only humans, and even human weather forecasters make mistakes even of they are from the far East of Switzerland. If they did not make mistakes then Mr. Swiss would probably not bother to watch the forecast and one of his favourite programmes would be missing.

Now the tropical heat has more or less arrived, so Mr. Swiss was right and, for a change, so were the Swiss weather reports. I remember my days in London in the heat of the town where the concrete would reflect the sun’s rays with a vengeance. Ice cubes were prepared for a worst case scene to quench the thirst and cool down. There was no escape from the heat and so all the windows were kept open “to let in some fresh air” as my mum said. Unfortunately it only let in the hot air from the sidewalks (notice how I adapt my language to our colony over the pond – we Brits say pavements). Mr. Swiss being Swiss showed me how to do it. He says all blinds down, windows closed – then we have perfect temperatures indoors. Actually he is right, it does stay cool indoors when you prefer to live in a dark room more suitable for developing photos. Unfortunately I still have a streak of fresh air in my London blood system and the dark room effect gives me the feeling that doomsday is just around the corner, with a slight claustrophobic tinge.

So what do I do? After my golden oldie sleep at lunchtime, which now takes place in a dark room with the windows and blinds closed, I surface for air when I am awake. I grope my way to the window leading to the outside world and arrive on the patio. This is also protected from the midday sun, or any sun for that matter, by the sun shades which ensure that the floor tiles do not radiate heat. Our back garden has full sunshine all day but I am protected against any negative effects. There was a time, if you see my original blog on this subject April 2014 when I was a sun worshipper, allowing the rays to turn my body into a sun tanned film star lookalike. This could still happen, but a couple of years later my contours are slightly more in the expanded mode and the ideal bathing suit has not yet been produced, so I remain in the shade in the background and absorb the benefits of a warm afternoon, whilst Mr. Swiss mainly remains inside. I would add thanks to my natural Southern skin type, it still turns brown in the sun, but it takes longer to get the overall effect due to the wrinkles and creases which have arrived in my later years.

As I sit here writing my daily opus, I can hear the birds tweeting in the shade of the trees and the traffic on the distant local road. The sun is beating down and I now think it is time to have a cooling drink and hope that we might have one of those classic electric storms this evening, complete with fork lighting and torrents of rain so that I will not have to water the garden myself today. I have not yet seen the guy with the ark collecting animals, so I suppose this evening there will be no deluge.

Oh to be in London on a hot summer day with open windows, the smell of the local traffic and the noise from the sparrows searching for a tree to shelter.

Daily Prompt: In the Summertime – don’t believe the meteorologists

Daily Prompt: Generation XYZ – A visit to see the hermit

Think about the generation immediately younger or older than you. What do you understand least about them — and what can you learn from them?

There are prompts that you can do twice, the second answer from a different aspect and there are prompts where it will work. This is one of the prompts that will not work. Of course I can try the alternative prompt, which has also been here before, so I can say done it and who is going to read an alternative prompt, no-one is interested. For those new to prompt land it is an opportunity to give verdicts on another generation. Me: no thank you, it is not always a matter of the generation, but the character of an individual person.

Yesterday I went on one of my famous marathon walks with Mr. Swiss. This time we took an excursion into the local hermitage where our local hermit lives. Yes, we even have one of those living in a place called the Einsiederlei in the village of Rüttenen which is in the Verena Schlucht, a small stream in a crevice between two rocky cliffs.

A Sunday afternoon walk through the Einsiedelei, Rüttenen

Let’s start with the hermit’s house on the right and the accompanying church on the left which is also a place for the odd marriage. I mean it is always impressive when you show your wedding photos with a hermit’s house next to it. I have lost count of who is the hermit now, but I believe it to be yet another lady. The last one left because I think she had too much noise from the visitors marching past, I mean a hermit really wants to have peace and quiet to do whatever hermits do all day. I believe there is also a problem with rheumatism and arthritis. Living in a damp place next to a stream is not ideal when you are at an advanced age. Hermits are not usually representative of today’s youth.

It was a nice hot Sunday afternoon and Mr. Swiss found would be a good idea to cool down in the Verena Gorge where sunlight seldom arrives in large doses. Unfortunately a large part of the local golden oldies and their families also found this to be a good idea and the first problem arose on the parking lot, but we were lucky to find one vacant space. We could have walked to the entrance of the gorge, but it would have added fifteen minutes to our visit, so we took the car. After the first few steps into the entrance we could hear the merry screams of children splashing in the brook at the entrance and saw groups of tourists blocking the way. I was particularly annoyed as I wanted my photos to be without people.

A Sunday afternoon walk through the Einsiedelei, Rüttenen

I took around 40 photos, but as I do not want to blind you with photos of the gorge, here is one that is very representative. Like a river runs through it, with a few bridges and a path at the side. All very romantic. Living in the Kanton of Solothurn, it is one of the famous sights to see and visit, although perhaps not on Sunday afternoon. Mr. Swiss and I agreed we will do it again, but on a day when pilgrimage and religious ceremonies are not associated with the area. It will probably be a Monday or Thursday.

The only animals you see in this place are humans and a few fish. The gorge is in memory of the holy Verena who made a name for herself by serving the poor and healing various people from their complaints. As we arrived at the hermit’s house I was approached by a lady speaking high German so I assumed she was a German or perhaps from east Europe as she did have an accent (we speak Swiss German which is not very high and difficult to understand if you are not Swiss).

“Excuse me” the lady said “but I though I would inform you that opposite the hermit’s house there is a hole in the rocks. If you put your hand into it and make a wish the holy Verena will grant the wish and you will have no more problems.”

I knew of this wonder and so I looked at the lady and my reply was in a friendly voice but probably because I was not in such a good mood with all those people my answer was not so co-operative.

“Yes I know of this, but I am an unbeliever” or something to that effect. She apologised (although I do not know why) and moved on.

We eventually returned home and were glad to escape from the maddening crowds. I don’t know how that hermit manages to do her job. It was almost worst than the rush hour in the city of London. I think she also visits a Kloster for a few months now and again to get away from it all.

A Sunday afternoon walk through the Einsiedelei, Rüttenen

Here is a photo of one of the many waterfalls you can see in the gorge which does help to cool down on a hot day. I will back with more at another time when I am not very much prompted by the prompt.

Daily Prompt: Generation XYZ – A visit to see the hermit

Daily Prompt: Group Think – a call home

Write a post that includes dialogue between two people — other than you. (For more of a challenge, try three or more people.)

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Back to my younger days when I was 10 years younger. It was the only photo I found with me and a telephone when I was doing a simultaneous German to English translation for visitors from England. Ok, doesn’t have much to do with the subject of the blog.

Today is Sunday and the day when I call my 99+ dad in England (100 in September).

Mr. Swiss and I just returned from a marathon walk.

“I should call my dad.”

“Ok, give him my best wishes.”

I used the normal telephone because Skype does not work when the telephone partner no longer hears so well and the connection is dodgy and my iPhone costs me money. Using the normal connection always works and Mr. Swiss pays the telephone bill, so I dialled the number and the telephone was ringing at the other end. After about ten rings the phone was picked up.

“Hello dad, hello dad, HELLO dad, HELLO DAD” and then the telephone seemed to make a plonking noise and there was nothing. Dad had picked up the phone and dropped it again. No worry, at least you knew he was there and so I tried again. The telephone was picked up again.

“Hello dad, dad, dad, it’s me Pat.”

“Oh hello Pat, is that you. I was having a little sleep.”

“How are you dad.”

“OK, fine except for the usual aches and pains.”

“How did your trip go to the hospital this week about your pacemaker.”

“Not good at all.”

Now a worried daughter of course.

“What happened.”

“What happened? Nothing happened. They were supposed to pick me up at 11.0 a.m. and only turned up at 3.00 p.m” he was still annoyed with them.

“Typical National Health Service” was my answer, but dad was not finished.

“When the ambulance bus came it had about 6 other people in it and they were all being taken to other hospitals, so I didn’t arrive at the hospital until about 5.00 p.m and so when they were finished I only arrived home at 8.00 in the evening. My carer was waiting for me outside to see how I was.” The lady who is responsible for my dad is a wonderful person as I am sure she did not have to stay so long until he arrived. She also has her own family to look after.

I then spent the next few minutes telling him how good our health system is in Switzerland despite the fact that we have to pay. It might be free in England, but it has its price in nerves and lack of information.

“Can I complain dad, is there somewhere I can write.”

“Forget it, no chance.”

“How are things otherwise.”

“Well sometimes when I sit here and think, it don’t seem possible that I will be 100 years old in a couple of months.”

“Dad I always told you we would celebrate that birthday together and we will when I arrive in September. Make the most of it and enjoy it. There might even be a telegramme from the Queen.”

I had already checked on this and it seems that I can organise the telegramme online if I send a copy of his birth certificate and all the information. My friend told me I could do it, but I was not sure if dad really wanted it.

“No, no, don’t bother. I don’t want anything from the queen, I couldn’t care less.” was the answer.

As I am an anti monarchist myself, and dad is not far behind, I decided to drop the whole thing. Why bother her majesty with dad’s birthday, she definitely has other things to do more important. Perhaps one of her Corgi dogs also has a birthday.

And so our weekly conversation continued with checking on the weather in England and whether he was OK with his food.

I am now a little more settled that things are OK on the other side of the channel with dad. It’s a weekly conversation, I live too far away to do more, but it puts my mind at rest. I often think for someone that will soon be 100 years old the conversation is important to both of us, even if my voice is in the highest decibel volume possible to make sure he hears me.

Daily Prompt: Group think – a call home”

Daily Prompt: Celebrate Good Times – if your body still allows it

You receive some wonderful, improbable, hoped-for good news. How do you celebrate?

It seems that in September 2013 I was not around to do this daily prompt, but now I am here and still have not received my wonderful, probably, hoped-for good news. No big problem, I am still alive enough to realise what a silly prompt this is. Of course the good news is that I am still breathing and taking an active part in life, so what more could you want.

Citroen légère

I did a little celebration when I entered my local town of Solothurn from the local train station and saw this golden oldie car parked. I realised that not only I am a golden oldie, but even cars leave their mark on the history of mankind. It is a Citroen légère, the first car with front wheel drive manufactured from 1934 to approximately 1955 and you do not often see them on the roads today. This particular model had a so-called Swiss garage number, meaning it was not in private ownership but owned by a garage and probably just used for the odd excursion now and again and perhaps as a special for weddings. When I saw it I immediately took the photo realising that it is a rarity to see one today, especially in our little market town.

To continue – not that I am a misery guts and now and again I do break out to celebrate in my own way of things. Too much excitement for a golden oldie is not advisable, it might be the cause of various body breakdowns. So how do I celebrate? No problem, I don’t drink and don’t smoke, although these pastimes are not exactly the essence of celebration. I don’t even dance, because dancing is not one of my natural talents and Mr. Swiss was never a No. 2 Fred Astaire. In my younger years I did sort of make strange movements on the dance floor, known as twisting the night away, but today the twists and turns my body makes are more a cause for aches and pains than something connected with celebrations.

Our town is celebrating this week-end with it so-called market festival. The streets are lined with various refreshment stands and stalls selling this and that. All the more reason to stay at home. When I was younger, about four years ago, I was still a member of the local first aid group, also in charge of their web site and would be attending our stand at the market to assist in unforeseen injuries, such as overheating in the sun and perhaps the odd blister on the feet. I usually did the afternoon shift, avoiding the evening hours. The market is an all night thing packed with celebrations, beer and other alcoholic beverages, and the injuries at the late hours were generally in connection with alcohol intoxication and the injuries sustained in connection. This was not my sort of thing.

I do not have a photo of myself attending to the physical needs of the public during this festival, but again was the photographer, so here you can see our tent and fellow first aid workers. I still have my brilliant yellow t-shirt to prove it. This photo was taken in 2012, but they will also be attending today.

Märetfescht 2012

Daily Prompt: Celebrate Good Times – if your body still allows it

Daily Prompt: Take it From me – at your own risk

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve given someone that you failed to take yourself?

There are many. The last time I had this prompt in December 2012 I was a newbie to the game of daily prompts and believed in the daily prompts to keep me out of mischief and to learn something new. Today I am deep into mischief, still doing the daily prompts and have learnt that if you miss out on one, don’t worry, it will guaranteed appear again in a year or so. The conclusion is ignore any advice I give you, it will not work. River Aare Yesterday I went on one of my death defying walks along the banks of the local River Aare. Death defying because you never know if you fall in to be swallowed by a local sea serpent who has been brought up by his family to only eat human meat. Not that a sea serpent has actually been seen, but you never know what is lurking in the depths. I am losing the thread here somewhere, of course we don’t have sea serpents, at least I have never seen one. However as I was walking along the bank I did see this. Stork It is a stork, we have a colony of storks further along the river at a place called Altreu. They used to be kept in their nests – probably because it was feared that the population would increase dramatically if the storks were allowed to delver babies all over the place. Now they are allowed to fly and now and again one is seen perching on a lamp post or a roof. If they perch on roofs, then avoid the ground below. You might be the target for their recycling system. This particular stork seemed to be enjoying his excursion to the river bank and he paused in his efforts for a photo. The idea is that they fly to warmer countries, like Africa, in Winter, but no. Why go somewhere where you have to search for food and no-one knows you, so they now stay in the colony in the Winter.

I was on this walk on my own, Mr. Swiss preferred to stay at home. There were other walkers also making the most out of the warm sunny weather, so I was permanently moving to one side to avoid being trampled by the older male members of the geriatric male population who were doing their best to set up a running record and proving that they could still do it. Dressed in their running shoes and athletic short trousers showing their muscular legs (well they were more muscular than mine) they pounded their way on the path ignoring all obstacles.

Now and again I could hear the sound of wheels on gravel and a bell. These were the wannabe Lance Armstrong types, training for their success in the Tour de whatever. They are dangerous. If you are walking and hear their bells then move, preferably into the next field and let them pass. They mow any object down that is in their way with their bikes. Yes, there are many dangers on the riverside paths. Now and again you might just hear the sound of an ambulance approaching to pick up any victims of exhaustion. I notice I never see young men doing these risky manoeuvres by foot or bike. Perhaps the older generation want to show that they can still do it, even with grey hair and rheumatic joints. Now and again a member of the female section will pass by, but they are sensible. They even say “hello” and smile as they go pass, whereas the male members just look ahead, grimly keeping their eyes on the end of the trail and baring their teeth at anyone getting in their way. Swan on River Aare Even the swans were bent on doing their swan things.

“Good morning Mrs. Swan.”

“No time for conversations human, there is something moving down here and it looks edible.”

And so this was the only view I got of a stately bird, she had better things to do. Today I am having a quiet day, reading my book on my Kindle and cleaning a few windows, but tomorrow who knows. I heard there might be a mllking competition at the local farm, Yes, such is life in Switzerland, never a dull moment.

Daily Prompt: Take it from me – never follow the advice of a golden oldie

Daily Prompt: The Golden Hour – Someone shoot the birds

6:00AM: the best hour of the day, or too close to your 3:00AM bedtime?

Sunrise over Feldbrunnen

Someone must have said “look at that wonderful sunrise”. Living with two felines, a son that rises only towards midday when he is at home, and Mr. Swiss who always was an early bird, I assume it was Mr. Swiss thinking of my opportunity to at last take a prize worthy photo.

Sunrises are not my thing. I have a wonderful collection of sunsets from all over the world: England, Switzerland and perhaps Portugal and New York. Sunsets are sensible. They arrive at a sensible time and stay until you have found the camera and tuned to the various settings. Sun rises are for vampires to warn them to disappear to their sleeping places down in the cellar or the vaults and snuggle up in their coffins, closing the lid to keep the offending daylight away. You see, even vampires sleep better when it is dark.

6.00 a.m.? Oh, I know that is when the birds are singing outside my window telling me what a wonderful day it will be. There must be at least 10-20 different birds as they are all singing a different song, a real carcophony. There is the bird with the high pitched whistle that is convinced he has a talent for the birdsong talent competition. He practices every morning. That is the one where I would most of all like to throw something at to remind him that there is another species that prefers to spend the early morning hours in silence. Then there is the bird with the monotonous chirp, chirp, chirp where I dig deeper into the sheets and covers and bury my head in the pillow, no not song some sort of monotonous lyric, probably the rapper of the bird world. Crows are different, they croak and have lively conversations with each other.

“Hey Fred, what do you thing, that tree over there looks quite comfortable and look at those two females with the sexy beaks.”

“You mean lets take a flight over and croak good morning. They do have sexy curves on their beaks, I must say and dawn is breaking, so they won’t know what has hit them when we arrive.”

Probably the product of this morning rendezvous is a few eggs and married crow life, and Fred and Charlie would probably have been pleased to have forgotten the whole thing. Peaceful crow life met its end at 6.00 a.m. one morning in Spring.

I remember the time when I was a working woman, when there was a purpose in my life to arise with the sun, eat a welcome breakfast, freshen up under the shower, get dressed and go, go, go dragging my son with me on the way. You know when you had that sinking feeling in you stomach, “do I have to do this?” Then 6.00 a.m. had a different meaning, you had a target in front of you. Your fellow workers would waive with welcoming gestures and sour faces when you arrived in the office. I would switch on my computer and see the vibes being generated in the bytes and circuits.

“Good morning computer” I would say in an energetic expectant voice, full of energy to fulfil my day with worthwhile tasks.

“Good morning idiot” my computer did not actually say, after all computers do not speak, but they think and I am sure that was what he was thinking. I remember a work colleague from the computer department whose office was just along the corridor where the windows faced South. She would often pay a visit on a wonderful early morning (it was then around 7.30 a.m.) to inform me that the sun had risen and there would be a fantastic photo to shoot. I dragged myself along the corridor only to find that the clouds were gathering, so there was no photo of the rising sun.

Reflecting on these work days, I am happy and contented now to be a golden oldie, if only the birds would sleep just an hour or so longer. I am a nature lover, but only from about 7.30 a.m. and even then in small doses when I let the cat out. My cat is also a nature lover, but his thoughts about birds are something completely different.

Daily Prompt: The Golden Hour – someone shoot the birds

Daily Prompt: Mix Tape Masterpiece – It’s all about flowers

You make a new friend. Make them a mix tape (or playlist, for the younger folks) that tells them who you are through song.

Yes, well I think the most of us know my opinion on plastering my blog with YouTube videos. I know, we all have our favourites, but my favourites are probably not yours and yours no mine, so let’s leave it for now. It is the lazy way out of a daily prompt and for me boring. I have other boring themes as I too am not feeling any prompting though at the moment.

What about mix tape photos of my garden, but not too many because that too can get boring watching how the daisies grow.

Roses and Sweet William in Garden

So here we have my rose on the left and some Sweet William in the middle, on the right borage. The rose was originally in my front garden, but was unhappy. It slowly disappeared into the hedge and was attacked by some mysterious insect that was drilling holes in the leaves and leaving the rose buds looking like survivors of some secret war of nature. I dug it up carefully and placed it in the back garden where it now is. The first summer was a difficult summer as I discovered what was slowly but surely trying to kill my rose. I would inspect the problem daily and discovered small green wormlike insects on the leaves and on the buds.

Wikipedia to the rescue and it seems that my roses were under siege from Sawfliy children, which have quite a voracious appetite for roses. They are actually a relation of the wasp, although I did not give them a chance to develop into anything looking like a wasp. Yes, there future development was sealed by my fingers as I carefully picked them out of my rose bush and threw them into the nearby field, thus reducing the sawfly population daily. I was on a permanent anti sawfly watch and believe me the little brutes were sly. They had posted sentries below the leaves watching my every movement, but I won the battle and after a week there was not one tiny newly hatched small green caterpillar to be seen. My rose leaves no longer had holes and the roses developed. This is now history and word has spread amongst the sawfly population, do not mess with Mrs. Angloswiss roses, it will be the death of you.

Now moving to the right of this prize suspicious rose bush we meet the Sweet William. These have a special place in my green fingers especially as they exist due to careful planning by myself. It was approximately 8 years ago that I bought a packet of seeds and planted them in seed trays, each seed in one compartment. This was not an easy job as to the Sweet William experts amongst us, we will know that these seeds are small, almost microscopic. Undaunted my Sweet William seeds showed there first leaves after a few weeks. I waited until they became strong and survival competent and found them a place in the garden. Once they were embedded in the soil, they spread their roots and now appear regularly every year. Now and again I buy another packet of these seeds and throw them into the ground to ensure their presence. I love plants that appear every year, because they do their own thing and I am spared the work.

On the right of my Sweet William my borage plants can be seen. These are easy peasy. Just throw a packet of seeds in the garden and they grow. They seed up when their characteristic blue flowers are finished and if you have green/blue fingers like I have you might even get a second harvest in one year. The borage you see here are the result of last year. It seems the leaves of this plant are edible with a cucumber like taste, although I have never prepared them myself. Anyhow they give a nice blue tinge to the garden.

So now we are at the end of part one of my garden tour for today. Now that is more interesting than listening to a selection of Paolo Conte songs, (who?) or a Rolling Stones Mixture golden oldie selection I am sure. Of course listening to my Tom Waites songs would also be enjoying. He is the guy that has the smokey voice due to a chain smoking cigarette consummation. I am also a fan of Arlo Guthrie, so look what you all missed because we visited the flowers in my garden. My flowers also sing now and again like “Cool clear water” or OK, her is one of my favourite flower songs just to make you all happy.

Nothing but Flowers by David Byrne and the Talking Heads. I love the irony of the words and have my No. 2 son to thank for bringing my attention to this song.


Daily Prompt: Mix Tape Masterpiece – It’s all about flowers

Daily Prompt: Snapshot Stories – and my feet

Open the first photo album you can find — real or virtual, your call — and stop at the first picture of yourself you see there . Tell us the story of that photo.

My Photo albums are all online containing over 12,000 photos. I have a few real photos somewhere, but at the moment I am not in the mood for searching and finding them. It is one of those warmer days where the sun is shining and I have just returned from a long visit in our town of Solothurn trying on shoes for my son’s church wedding.

I found what I was looking for, but my feet are now unhappy after walking all over town, I am unhappy as I am exhausted and feel my age slowly but surely. I discovered during my search that the shoes for my feet have not really yet been designed. It is not a matter of nice looking shoes, but they must be comfortable and not restrict my lumps and bumps which have appeared over the years on my feet. It all has to do with the study of physics and anatomy. Searching for shoes on a warmer day means that things expand, especially feet and eventually you are convinced that your feet were the model for the Yeti in the Himalaya area. I think he is also known as Big Foot in some areas of the States.

Anyhow to keep the WordPress people happy I found a photo of me taken at the beginning of June at my son’s civil wedding in the local registry office. I am the tall one at the front on the right with the silver strains in my hair (the grey haired golden oldie) wearing glasses. My oldest son is behind me on the right and the son that got married is on the left, a little hidden by a friend, and his newly wedded wife is standing next to him on the right. They are now married and will be having their church wedding in two weeks and that is the story.

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As you can see I again stand out as being the tallest lady at the wedding and tall ladies have big feet, so we return to the beginning of this story.

I decided to go to town with the local train for my shoe quest, just a 5-10 minute journey. Unfortunately there is building work taking place at our local station and no-one told me that everything has been temporarily changed. I climbed over rubble and stones to reach the ticket machine and heard a voice behind me (in Swiss German).

“Where do you think you are going?” it said.

“To buy a ticket from the machine, but where is the machine?”

“The machine has been moved lady, you have to walk in the other direction to the sign post.”

“Ok, no problem” was my polite answer, not wanting to get involved in more discussions with this voice of authority. These men were at work, although I am not sure what work they were doing. They seemed to be standing around and waiting for something – perhaps the end of the working day, or the train.

I walked onwards, found the ticket machine and was annoyed to find that not only the ticket machine had moved, but the nice comfortable bench, where I could sit whilst waiting for the train, no longer existed. I suspected that the workers had removed them for their own purpose to sit on whilst eating their sandwiches when they had a break.

This excursion to town was becoming a threat to my psychological condition. I eventually arrived in town and who should I meet waiting for the train at the station, my sister-in-law, who was going home. We had a few minutes for a discussion about feet and shoes, being around the same age and having the same problems, and her train arrived and I walked on through town to the shoe shop, where this whole prompt began.

Funny where these prompt lead sometimes. I hear Mr. Swiss preparing the evening meal and so I will now close this work of literature.

Daily Prompt: Snapshot Stories – and my feet

Daily Prompt: Toy Story – not a story, the reality of life

What was your favourite plaything as a child? Do you see any connection between your life now, and your favourite childhood toy?

New look front garden

This is one of the few things I still have from England. Ok, it is not a toy. You do not play with leopards made of china. I believe it belonged to my grandfather, who probably picked it up on a visit to one of the cheap markets in the East End of London (when no-one was looking). Actually we had two and mum said they were book ends. Obvious they originated from the British Victorian era when Britannia ruled the world, or thought they did. The animal (a leopard?) had a partner and they both formed two ends, having books in the middle. Books were not a great thing at our house, so they usually sat on granddad’s fireplace ledge wondering what their reason for existence was.

On the other hand they both had a container on their back, although I do not remember what it contained: probably dust and a home for spider webs. One day on a visit to England I said to my dad I would like to take them with me to Switzerland. This was no problem, I think dad was glad to see it go, yes, it was now an it. Them no longer existed as the second piece of this unique suspiciously valuable creation, has broken. Someone dropped it. Now it has found its place in my front garden where it guards my flowers. I just had a brainwave. Perhaps a small potted cactus could be placed in the container.

Way back in 2013 when I was still young and lovely (correction I am still lovely, perhaps not so young, but that is a matter of how you look at it) I wrote my toy story First Daily Prompt Toy Story 2013. I told everyone that I was born and had a childhood and my childish hobbies were playing with stuffed animals and guns. I did not grow up to be a taxidermist and neither did I join the mafia (my knowledge of the Italian language was not sufficient and my family did not originate in Sicily) so what more can I tell you.

I am now living in the middle of the Swiss civilisation. I thought the Swiss would grow up with crossbows in memory of William Tell, or perhaps they would play with cheese fondue sets, having fun melting cheese and showing mummy how good they were at it without burning down the house, but no such thing. I remember my oldest son growing up with lego, his favourite building programme being constructing a record player and using my 45 rpm discs as a completion to his task. He was always very musical and now helps the local rock bands in town as a roadie when they have a concert. His record collection is a couple of thousand CD’s, so the lego beginnings were pointing him in the correct direction.

My second son was more into drawing, although unfortunately he was not discovered as a second Picasso. As he got older he progressed to a so-called Carrera Racing track and it became quite dangerous to cross the floor in the living room with a chance of being knocked down by a speeding car which ran on a track by some sort of electronic system. Unfortunately he did not become a second Clay Reggazoni (Swiss driver) or the Paul Newman of the film racing world. He passed his driving test eventually (less said better done) and has now limited his driving experience to European roads in a normal car.

Mr. Swiss tells me he was busy learning to be a locomotive driver, probably dreaming of riding over the Gotthard pass with two locomotives pulling the train. It is quite steep and one locomotive is not enough. The Swiss like to do things in style. In later years he changed the train driver target to becoming a drummer, but on a real drum kit, and that stayed, the result being that we do have a drum set in our hobby room and another in his rehearsal room. I always thought that playing piano would have been better, because you do not have to take the piano with you when having an engagement, there is usually a piano already waiting. Taking a drum set means taking up half of the room in the car and assembling it when you arrive for an appearance. When you are tired and weary after a gig with the band at midnight, you again take it apart, load it into the car and assemble it again when arriving home.

I see no connections between my life now and my childhood. The grandaddy of computers, ENIAC, has only just appeared in the States in 1946 my birth year, otherwise I would probably have got there before Bill Gates and the gang.

Daily Prompt: Toy Story – not a story, the reality of life

Daily Prompt: All About Me – although I am a modest person of course

Explain why you chose your blog’s title and what it means to you.

Climbing rose

I was going to show a self portrait, but I really don’t want to show off about my good looks, my wonderful individual nose (in size) and my blue eyes, people might get jealous, so I decided to show a freshly opened rose from my garden. This is symbolic showing my morning and afternoon beauty when I awake from my golden oldie sleep.

I am an Anglo, a Brit, that travelled to Switzerland, met the man of my Swiss life and became in the true sense of the word Angloswiss. My Chronicles were an idea implanted by my blogger friend Mitch from my Multiply days, and now in Blogger, talking about the stories of my felines as Cat Chronicles. Chronicles is a good description of what I am doing here, the problem being that since the end of last year I seem to be doing it all for the second time, but who am I to complain, better safe than sorry.

Wikipedia tells me

“A chronicle (Latin: chronica, from Greek χρονικά, from χρόνος, chronos, “time”) is a historical account of facts and events ranged in chronological order, as in a time line. Typically, equal weight is given for historically important events and local events, the purpose being the recording of events that occurred, seen from the perspective of the chronicler. This is in contrast to a narrative or history, which sets selected events in a meaningful interpretive context and excludes those the author does not see as important.”

and so you are getting all the histerical (sorry naturally historical) facts of my life, the problem being that lately nothing much is actually happening. My blog has not been recognised for its true value, a distinguishing mark in the life of a blogger that has many times been cheated out of its just Pulitzer prize. My natural talent has not yet been recognised.

Who am I to complain? I return daily to this computer page and write of my experiences in life. Today I cooked a veal ragout in a cream sauce garnished with diced bacon for lunch with saffron noodles and my family survived. I ironed my bed linen that I washed yesterday and hoovered through my appartment. What devastating deeds I accomplished. I eventually wiped the sweat from my brow and tumbled into a welcome chair to recover from these efforts, reading further in my book of the day/week/month according to how quickly I read.

Now and again I peep into Facebook but nothing new there. It seems almost everyone is talking about father’s day and showing photos of their dad. Probably WordPress has not marked this on their calendar of special blogging events. I will definitely not mark this on my Facebook page as I am only there to belong, to be one of the many. After all if you are not a member of the Facebook groupies you are nothing, and your computer is a machine without a purpose. Anyhow, here is a picture of dad who will be 100 years old on 24th September.

Me, mum and dad

I was probably around 16 years old at the time, dressed to kill, although you don’t find much to kill when you are taller than anything worth killing and wear high heels into the bargain. It was taken on a summer holiday when we were going out for the evening. Me, mum and dad – yes we were a tall family. All being well I will be visiting dad in London on his birthday this year.

Daily Prompt: All About Me – although I am a modest person of course