tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56935809163266200472024-03-27T08:15:04.379-07:00Deborah Rine
My life has been rich in delightful experiences and warm friendships. I lived in Europe for 12 years; as a girl and later as a young mother. Paris, Göteborg, Milan, Verona and Brussels; each place with its own special magic and delectable flavors. Come follow me through picture and prose.Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-68275791001664460432023-10-26T12:15:00.001-07:002023-10-26T12:15:47.518-07:00BLUE ON 30A<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQlO_-zEODAXYf3L48vg_-J_SKGg51MGAIOuI5a_UHCe6RCLIrf5Vpb-8ThvYcw3X63U6fgq5CeU83qmnS286tLCuVlHcucHeTPG-BZSGipEc-RrTZuGBYqEDjoaqRNxFs2NiFBDrD0-7dBbsqoCca6Yk2Aqi5FIbRR7Te4yo8e4VU9iD3jl68MrxRLmn/s1200/Blueon30A_Cover_Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="781" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQlO_-zEODAXYf3L48vg_-J_SKGg51MGAIOuI5a_UHCe6RCLIrf5Vpb-8ThvYcw3X63U6fgq5CeU83qmnS286tLCuVlHcucHeTPG-BZSGipEc-RrTZuGBYqEDjoaqRNxFs2NiFBDrD0-7dBbsqoCca6Yk2Aqi5FIbRR7Te4yo8e4VU9iD3jl68MrxRLmn/s320/Blueon30A_Cover_Small.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"> <span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Wrong place, wrong time. Claire’s life is turned upside down when a video goes viral depicting her as a vicious psychopath. Things go from bad to worse. Accused of murder, Claire and Detective Drakos work to unravel the mystery surrounding three unrelated homicides. Set on the beautiful Emerald Coast, this fast-paced thriller will keep you enthralled until the very last page.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Available on Amazon:</span></span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/BLUE-30A-Emerald-Coast-Mysteries/dp/B0C2RG16BL/ref=sr_1_1?crid=TQ9MLCI3MXKB&keywords=blue+on+30a+-+deborah+rine&qid=1698347693&sprefix=Blue+on+30A%2Caps%2C121&sr=8-1">https://www.amazon.com/BLUE-30A-Emerald-Coast-Mysteries/dp/B0C2RG16BL/ref=sr_1_1?crid=TQ9MLCI3MXKB&keywords=blue+on+30a+-+deborah+rine&qid=1698347693&sprefix=Blue+on+30A%2Caps%2C121&sr=8-1</a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-21889835551066405632022-04-22T07:23:00.003-07:002022-04-22T07:23:31.922-07:00RIPTIDE ON 30A <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Here it is! Book 5 in the Emerald Coast Mystery Series! </span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB29zBgHtHs6FfqQBhsZDbLhpaj1tY5CNNj6CWhKpE1ovyoLgwJsTk9i9V4qzBCjQUVrbJu9NcLnvDDwsTbD1hdSftY8EjA5Dl3ssLAFmK6Ndq2ZYsjRIshBj3FNWO17edWwF1DskuwB00aCyzMhKAC4Spd84SpO7luo8-YiGVsiyvMtFQyIYEANDr2g/s2689/Riptideon30A_HiResJPGCover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2689" data-original-width="1806" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB29zBgHtHs6FfqQBhsZDbLhpaj1tY5CNNj6CWhKpE1ovyoLgwJsTk9i9V4qzBCjQUVrbJu9NcLnvDDwsTbD1hdSftY8EjA5Dl3ssLAFmK6Ndq2ZYsjRIshBj3FNWO17edWwF1DskuwB00aCyzMhKAC4Spd84SpO7luo8-YiGVsiyvMtFQyIYEANDr2g/s320/Riptideon30A_HiResJPGCover.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: start;">Claire had never been happier. The honeymoon in Thailand was perfect. But the flight home to the Florida Panhandle was long and exhausting. As they made their final descent into the Destin Airport, Claire shook Hobbs and called his name, but he was unresponsive. As Claire screamed for help, a doctor came across the aisle and after a short examination declared Hobbs dead. As the story unfolds, Claire descends into a riptide of conflicting emotions and dark secrets. She realizes she never knew Hobbs at all. Their life together was based on a series of lies. Who was Hobbs? And why are the FBI and CIA investigating his death? This fast-paced novel takes place along the exquisite Emerald Coast with its beautiful beaches and charming towns. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: start;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: start;">Available on Amazon as a paperback or ebook!</p></div>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-54444379691135538142021-01-13T14:31:00.000-08:002021-01-13T14:31:45.236-08:00Timeline for Posts<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Hello, Bonjour, Buongiorno, Buenos Dias,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Here is a timeline of the posts about my life in Europe. I’ve included the date of the post and the country I lived in. To read the story chronologically, they should be read backwards starting with the earliest date. For example, our arrival in Verona, Italy is described in the March 9, 2016 post and continues through our departure described in the June 5, 2016 post. These posts were the basis of my novel, VERONA WITH LOVE. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><b> As an Adult and Young Mother:</b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><b>City/Country Arrival Departure <o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Verona, Italy Mar 9, 2016 Jun. 5, 2016<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Milan, Italy Jun. 10, 2016 Jul. 22, 2016<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Summer in France Jul. 29, 2016<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Waterloo, Belgium Aug. 5, 2016 Sept. 9, 2016<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">St. Nom-la-Bretèche Sept. 16, 2016 Oct. 21, 2016<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> France<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"> <b>As a Teenager<o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNoSpacing" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><b> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Montmorency, France Oct. 28, 2016 Dec. 31, 2016<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Göteborg, Sweden Jan. 6, 2017 Feb. 17, 2017<o:p></o:p></p>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-47867276113983826482021-01-13T14:25:00.000-08:002021-01-13T14:25:22.374-08:00Goodbye Sweden<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FkaoH_stZrRX6iFdkA0NC9cIS1LspnlhJIARLqsgRPyHXoxV9gdnsQIK3uj6cjON4O2-u61ehWvrbNrdLItLWZw6ALPctFNHVu7YomeCbBKAH4xYG9s83FR4E7BIFcTJB3mPfohckydh/s852/83F80E0C-DCC9-40E8-9C03-E35AF1FC5574_1_105_c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="852" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2FkaoH_stZrRX6iFdkA0NC9cIS1LspnlhJIARLqsgRPyHXoxV9gdnsQIK3uj6cjON4O2-u61ehWvrbNrdLItLWZw6ALPctFNHVu7YomeCbBKAH4xYG9s83FR4E7BIFcTJB3mPfohckydh/s320/83F80E0C-DCC9-40E8-9C03-E35AF1FC5574_1_105_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>In June I returned home to Washington by ocean liner. It was not as much fun without Gudrun. Guess what? The staff and crew on board thought I was Swedish...my Swedish had become that good! The seas were calm and I didn't experience the nausea and discomfort we'd had the previous year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2r0jpoeeKGBgwDqY-E7E69emTP7u7MXvPS5iGRgNk-7MIsqXzh1RaTMpKBvffKeTPzcCUvgDot_eWzxwXtUDYr6lOf3VHYN9Jzq83bWXMZ5FsQ69_nQL9WuZtX7EoA4KtbLLS4-U_NgXz/s399/kungsmorg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="396" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2r0jpoeeKGBgwDqY-E7E69emTP7u7MXvPS5iGRgNk-7MIsqXzh1RaTMpKBvffKeTPzcCUvgDot_eWzxwXtUDYr6lOf3VHYN9Jzq83bWXMZ5FsQ69_nQL9WuZtX7EoA4KtbLLS4-U_NgXz/s320/kungsmorg.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p>The meals were abundant and delicious. I found plenty of partners to dance the night away.</p><p>I hope you have enjoyed this blog as much as I have enjoyed writing it. It was magical to return to all the people and places that added depth and sparkle to my life. I encourage all of you to take the plunge, hop on a plane and open your life to new adventures.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1l7P3wihwz9yh0ikPCLNBpnQBlo5oUuVPTqDwOAykwWZRTV9R9a0-Sok2GjCo8cPFnrWCa6vOlaITUoIRW4nKH3udhpUbgDaN3U54qL6pc7KRZ4PeKeSRLpqRbRF5DkGoZaXtDsIK_hpY/s540/00EFC5E0-74A2-43F3-A754-090D5834EFCE_4_5005_c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1l7P3wihwz9yh0ikPCLNBpnQBlo5oUuVPTqDwOAykwWZRTV9R9a0-Sok2GjCo8cPFnrWCa6vOlaITUoIRW4nKH3udhpUbgDaN3U54qL6pc7KRZ4PeKeSRLpqRbRF5DkGoZaXtDsIK_hpY/s320/00EFC5E0-74A2-43F3-A754-090D5834EFCE_4_5005_c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-58288010054232094802017-02-17T03:49:00.002-08:002021-01-13T14:00:30.850-08:00 Skiing in Kitzbühel and Youthful Carousing<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSFj78XojA6oBTWzqPCRb_8TxWJoFXFZPAgyAakbYgRHzvn47RCI3TG7bZ9RwQckci_wp5qh-se6f30wc4Ne30PsbxXPnwIETz-BqhgaSTM7O_jZKttlw4S_A9bweA8GsJkPdOk8ZfZYx/s1600/skigebiet_hahnenkammbahn.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSFj78XojA6oBTWzqPCRb_8TxWJoFXFZPAgyAakbYgRHzvn47RCI3TG7bZ9RwQckci_wp5qh-se6f30wc4Ne30PsbxXPnwIETz-BqhgaSTM7O_jZKttlw4S_A9bweA8GsJkPdOk8ZfZYx/s320/skigebiet_hahnenkammbahn.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cable cars above Kitzbühel</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">In February the </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">Majornas </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">high school closed for Winter Break.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">As it was explained to me, Swedish students needed to escape the long dark nights and get out into the fresh air and sunshine.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">Our school organized a ski week to Kitzbühel, Austria.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">We were housed in a </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">gasthaus, </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">which was a student pension. The accommodations weren’t fancy, but comfortable. We had fluffy duvets. These were new to me since they hadn’t hit the American market yet. The furniture was rudimentary and the bathroom was down the hall.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our pension looked a bit like this.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We were located a little out of town but close to the ski runs.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I had not skied much in my life.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">When I was 10, I was invited for a ski vacation in Vermont with a friend and her family.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I fell down and broke my ankle, on the first day, so I spent the week on the sofa, reading.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is a picture of Gudrun taken that fall by an apple tree. I should have included it earlier.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"></span>During the week in Kitzbühel, my skiing improved quite a bit and I became increasingly adventuresome. As I remember Gudrun was more experienced than I. Along with racing down the mountains, we were also entranced by the ski instructors who seemed incredibly handsome and alluring.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view of Kitzbühel</td></tr>
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The gasthaus provided nourishing meals. I remember the delicious kaiser rolls served for breakfast. Wikipedia tells me: “Kaiser rolls have existed in a recognizable form at least since prior to 1760. They are thought to have been named to honor Emperor (<i>Kaiser</i>) <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Joseph_I_of_Austria"><span class="s2">Franz Joseph I of Austria</span></a>."</div>
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<span class="s1">Every morning they were served with butter, jam and a delicious white cheese. I enjoyed this repast at a sunny table with a view of snow covered mountains.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Dinners were hearty with pork roast or sausages or maybe Wiener Schnitzel. Then maybe there was a piece of apple strudel or Gugelhupf for dessert. I doubt we had Sacher Torte but I’ll include a picture of it here…with plenty of whipped cream. Austria has so many delicious dishes.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crispy Wiener Schnitzel</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apfelstrudel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnH87HFIEV76cSnXZiIRMybHQDEsx-LeTEkFDfv1FyRyPcJXiXtFqbWlDxOBQn7zdDenIPSKI0qs2sWj6VHZgvt69WZMPQQODAMbBYJIRKUNd-9J2b9NIao4d9nJ2Zh21rzskKg-KHxHO/s1600/cb5ed3af1492ea755b75f31a8813a052.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnH87HFIEV76cSnXZiIRMybHQDEsx-LeTEkFDfv1FyRyPcJXiXtFqbWlDxOBQn7zdDenIPSKI0qs2sWj6VHZgvt69WZMPQQODAMbBYJIRKUNd-9J2b9NIao4d9nJ2Zh21rzskKg-KHxHO/s320/cb5ed3af1492ea755b75f31a8813a052.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sacher Torte from the famous Sacher Hotel.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">One evening we all loaded into a bus and went into town to see the sights and visit the cafés and bars. I went with a group of friends into a rollicking bar. There was singing and toasting. Being a neophyte I drank several glasses of sweet Austrian wine. It probably tasted like soda pop to my uneducated palette. That night, back in the hotel, I was sick as a dog.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Now let’s get back to those ski instructors. Three of them invited, Gudrun, me and another Swedish girl to go dancing at a local hot spot. We got all dolled up with skirts, high heels and stockings. (I can’t believe we even brought such finery on a ski trip. But this was the 60’s) One of the ski hunks had a car and we piled in. It was a drive of some distance on narrow, icy mountain roads. We never arrived at our destination because the car broke down. The guys fooled around under the hood for a while but couldn't get the vehicle to start. It was decided that we would begin walking until a car drove by or we passed a chalet. In retrospect this seems like a bad decision. Perhaps the ski gods knew of a house down the road. My German was rudimentary so I probably didn’t understand the decision to venture forth into the cold.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I don’t remember how long we walked in our high heels and stockings, slipping and sliding…and freezing. At long last we arrived at a snow-covered chalet. A middle-aged couple welcomed us in and hustled us before a roaring fire. They brought steaming mugs of tea laced with rum or maybe Schnapps. I remember that my feet were freezing and my teeth were chattering uncontrollably.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Much later we got back to the Gasthaus. It was past curfew. The door was locked so our companions hoisted us up onto a low roof and we managed to open the window to our room and climb in. That night we three girls piled into one bed with extra comforters and cuddled to keep warm.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The next day, when I really looked at the ski instructors, I realized that they had lost much of their shiny veneer. </span></div>
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-57506288016231863182017-02-10T03:35:00.000-08:002017-02-10T03:41:59.192-08:00Sexual Mores, Sandwiches and Speeches<style type="text/css">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">While in Sweden I made a good friend. Her name was Barbro and we felt a rapport right from the start. She must be commended for putting up with my broken Swedish. Together we strolled the streets of Göteborg; window shopping and chatting. We visited a couple of museums and went out for lunch. I remember the delicious smörgås (open-faced sandwiches) that were much too pretty to eat.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">When plans were shaping up for me to spend a year in Sweden my parents were concerned about the liberal "sexual mores" in Sweden. I mention this because Barbro had a boyfriend who went to another high school. During the week she slept at her house part of the time and in her boyfriend’s bed on other nights. At that time in America, this would have been shocking…and probably today as well. But her parents seemed to think this was just fine.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Several times during my stay, I was invited to give presentations to English classes at various schools in the area. The choice of subject matter was left up to me. The English teachers just wanted their students to have a chance to listen to American English. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Initially, I talked about school, current music and the like. But I didn’t feel these subjects were weighty enough. I decided to research American Indians, Religion and the National Parks. What I needed was access to the internet so I could google these lofty issues but this was back in the dark ages. I needed an encyclopedia.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Andrews Anglican Church</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I had attended services at St. Andrew’s Anglican Church. This was an English language church in Göteborg. The Rector hailed from New Zealand and was all fire and brimstone…not into an up-lifting message. But the church had a lending library that included a variety of books and encyclopedias. I spent several weekends researching the culture and habits of the Arapahoe and Comanche Plains Indians vs.the Chippewa and Shawnee Woodlands tribes. In school my teachers had thrown those diverse peoples into the same basket. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Comanche squaw out on the plains.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chippewa claim to have the most beautiful women.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">My research took on a life of its own. I remember studying the Mormon religion and wondering how anyone could take Joseph Smith for real. Then there was Mary Baker Eddy and the Christian Scientists. Somehow I claimed to be knowledgeable on these extensive subjects. I blush now at the naïveté of my 18-year-old self. I would have been better off discussing Elvis Presley, rock n’ roll, stirrup pants or fried clams at Howard Johnson’s.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is my 18-year-old self. This was my Swedish school photo.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">In Sweden the Christmas Season begins with the festival of Saint Lucia. She is credited with bringing food to the persecuted Christians who were hiding out in the Roman catacombs in the year 304. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">She wore a crown of candles to find her way so her hands were free to carry bags of food.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">In Sweden on December 13th, young girls don a white robe and a crown of candles and bring </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">Pepparkakor</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> (gingersnaps) to shut-ins.</span><br />
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Gudrun, my Swedish sister, wore the crown and brought <i>Lussekatter</i> to us for breakfast on Saint Lucia's day. These are buns flavored with saffron and dotted with raisins.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lussekatter - St. Lucia buns</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">In the Jungner family Christmas was celebrated for three days. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">Each day we ate special dishes and relatives visited.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">One day there was a buffet with cold meats, herring in different guises, salads, meatballs and special potato dishes.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">During the season we drank glögg (spiced mulled wine) on various occasions.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glögg - warm spiced wine often served with raisins and almonds.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Gunnar, my adopted Swedish father had a special gift for me. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">In a card shaped like a car, he enclosed a round-trip ticket to Paris.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">There was a message thanking me for acting as chauffeur for the family.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">What a kind and thoughtful gift!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I would be able to spend a week visiting my French family that I hadn’t seen for 2 years.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This trip turned out to be a riotous experience. The train left in the late afternoon. We were to arrive in Paris in the morning. I had a seat in a couchette compartment. This compartment had three seats on each side in the day time. At night the seats became beds for two individuals. Above bunks folded down out of the wall to form two additional beds. So at night six people could sleep quite comfortably. Normally you were given a pillow and a blanket.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daytime couchette compartment</td></tr>
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As luck would have it, I shared my compartment with 5 other young people. When I slid open the door a young man got up and offered to put my suitcase up above. He introduced himself and explained that he was going to Paris to visit friends. In our compartment there were 3 guys and 3 gals. We were all young and exuberant. Each of us represented a different nationality and spoke a couple of languages. From the start we chattered away translating for each other. This brought on gales of laughter.</div>
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<span class="s1">At Malmo, the entire train was put on a ferry to cross the Baltic Sea to Germany. The train cars were rolled down into the hold of the ship. Once the ferry had left port we could exit our train car and go up on deck. There was a restaurant up there and a dance band. The three fellows invited us girls for dinner and dancing. What a lark! We danced until the band gave up. Then we all went below to go to bed together in our cozy couchettes. I remember we told stories and jokes. As I fell asleep I listened to them being translated from language to language followed by a ripple of laughter.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">How wonderful to be 18 - charging into life, unfettered and joyful! I was incredibly lucky!</span></div>
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-4932545885249304862017-01-26T16:39:00.000-08:002017-01-27T01:54:53.801-08:00Sunshine, Swedish Meatballs and School<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">Gudrun and I attended the </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;">Majornas högre allmänna läroverk (</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">Majornas higher general grammar school).</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 14px;">Although I had a Swedish tutor that helped me with grammar and speaking, I didn’t understand much of the class lectures for the first few months of school. I mastered the art of seeming mesmerized by the lesson while my mind escaped into elaborate daydreams.</span><br />
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Eventually, I was able to understand the readings and lectures. I particularly enjoyed Swedish poetry. I remember a poem dealing with the unpredictability of life. It compared our existence to a seedling clinging to life on a rocky coast, battered by waves, wind and rain. The theme reflected the rugged geography of Sweden.<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I didn’t always shine on English quizzes. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">As in France, students learned British English.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I used to get the wrong prepositions.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">For example if a sporting event doesn’t occur due to weather, Americans say it is rained OUT.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">In Britain one says it is rained OFF. To be enrolled IN a course versus to be enrolled ON a course…different FROM vs. different THAN etc.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1">By Spring, I was able to sit for 8-hour-long exams. We wrote essays on various topics that were graded by several teachers. For example we would write about the Great Swedish Empire of the 1600s. It would be graded by the history teacher for historical facts and by the Swedish teacher for the grammar and development of ideas. I imagine my opus was jam-packed with errors.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">One day we participated in an all-school “orienteering” competition. We were dropped off in the woods in groups of 4. With the aid of a physical map and a compass, we found our way over rough terrain and through heavy woods. There were several check points before reaching the final destination. The contest took most of the day and we were outfitted with warm clothes, sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. The winning group completed the run in the least amount of time.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orienteering tools. Part of the trick is to carefully read the map so that your group doesn't get stymied by an impassible stream, bog or a steep gorge.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Guess what? They really do eat Swedish meatballs (</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Köttbullar</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">) in Sweden! They were on the school lunch menu once or twice a week. Usually the meatballs were served with a pool of puréed potatoes and a lake of lingonberry sauce. Another school lunch favorite was hash (</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Pyttipanna) </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">served with a fried egg on top. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">This was also served with a lake of lingonberry sauce or sliced beets.</span></div>
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In the winter we left for school in the dark and came home in the dark. It was debilitating. Sometimes at noon, the girls would stand pressed against the warm wall on the South side of the school. They would raise their faces up to the sun like worshiping sunflowers.</div>
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-84817836775399762392017-01-20T04:58:00.001-08:002017-01-20T04:58:46.762-08:00Breakfast in Bed and Midsummer's Night in Finland<style type="text/css">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The first morning in Sweden, I was awakened by a light tap at the door. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It was Greta, my adopted Swedish mother, bringing me a breakfast tray. I plumped up my pillows and she placed the tray on my lap.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">There was a thermos of coffee and a pitcher of warm milk.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Two pieces of toast were arranged on a pretty plate.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">One was covered in thinly sliced cheese and the other was spread with a delicious berry jam.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I said,</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">“Tack så mycket" (</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">thanks so much</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">) - </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">one of the few phrases I knew in Swedish<i> </i></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">at </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">that point. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Breakfast in bed!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Wow!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">What a treat!</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">This was repeated every morning. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I awoke to the smell of fresh coffee and I could laze around in bed and wake up slowly.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I wrote my mother about this delightful occurrence and she wrote back: “Debbie, I am disappointed to hear that you are staying in bed and not helping Greta with breakfast.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Get up and offer to help.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Shame on you.” You get the gist.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The next morning after receiving this commandment from home, I insisted on getting up and helping to carry trays up to the other members of the family. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Pretty soon, Gudrun was coming downstairs too and we sat at the breakfast table and had our coffee with Greta at the big kitchen table.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We chatted and laughed.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">But Greta was not happy.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Finally after a couple of days, she begged me and Gudrun to stay in bed.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">She wanted to sit quietly with her coffee and cigarettes and contemplate her day. She did not want help and she did not want company.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">So the upshot was I had breakfast in bed for the entire year!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Savonlinna is the town where the Olavinlinna Castle is located. See above on the East side of Finland. It's a hop, skip and jump from the Russian border. In 1961, at the time of the Cold War, the proximity to our Number 1 Enemy provided a frisson of excitement and fear.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">In the latter part of June, the family attended a Scandinavian medical conference in Savonlinna, Finland. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We took a car ferry across the Baltic to Helsinki and drove from there to Savonlinna.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">At that time there were not as many hotels as their seem to be now. Gunnar and Greta stayed in a hotel, but Gudrun and I were housed in an empty hospital ward.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">There were perhaps 20 metal beds in the room. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the hospital grounds was a little rustic hut that was used as a sauna. In the chilly mornings we donned our bathing suits, wrapped up in towels and went down to the hut. We slipped inside and sat down on our towels. I remember there was a wood fire and we threw water on it to create steam. After roasting for 15 minutes, we flew out of the hut and jumped into the icy cold lake, screaming and laughing all the while.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">On midsummer’s night, there was a medieval feast in the Olavinlinna castle. The dinner took place on long trestle tables and we chowed down on rustic victuals like Knights of the Round Table or Viking Lords. Musicians entertained us with medieval airs on period instruments.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Olavinlinna Castle with the town of Savonlinna in the background. The town is surrounded by lakes.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Part of the magic of the evening, was that we were celebrating Midsummer’s Eve. This is one of Sweden’s major holidays. If you think about the long, dark winters, it’s no wonder that summer and the arrival of long, sunny days are to be celebrated. I just checked. In Savonlinna on June 21st, sunset is at 10:57 and sunrise is at 3:16. So there is a very brief night where it barely gets dark. People stay up all night and drink aquavit (water of life), a strong spirit flavored with spices and herbs. Children make crowns of flowers and in some villages they perform folk dances.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I remember wandering the castle after the dinner and climbing up on the ramparts as the sun set. Later curled up in my hospital bed, I could hear the twittering of birds that were welcoming the new day.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's Sweden in orange. Göteborg is on the bottom-left near the tip of Sweden. It's an important port.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Göteborg</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We arrived in Göteborg on a sunny day. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Gudrun’s parents were there to greet us as we stepped off the ship.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">For a day or two I felt a little dizzy, as though I were still on the rolling sea.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I just learned this is called MDdS syndrome (mal de débarquement syndrome).</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The family consisted of Gunnar, Gudrun’s father that we called Papa-lilla.(little daddy) - a term of endearment; Greta, Gudrun’s mother and Lars, her little brother. I remember the story of Greta and Gunnar’s romance. Greta was somewhat of a party girl. She wasn’t settling down with her studies and her parents were worried. They decided to send her away to stay with an Aunt who lived in lapland in the northern most reaches of Sweden. Up there she would have no distractions and could devote herself to her studies. As it turned out the only eligible young man for miles around was Gunnar who was in residency in a small hospital in the wilderness. Of course Gunnar was entranced with the pretty Greta and they became engaged. They were a happy couple but quite mismatched. Greta enjoyed society while Gunnar buried himself in his research.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view of Göteborg</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The Jungners lived outside of town.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Their large, comfortable house was perched on a hill above the sea. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The first floor contained a living and dining room as well as a large kitchen.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Upstairs were four bedrooms and a bath.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">During Gudrun’s absence, her parents had turned her bedroom into a sitting room with sofa and chairs.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">A spiral staircase led up to the remodeled attic. There were two bedrooms with a bath in between.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">My room was decorated in deep, royal blue and gold. The bed was built-in and surrounded by book shelves. Blue wall-to-wall carpeting covered the floor. Under the window was a desk and chair. It looked out on a road that wound down through fields to some woods and several summer cottages.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Beyond was the rocky coastline and the sea. I loved the view and that cozy little room.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1">After a week or so, Gunnar came home with a new car. He presented me with the keys. Before leaving the States I had obtained an International Driver’s License. The legal driving age in Sweden at that time was 20 and Gudrun couldn’t drive yet. Greta had never learned and Lars was too young. So I became the designated driver/chauffeur. I will never forget the first day. I headed out on the road in fits and starts. I had never driven stick-shift and I had never driven on the left side of the road. Gudrun, Greta and Lars were all in the car and giving advice. It was a hair-raising experience.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe the car I drove was a little Saab like this.</td></tr>
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-28015417776811779032017-01-06T03:05:00.002-08:002017-01-06T03:05:58.665-08:00Off to Sweden on the Kungsholm<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the colors of the Swedish flag! Blue and yellow have been used as national colors since King Magnus III's royal coat of arms of 1275! The cross represents Christianity. (Wikipedia)<br />
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<span class="s1"><br />After a year in France, I returned to the Washington D.C. area to complete high school at BCC, Bethesda Chevy Chase High School. My French sister, Luce, arrived in the late summer and spent the following year attending school and perfecting her English.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">At BCC, I made the acquaintance of a Swedish girl, Gudrun Jungner, who was in the USA because her father, a renowned biochemist, had been invited to do research at NIH. (The National Institute of Health). He had a one year fellowship. Gudrun wanted to stay on after her parents left and receive an American high school diploma. After my adventure in France, I was ready to try another international experience. (I considered myself oh-so-cosmopolitan) So together we cooked up a plan. We invited our families on a picnic. Once our parents were sitting across from each other we sprang our plan. Pretty sneaky! Eventually, they agreed to the exchange. So Gudrun stayed on at my house after her parents left. A year later, after graduation, we left for Gothenburg, Sweden on the <i>Kungsholm</i>, a Swedish-American ocean liner.</span><br />
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My parents drove us up to New York on a sunny June morning. They accompanied us up the gangplank. Together we found our small cabin and dumped our bags. We were hyper-excited. Up on deck we tearfully bid my parents adieu. The majestic Kungsholm pulled away from the shore and we continued to cry as my parents disappeared from view. Then we looked at each other, screamed with delight and started to laugh hysterically. Our adventure had begun. Two 18-year-old girls, unsupervised, on a week-long voyage. We scurried downstairs to unpack.</div>
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<span class="s1">Don’t imagine a romantic cruise, we were crossing the North Atlantic and the North Sea. The weather was terrible and we barely went out on deck. I was seasick a good part of the time, but that didn’t keep me down. We participated in activities and went dancing every night. I ate all the delicious food but didn’t always keep it down. Sometimes I went to the swimming pool in the bowels of the ship. Being in the pool water counteracted the effects of the roiling sea. I remember one time going upstairs when the ship plunged sharply down a wave so that I was almost going downstairs. Oh-la-la!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I remember we drank a cocktail called a White Lady: Cointreau, gin, lemon juice, sugar syrup and an egg white; all shook up. I haven’t had one since! </span></div>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-63478378430077961672016-12-31T03:10:00.000-08:002016-12-31T08:39:57.606-08:00Le Grand Départ -Leaving France<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Beuvron-en-Auge</i> - A lovely village in <i>Normandie</i> in the center of the cider and Calvados region.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">After school let out at the end of June, I spent a few more weeks in France before flying home. A friend had asked me to come along on a Cub Scout camping trip. In France, teenage girls act as Scout leaders for the Cubs. Luce and I had participated in the camping trip the year before. Both times we set up camp in Normandy in an empty field. Along with the tents, the boys constructed a complicated structure for cooking over an open fire. There were games, singing and a lot of rain.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">That first summer my knowledge of French was minimal. Since I wasn’t much good at organizing the boys, I was sent on errands. I remember I was asked to take the <i>Solex</i> (a motorized bicycle)into the village to buy the </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">boudin (a sausage made with dried blood and seasonings).</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> Finding my way to the village was an adventure.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I had never ridden a <i>Solex</i> and I didn’t have a clue what I was purchasing. In the village, I went into the wrong shop and was directed to the butcher. I bought a long string of boudin.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">As I remember my trip back was by trial and error as I wasn't quite sure where the camp site was located.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We enjoyed the grilled boudin with applesauce and mashed potatoes.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am on the second cub scout camping trip. The boys presented me with a birthday cake! </td></tr>
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Two weeks later I left for home. A group of friends came to see me off at Orly. I cried as I made my way to the plane. I would greatly miss my French family and all the friends I had made.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le grand départ. Check out the chic full skirt and scarf. In my hands I hold flowers and a baguette.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">When I arrived in Washington, I put on a black hat with a brim to go through customs. Under the hat I smuggled in a camembert cheese. Very naughty and highly illegal! </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Another group of family and friends were there to greet me as I exited the plane. I was hugged and kissed and I laughed and then I cried…for joy to be back home.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><i>Home is deep in your heart. </i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>It empowers your departure.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>But it welcomes you back,</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>With arms spread wide.</i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>It’s the fulcrum of your life,</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIWm1uMruaXTl2VCeFlNWOJ5DhkLjc-25QOW6Y9xqjt4giSyV5xvwWMMS8bGlK4P8fXkCIhhgrINs2PY9PJXJP324FPIH2PTRmtaRiyFaVyq2ebCBSkV8ISll5Q6ZnW26FMb0zsetgzjs/s1600/fullsizeoutput_4e4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIWm1uMruaXTl2VCeFlNWOJ5DhkLjc-25QOW6Y9xqjt4giSyV5xvwWMMS8bGlK4P8fXkCIhhgrINs2PY9PJXJP324FPIH2PTRmtaRiyFaVyq2ebCBSkV8ISll5Q6ZnW26FMb0zsetgzjs/s320/fullsizeoutput_4e4.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a plaque I made with my Dad as a young girl. We used a red-hot washer and a nail to burn in the inscription.</td></tr>
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-14151493694763645882016-12-23T03:21:00.002-08:002016-12-23T03:21:55.230-08:00School Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1">As I remember school started in late September. I was enrolled in the high school: Le <i>Lycée Mixte Enghien-Montorency </i>with Luce and Annie<i>.</i> The “mixte” means it was co-ed. My first day was not propitious. Upon arrival, I was told to speak to the <i>Surveillante Générale</i>, the Dean in charge of discipline. I don’t remember why? But I knocked on her door, waited for a response and then went in. A thin woman was seated behind a desk. Her hair was pulled back in a tight chignon. She eyed me critically and I became nervous and plunged my hands into my pockets. I said, “Bonjour Madame.” and she barked something at me. I didn’t understand. She barked again and I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. Then she got up and came around her desk and yanked my hands out of my pockets. It was not polite to put your hands in your pockets when addressing an adult. That afternoon, Tante Suzanne went back to the school with me to complain to the <i>Directeur</i>. After that the Dean honored me with an obsequious smile whenever we met.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I took, French, English, German, Math, History-Geography, Science, Music and a home economics class where we learned to sew by hand. Most classes met 2 or 3 times a week. Each day I had a different schedule and Thursday was a day off. However, we were given homework assignments to keep us busy. And we had classes on Saturday morning. During the week we had a two hour lunch break.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In French we did <i>dictées</i> to improve our written French, analyzed short passages of literature and read books and plays. I remember reading <i>Le Silence de la Mer. </i>It was written in 1941 by Jean Cruller under the pseudonym Vercors and published secretly in German-occupied France. It’s about a German officer that is billeted in a French family in Brittany. The young girl and her uncle promise to never speak a word to the young officer.(<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Silence_de_la_mer"><span class="s2">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Silence_de_la_mer</span></a>).</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A movie was made of the book in 2004.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">We also read La Princesse de Clèves - a story about the court of Henri II written by Madame de La Fayette. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">The first week of English class was about how to make a proper cup of tea. We memorized the lines : “I boil the water in the kettle. I measure the tea into the pot. etc.” The teacher spoke with a British accent which he considered the proper way to speak. Sometimes he had me repeat the lesson aloud so the students could hear the American pronunciation. This often elicited some giggles.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I particularly remember chanting verb forms: For example present tense, past tense, past participle: </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>bring - brought - brought, (I bring, I brought, I had brought)</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>sing - sang - sung, </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>broke - broke - broken,</span><br />
<span class="s1">take - took - taken </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>am - was - been.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In Math class we studied algebra and geometry on alternate days. My Mother sent me a geometry book for reference. On the whole Math was the easiest class because numbers could be understood with a minimum of words and many of those were cognates.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The teachers remained aloof from their students. It was THEM versus US. There was none of the camaraderie that American teachers strive to engender. When they entered the room, we all stood up; then waited for permission to sit down. Sometimes the teacher would lecture all period at the board and perhaps call on a student or two to elucidate the homework. That might be your one and only chance to shine during the marking period. All of this created a certain amount of tension. Sometimes when the <i>professeur </i>left the room, the class went haywire; books went flying and students were bouncing off the walls.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">On the whole my teachers and fellow students were friendly and helpful. At the end of the year there was <i>La Distribution de Prix -</i> a prize-giving ceremony. The three top students in each subject matter received a prize, usually a book. Very kindly, the school awarded me a poetry book…probably for making it through the year! </span></div>
</div>
Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-48269254350651306852016-12-19T06:17:00.001-08:002016-12-19T06:17:36.696-08:00THE LAKE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYj3jROKsz-vRXSGT-ombRuX95FQVfS3IIhQmrR-s6ED2xw7erPcx3D_LpUGYmxMQX19wGJ0KuGi1B7DJ0cqGlXMqPUp6SXkybj7o_cTolDaAmIdAFpsNBECYQ_HFVL9xAIYkNEgDS9OO/s1600/The_Lake_Cover_for_Kindle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrYj3jROKsz-vRXSGT-ombRuX95FQVfS3IIhQmrR-s6ED2xw7erPcx3D_LpUGYmxMQX19wGJ0KuGi1B7DJ0cqGlXMqPUp6SXkybj7o_cTolDaAmIdAFpsNBECYQ_HFVL9xAIYkNEgDS9OO/s320/The_Lake_Cover_for_Kindle.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<!--StartFragment--><b><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">It’s a perfect spring
morning or is it? While jogging on the
beach, Francesca Antonelli is horrified to find a little girl floating face
down in the water. Now Francesca’s life
has turned into a swirling nightmare of calculated murder. The shadowy intruder of her childhood has
morphed into the lake monster. She must
conquer her personal demons and apprehend the killer before he strikes
again. As editor of the <i>Banner Bee</i>, the local on-line newspaper,
Francesca is uniquely situated to investigate these crimes. In the background
Lake Michigan looms as a mesmerizing force. Her power and beauty are not to be
denied and her secrets are hers to keep</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">.</span><!--EndFragment-->
Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-14701023971935183042016-12-16T03:24:00.000-08:002016-12-16T03:58:06.653-08:00Tante Suzanne et Oncle Louis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh755o1ZAUUrBdM6TqZQHu64EvkAO1yqKHbtAe18fAA28Lvg_ts8-vsHbn_vqCQuLsJYSsuWKJc2ddEme_Aop1dhs2H30rM88mjM1d7oqrGZpNcBQwCi6FTndOrlDsTq862bzc4BUe6dd-E/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh755o1ZAUUrBdM6TqZQHu64EvkAO1yqKHbtAe18fAA28Lvg_ts8-vsHbn_vqCQuLsJYSsuWKJc2ddEme_Aop1dhs2H30rM88mjM1d7oqrGZpNcBQwCi6FTndOrlDsTq862bzc4BUe6dd-E/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">The Orsonis were a warm and welcoming family. Taking on a teenage girl for a year represented a major responsibility. Oncle Louis was tall and thin. With swarthy skin, dark hair and blue eyes, he epitomized the typical Corsican. He had a certain presence as <i>Père de Famille </i>but I remember the sound of his laughter as well. Sometimes in the evening he would do a <i>dictée </i>with me. This entailed my writing down a short passage he dictated. French is a sneaky language with silent letters, intricate verb tenses and the irrational gender of nouns. So a <i>dictée</i> requires the mastery of slippery grammatical rules. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tante Suzanne was a bundle of energy. Short, pretty with blue eyes and blond hair, she was easy to laugh. She kept the house, clean and tidy. Meals were healthful and prepared with fresh ingredients. Each week she was off to the outdoor market on Wednesday and Saturday. Sometimes I accompanied her. We would stop along the way to say hello to acquaintances. She would politely inquire “how they were feeling.” Rather than responding “fine,” This inquiry could develop into an extended conversation involving one’s liver, one’s bladder or even the kidneys. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">During the school year, Tante Suzanne would sit down with me after lunch. We would both sip a cup of espresso sweetened with brown sugar cubes and discuss my school work. I needed help with the history-geography class. Patiently, she would explain and elaborate the lesson. One day we discussed Henri IV (Good King Henry)and his religious conversion.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Henri IV looks quite jolly!</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">An aside: <i>la poule au pot (</i>a chicken in the pot) is an expression attributed to Henri. He is quoted as saying”« <i>Si Dieu me donne encore de la vie je ferai qu’il n’y aura point de laboureur en mon Royaume qui n’ait moyen d’avoir une poule dans son pot.</i>” (If God extends my life, I would make sure that every worker in my Kingdom has the means to have a chicken in his pot.) Back then the peasants were lucky to have meat on Christmas and Easter.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Poule au Pot</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">In the winter there was a ball at Pierre’s university in Lille. I had nothing to wear and I fell in love with a fluffy green dress in a magazine. Tante Suzanne told me she would make it for me. Together we went into Paris to buy the fabric. Later, I remember coming downstairs in the late evening. She was working at the dining room table. The chandelier illuminated her head as she bent over the sewing machine surrounded by billowing sea-green silk.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lovely painting of a ball in the 1800s. La Valse de l'Empereur - W. Pervuninsky </td></tr>
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The ball was a home-coming event and the whole family was to attend. Oncle Louis was an engineer and had attended <i>L’Ecole National d’Arts et Métiers as well. </i> For the ball Luce and I needed to learn to dance the waltz. In the evenings after dinner Oncle Louis would put on a record of Strauss waltzes, maybe <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDaJ7rFg66A"><i>The Blue Danube</i>.</a> <i> </i>We would take turns dancing with him; whirling around the living room and laughing like crazy.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Renoir's <i>Dance at Bougival</i></td></tr>
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On Sundays we enjoyed a delicious dinner at noon. Often there was a roast or a large steak that resembled a tri-tip in shape and size. The meat was accompanied by sautéed potatoes and a special dessert or pastries. Afterwards we girls did the dishes while Once Louis and Tante Suzanne relaxed in the living room. They would have coffee and Tante Suzanne would smoke one cigarette. (That was her only cigarette of the week.) Oncle Louis often put on a record of classical music. After the dishes, I would come in to listen. I learned to love <i>The Four Seasons</i> by Vivaldi. When I left France, he gave me a copy of the record. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GRxofEmo3HA">The Four Seasons</a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here is a selection of pastries. The second row from the right is a selection of "Babas au Rhum." These are spongy cakes bathed in rum syrup and filled with whipped cream! Délicieux!</td></tr>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-73977633886811059502016-12-09T03:29:00.003-08:002016-12-09T03:29:36.722-08:00An Alpine Vacation<style type="text/css">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpeCcULsYYRVBRbt0at_6RerPXvM71Q0umPHPHUuWroN1B-D2K0OCBzzbBsnQWZ06sxTWe2qMYbT_pMXEZ8Uq1rnMLaugi66iMX25WNqJp6oAVa9Qm-T2az51DHGh6iFM8IC0buZBREnE/s1600/corsica-brela-beach-hd-cool-wallpaper-in-high-resolution-wide-free.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpeCcULsYYRVBRbt0at_6RerPXvM71Q0umPHPHUuWroN1B-D2K0OCBzzbBsnQWZ06sxTWe2qMYbT_pMXEZ8Uq1rnMLaugi66iMX25WNqJp6oAVa9Qm-T2az51DHGh6iFM8IC0buZBREnE/s320/corsica-brela-beach-hd-cool-wallpaper-in-high-resolution-wide-free.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brela Beach - Corsica</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">In the month of August the Orsoni family was heading off to Corsica. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Oncle Louis’s family came from the island. There was a seasoned cottage with simple amenities where the family spent their holiday.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">It was decided that I would NOT join them.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">As I remember, the thought was the facilities were too primitive for a delicate American girl.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Instead I spent a month in Megève, a village in the Alps with Tante Suzanne’s sister and family.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPGRpsOqtxmvZgj9IZV_xhaeYCUW_WJZpGWCMSTTMSuYgNGhq7lOHtpnlNXX5N8BjvrR7qDe5L_CY0P-Wo4HMBvXSuAE0zuD3NH7dIKSqXGA7P0uMIOqE5LveChVT27gyiZnArvLu5dFP/s1600/administrative-france-map-departements-Megeve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPGRpsOqtxmvZgj9IZV_xhaeYCUW_WJZpGWCMSTTMSuYgNGhq7lOHtpnlNXX5N8BjvrR7qDe5L_CY0P-Wo4HMBvXSuAE0zuD3NH7dIKSqXGA7P0uMIOqE5LveChVT27gyiZnArvLu5dFP/s320/administrative-france-map-departements-Megeve.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a map of France. See Megève in red near the border with Italy. Corsica is the island at the bottom right.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0yM8ToGYuRs3QzgbdRAALIGaWuzR6m6owUnrlOFL8W3ZI82Wi1d52A2gjJhx1Eq-YRItXER3I8nvf6L35UYVi3tzqNicYQWwbltR6IuSdJyBiJCWmOo9kBRbZ3IgAPjcNY7EMyZwSzDx/s1600/megeve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0yM8ToGYuRs3QzgbdRAALIGaWuzR6m6owUnrlOFL8W3ZI82Wi1d52A2gjJhx1Eq-YRItXER3I8nvf6L35UYVi3tzqNicYQWwbltR6IuSdJyBiJCWmOo9kBRbZ3IgAPjcNY7EMyZwSzDx/s320/megeve.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Megève today.</td></tr>
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The Orsonis dropped me off on their way to the Mediterranean. Megève is a picturesque village surrounded by mountain peaks. The Maquins (Tante Suzanne’s sister and family) had rented a chalet for the month of August. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZa_ovYjvGAPaM-h2hVvvZdEvxQt8vzXDiyXzM_6nVPIPkU43mPadu2xcwwR8qVUgnPhK5yMqq6G8Egd4i6CfeH1piZECo49TBkW3B2pFTYHE73YsFp6oV9RRKd_G2B4kUsH40gmVeS1ML/s1600/108529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZa_ovYjvGAPaM-h2hVvvZdEvxQt8vzXDiyXzM_6nVPIPkU43mPadu2xcwwR8qVUgnPhK5yMqq6G8Egd4i6CfeH1piZECo49TBkW3B2pFTYHE73YsFp6oV9RRKd_G2B4kUsH40gmVeS1ML/s320/108529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This chalet reminds me of the one we enjoyed.</td></tr>
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After a discussion it was suggested I call Madame Maquin, “Marraine" which means “godmother” in French. The family included 5 children that came and went during my stay. Their married daughter, Thérèse, her husband, Pierre and their two little children spent the entire month. I remember feeling that the little ones were at the same level linguistically as I was. I played “house” and “store” with them.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAv9dAI0jaBgIr8AlHHYZSLybZqzULUExcrt95dhg8ab5QMFKfnBLA9Rho_IpyBIt7VUenz4vo_mMAfsCt72dmOj1g2h9DDelhIKALY6Rxmw0I00FymZWsjdse3l_voUhKrRk2zxmJrQt9/s1600/IMG_0896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAv9dAI0jaBgIr8AlHHYZSLybZqzULUExcrt95dhg8ab5QMFKfnBLA9Rho_IpyBIt7VUenz4vo_mMAfsCt72dmOj1g2h9DDelhIKALY6Rxmw0I00FymZWsjdse3l_voUhKrRk2zxmJrQt9/s320/IMG_0896.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thérèse and children: Jean-Michel and Sylvie.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">We did a lot of hiking around Megève. Sometimes we found </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">les</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">fraises des bois, </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">wild</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">strawberries or </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">les</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">myrtilles, </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">miniature</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">blueberries.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I remember we made a tart with the blueberries that turned out a bit too runny…but delicious.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qnIDQM86JJ7sYwSd3p0X93mFD1Ixio6XDIVekRgnHuhLJO9bQ6gVYL7svIGI4v3bxw46TFrg8-jT6ivt5eGn_HQqu6oAg9vXhmOdP70VHi1vPbr53f_N-bRlHmjpVAgq1TowqvtiSqa4/s1600/montJolySommet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qnIDQM86JJ7sYwSd3p0X93mFD1Ixio6XDIVekRgnHuhLJO9bQ6gVYL7svIGI4v3bxw46TFrg8-jT6ivt5eGn_HQqu6oAg9vXhmOdP70VHi1vPbr53f_N-bRlHmjpVAgq1TowqvtiSqa4/s320/montJolySommet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking around Megève.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmPHzm1xlFvPlGhCoCbCV40TDxDBg7Yhd8PPxnEm_5UPvRjD3lj5itGta-1Ro8haelJo0HFVKhPaQgA3vAmc_aMjRuUqC8_MSOSyczYM2XDyfQ4bVsEAiCZ6uzC0x5WV6nnLCIn9Tw1TQ/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPmPHzm1xlFvPlGhCoCbCV40TDxDBg7Yhd8PPxnEm_5UPvRjD3lj5itGta-1Ro8haelJo0HFVKhPaQgA3vAmc_aMjRuUqC8_MSOSyczYM2XDyfQ4bVsEAiCZ6uzC0x5WV6nnLCIn9Tw1TQ/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in saddle shoes, Michèle and Pierre</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Bq_hedodz-7AL4GfIMnCR6ARKKuHvSZB_QzPibbjVoiGayqt9iQm4_Hei3CTUqJWUcDPCP_PzCm9eXAegwPqRQheajCQAfANeCGDEGOdxgISTc6cqpJ4q3AUmCfPY84tCpFE9hpNEFq-/s1600/IMG_0911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Bq_hedodz-7AL4GfIMnCR6ARKKuHvSZB_QzPibbjVoiGayqt9iQm4_Hei3CTUqJWUcDPCP_PzCm9eXAegwPqRQheajCQAfANeCGDEGOdxgISTc6cqpJ4q3AUmCfPY84tCpFE9hpNEFq-/s320/IMG_0911.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A pastry chef at work.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYVPoQ6z8rTgf8DXHGNWTAK80RfIVAMCFPp8TdcB7VpbF2NyiYtS0CxBUFMTlpaLrLYAF5pdH6dUmVJqmQM5N-qI2ZGibFas04VI0h5-sPMtNuy8Z7L-Hn20qe_Umq2eYE7Q98YpQiGdI/s1600/tarte-aux-myrtilles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYVPoQ6z8rTgf8DXHGNWTAK80RfIVAMCFPp8TdcB7VpbF2NyiYtS0CxBUFMTlpaLrLYAF5pdH6dUmVJqmQM5N-qI2ZGibFas04VI0h5-sPMtNuy8Z7L-Hn20qe_Umq2eYE7Q98YpQiGdI/s320/tarte-aux-myrtilles.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Une tarte aux myrtilles</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">There was a swimming pool at the Club de Sports and some days I went for a <i>workout: </i>100 laps. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">From my journal, I see that I did a lot of reading and Marraine taught me how to knit.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I began a sweater for my Father in a soft brown wool.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I sent it to him for Christmas although one sleeve was considerably longer than the other. This became a standard family joke.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbryOHuw0Z9a1i0vmXIFr3xLDRZ3keD7zYDiQTXzVpr8r4pTqGjaRQYwBB17ctmw4fblX-kztauEo4g_uIAGjLnHD5sSalUczm9jyti4XAajkdqMszhp9bC1mrnnUZFMNy4fUWGYt3noR/s1600/1024__683__auto__%257Ewp-content%257Euploads%257E2015%257E04%257Eddd_3184-1024x683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirbryOHuw0Z9a1i0vmXIFr3xLDRZ3keD7zYDiQTXzVpr8r4pTqGjaRQYwBB17ctmw4fblX-kztauEo4g_uIAGjLnHD5sSalUczm9jyti4XAajkdqMszhp9bC1mrnnUZFMNy4fUWGYt3noR/s320/1024__683__auto__%257Ewp-content%257Euploads%257E2015%257E04%257Eddd_3184-1024x683.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pool at the Club de Sports</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The crowning event of that month was a three day trip into the Alpes </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">with Michèle, the second oldest daughter in the Maquin hierarchy. The previous winter she had lost her husband, Guy, on their honeymoon.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">He had been killed by an avalanche in the Alps.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Nevertheless, she wanted to go back up into the mountains. It was as though she wanted to be closer to him. This trip necessitated renting special climbing gear: coats, pants, cleats, a sleeping bag and a backpack.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are taking off on our adventure.</td></tr>
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There were 8 people in our party: 2 male guides, 4 men, Michèle and myself. The main guide was thin and wiry, with a long white beard and sharp deep-set blue eyes. He led our group and the other guide brought up the rear.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Mer de Glace</td></tr>
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We started out taking a cable car and then headed out into the snow. The path went down to the glacier: <i>La</i> <i>Mer de Glace</i> (The Sea of Ice which is 7 Kilometers long and 200 meters deep) and then we hiked up the glacier. In the afternoon we scaled a vertical cliff and arrived at the <i>Refuge de Requin</i> where we spent the night.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Refuge de Requin</td></tr>
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A couple managed the <i>refuge</i> (shelter) and spent the entire summer there. Once a week someone hiked up and brought them provisions. That night about 20 people were spending the night. It was an international group and many languages collided in the crisp air. We all ate a supper of soup, bread, cheese and chocolate. I remember setting the table and helping with the dishes. We bunked down in an upstairs room, all in a row on the floor in our sleeping bags. I slept next to the guide. As he snored away, I looked through a round portal at the full moon. I felt like Heidi, the heroine of a favorite childhood book.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The upper area of the Mer de Glace where the snow is being pressed into ice. You can make out those crevices in the ice.</td></tr>
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The next morning we climbed to the upper part of the <i>Mer de Glace.</i> We were all attached at the waist with a rope. This was the most frightening part of the trip for me. As we made our way down, we had to jump over deep crevices in the ice that were hundreds of feet deep; the walls, an icy blue. I was attached to a portly man and I thought if he fell down into the crevice, I would surely be pulled along.</div>
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<span class="s1">At some point we found ourselves in a more civilized area with hordes of tourists who had come up on a cable car. The spot marked the tri-point where France, Italy and Switzerland are co-joined. However, the actual spot must be at a higher elevation on Mont Dolent.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mont Dolent</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">The entire experience was wonderfully amazing and terribly frightening. I still ask myself why alpine enthusiasts climb mountains. I found this quote from the famous Scottish climber Tom Patey (<i>Apes and Ballerinas</i>):</span><br />
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"If everyone made a point of remembering Darwin, we might be spared a lot of mountain philosophy and psychoanalysis...'Why do you climb?'...'Because it's the natural thing to do.'"<br />
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-80914323018061998362016-12-02T02:29:00.000-08:002016-12-02T02:29:09.111-08:00Frolicking with French Friends<style type="text/css">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Château de Fontainebleau.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">After I had been in Montmorency for a month, Tante Suzanne and Oncle Louie invited me to extend my stay and spend an entire year. They felt that if I really wanted to learn French, I needed to spend more time. I was ecstatic! Oddly enough, I didn’t seem to be worried about missing my family or my friends back home! This astounds me because I was close to my parents and we got along well. I wasn’t on some teenage jailbreak. I was having a fabulous time. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">I wrote a letter to my parents. The cost of a phone call would have been prohibitive. After some back and forth, it was decided that I could stay in France for a full year and then Luce would come to Washington for a year. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Every week I wrote my parents a letter. Usually I wrote a little each day so they could share in my experiences. Back then the most affordable way to send a letter was by using an aerogram which was a self-stamped, light-weight piece of paper that cleverly folded up to form an envelope. Airmail was the way to go from Europe, a regular letter could take a month or more by boat!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't remember the names of these kids...or what we were doing!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;">From day one, I had a wonderful </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 15px;">teenage</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;"> time.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;">We hung out with a gang of kids.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;">Reading my journal, it seems that everyday we did something fun.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;">There were trips into Paris to do some sightseeing; everything from the Eiffel Tower to the Louvre.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;">On other days we went into Paris to the movies or to the swimming pool. Luce and I were usually joined by other boys and girls.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the Château de Versailles.</td></tr>
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During the first week, we planned a <i>surprise-party, </i>which was a dance party. It was to celebrate the end of the school year. With other kids, we spent several days sweeping out the main room of the <i>château </i>and stringing up lights. While we prepared the locale, we played records and danced. I must have been quite the show-off. I taught everyone the <i>Jitterbug</i> and the <i>Charleston</i>. They taught me to dance the <i>paso doble. </i>We listened to French singers as well as American groups.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting on a Deux Chevaux (two horses)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Citroën 2CV (Deux Chevaux) was a simple, cheap car that could run forever on one tank of gas.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><br />That summer I played tennis just about everyday with different kids. We also spent time at a nearby volleyball court.</span><br />
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During the year we made day trips to Fontainebleau and Versailles. One time we did a bicycle-rally to Chantilly which is about 20 miles away.</div>
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<span class="s1">In my journal, I write of family times with relatives of the Orsonis. These festivities entailed a special meal and maybe some champagne. I remember once we girls were doing the dishes after a family dinner, we finished off the dregs of wine at the bottom of the glasses. This made the washing-up a giggly affair. Speaking of alcohol, I must say, I do not remember wine or spirits being part of all the teenage parties and get-togethers. At meals, we normally drank water.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doing our nails out on the patio with neighbors.</td></tr>
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We also spent a lot of time just talking. French young people enjoy discussing politics as much as their parents. Kids were very aware of current news events. There was much friendly banter which was probably partially fueled by flirtation. I don’t remember any pairing-off or dating. We just had fun in a big group.</div>
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During that year, I remember the song "Petite Fleur" by Sydney Bechet: See if you remember the song. Here you<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrpnX3PACbQ"> go</a> .</div>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-89292057361998166082016-11-18T06:47:00.000-08:002016-11-18T06:47:00.750-08:00Language, Wine and The French Flag<style type="text/css">
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">When I arrived in France I had completed only one year of middle school French. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Consequently, upon arrival, I understood very little.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Luce had many friends and they were friendly and welcoming.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">But I remember standing around and finding their conversations very, very long.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">In those first few weeks, my head would be spinning at the end of the day.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">My Mother had packed my bible in my suitcase. This fact is remarkable in that I don’t think of my mother as particularly religious.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">When I queried her about the existence of God, she bought me a copy of </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Golden Bough </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">written by Frazer in 1890</span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">. </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Let me quote Wikipedia here: “Frazer proposed that mankind progresses from </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; color: black;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magic_and_religion">magic</a> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">through </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Religious_belief" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">religious belief</a><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> to scientific thought.”</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Nonetheless, I was grateful for the bible in ENGLISH!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I found it relaxed my brain to read </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The Book</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">of Ruth </i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">or the story of </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Deborah and Barak!</i></div>
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<span class="s1">It’s a funny thing about your brain and absorbing language. It happens quite magically. One day after a couple of months, I woke up and I could understand almost everything. Comprehension just crept up on me and sprang into action. On the other hand quasi-self-expression took many more weeks.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I attended classes with Luce for a week or two. In France, the school year finished at the end of June. I particularly remember her Italian teacher who took the time to chat with me. He taught me a phrase that expresses the French as well as the Italian view of wine. </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>“Qu’est-ce que c’est le vin?” - “What is wine?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>“C’est le soleil en bouteille.” - “It’s sunshine in a bottle.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I met an English girl who was staying with another family in Montmorency. One day we decided to go into Paris together to do some shopping. We wanted to buy gifts to take back home. I had decided to buy a French flag for my brother, Mark. I found a shop and bought a large flag. It was wrapped in a long sheet of newsprint.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are walking along. I apologize for these scratchy old pictures.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">As we walked along the paper loosened and blew away. The flag unfurled and was whipping around in the breeze. Before I could wrap it back up again we heard whistles and shouts. A minute later we were accosted by two gendarmes! Remember this was the period of the Algerian revolt. The government was worried about terrorist attacks. They felt that walking down the street with <i>le drapeau tricolore</i> flying could cause unrest and possible reprisals. Eventually they captured the wayward paper and we wrapped up the flag.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie and my flag.</td></tr>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-3474591351021287792016-11-11T05:10:00.000-08:002016-12-13T08:33:22.156-08:00Montmorency and a First Supper<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Montmorency cherries! I'll have to admit I never saw a cherry tree while I lived there.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;">My new French family picked me up at Orly Airport. We arrived in Montmorency in the late afternoon. The town is located north of Paris in the hills.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note Montmorency in orange. It's in the Département de Val-d'Oise.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view down the hill in Montmorency.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Place du Marché- Montmorency's market square.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica"; font-size: 15px;">The Orsonis lived in a semi-detached house on the enclosed grounds of a "château." They had an end unit with a patio behind the house. There were garden paths meandering between the units. A wall enclosed the compound. Up near the main road was the “château” which was more of a dilapidated manor house. It was empty and residents were able to use the formal rooms for parties. An open grassy area spread out in front. Among the trees was a tennis court. In the spring and summer we played a lot of tennis with neighborhood kids.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfyw_2g7AZOcJcL-EXQ9qUI8jMuE573wphXV_2DeHB05inzUhLeJHYVyXQN0BUklRDFupYbSrOCDh6Tac2qf8aMRDXM0j0hqnqi9i0DZgULBcXbKi62xolCr5qwQ0cI-iB1YKcA61yh3A/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfyw_2g7AZOcJcL-EXQ9qUI8jMuE573wphXV_2DeHB05inzUhLeJHYVyXQN0BUklRDFupYbSrOCDh6Tac2qf8aMRDXM0j0hqnqi9i0DZgULBcXbKi62xolCr5qwQ0cI-iB1YKcA61yh3A/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's Annie playing tennis</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The Orsoni house contained a kitchen, living and dining room on the first floor with French doors out to the patio. Upstairs there were three bedrooms, a bathroom and a water closet. The finished attic served as another bedroom. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I was given a nice bedroom with a bed, a desk and an armoire for my belongings.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">That first afternoon I walked with the girls to the bakery for a baguette. In my journal I write: French bread here ...is thinner and 10 times as long." Later we stood outside and talked with a couple of neighborhood girls. I remember the time as being very long since I understood little of their conversation. I had only one year of middle school French under my belt. Undoubtedly I was also exhausted after the 20 hour flight.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Dinner was at 7:30. The meal began with a green lettuce salad, then fresh peas followed by cheese and oranges. This was the usual menu for evening supper. Tante Suzanne was somewhat of a vegetarian. We ate lots of fresh vegetables and fruit with a small amount of meat. Since she shopped at the local market, we ate what was in season. When string beans were flooding the market, we had them every other night. They were always delicious with a pat of butter and a sprinkle of parsley. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Often the lettuce was purchased from a nearby farm. It was grown in long greenhouses. Sometimes I was sent to get it and my memory is of a pleasant walk through hill and dale.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8gvRp4qnaPfeIpjnl8IQG9xOKz-Yy42r6da41k3rlPLUS9l7FJggRgEshEoTf259tiyykxFPVAdYSMBnoFx4eB1zJGToW5qq_pfUfmeR3LFkxQatIjEYi3UmXM8_k-W5tFAWNrfEE445/s1600/Pissarro-Camille-The-red-roofs-Sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8gvRp4qnaPfeIpjnl8IQG9xOKz-Yy42r6da41k3rlPLUS9l7FJggRgEshEoTf259tiyykxFPVAdYSMBnoFx4eB1zJGToW5qq_pfUfmeR3LFkxQatIjEYi3UmXM8_k-W5tFAWNrfEE445/s320/Pissarro-Camille-The-red-roofs-Sun.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When I see this painting: Red Roofs by Pissarro, I think of the walks I took around Montmorency.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A luscious head of lettuce.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">The dressing for the salad was made in advance at the bottom of the bowl. Then the lettuce was piled on top so it wouldn’t wilt. The salad was tossed at the table. The standard dressing was 3 tablespoons of oil to 1 of vinegar, salt, pepper and maybe some French mustard. This is the dressing I still make today with an added shake of garlic powder.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">We often had a Camembert for the cheese course or a piece of Gruyère, or Port Salut. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Camembert Cheese</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">That first night I was asked which bread I preferred.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">There was a fresh, crispy baguette that we’d bought at the bakery that afternoon and then there was a VERY dense loaf of whole wheat bread. I picked the baguette and everyone started laughing.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">As I learned, the children preferred the baguette but during the week we ate the whole wheat loaf which was undoubtedly better for us!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Bread is an essential of life. When the French discuss the current cost of living, they often reference the price of bread.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A display of bread in the baker's shop.</td></tr>
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-59891602337769088872016-11-04T03:39:00.000-07:002016-11-05T17:30:50.663-07:00My French Family<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TYifSazst_3ayXy9Lgl333T45ZdzoZY61n2hw4T82Kul8beO3v1XZHrnVYC-pYX58zOham9Z02X1U7kGKfCEO2uG47QYdmPFgcRyn13M6twxJhKZ8TDGYDThRmtCBas3V8MfUWJk3sjw/s1600/Paris-Orly-Airport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TYifSazst_3ayXy9Lgl333T45ZdzoZY61n2hw4T82Kul8beO3v1XZHrnVYC-pYX58zOham9Z02X1U7kGKfCEO2uG47QYdmPFgcRyn13M6twxJhKZ8TDGYDThRmtCBas3V8MfUWJk3sjw/s320/Paris-Orly-Airport.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orly was a small airport back then. Charles de Gaulle airport did not exist.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: 15px;">When I arrived at Orly Airport, there was no one to greet me. </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">After a time I went to the visitor's desk to request that they announce my arrival over the loudspeaker system.</span><span style="font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 15px;">A few minutes later my new family appeared.</span></span><br />
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: inherit;">The Orsoni family included four children: Jean - 23, Pierre - 20, Luce -17 and Annie -13. I addressed the parents as Oncle Louis and Tante Suzanne.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHoKBjhO8PZZjbrl6b1RSIGI84px6OIBuGFyyTQlkJw2hR2VU9ijspc2iT365GVNB38rqchYgQ8vxJ4vqgWEvW4YypLl03inQ8_6m8pdgmpM-oQfmNybjAihpQ_Nrym9Gqna66aKmhytmG/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHoKBjhO8PZZjbrl6b1RSIGI84px6OIBuGFyyTQlkJw2hR2VU9ijspc2iT365GVNB38rqchYgQ8vxJ4vqgWEvW4YypLl03inQ8_6m8pdgmpM-oQfmNybjAihpQ_Nrym9Gqna66aKmhytmG/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am with Oncle Louis and Tante Suzanne. This picture was taken several years later when I was 23.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">During most of my stay, Jean was absent. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">He was completing his military service.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> I believe all young men had to serve for 2 years or so. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">At that time Algeria was fighting for its independence from France.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">In May of that year, there had been a revolt in Algeria and Charles de Gaulle, who had left the government 12 years previously, returned to head the 5th Republic.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Jean served in Algeria for several months.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">As I remember he was stationed in a lookout on top of a mountain.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">With his fellow soldiers, he conducted surveillance of the desert below. It was a lonely spot.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Tante Suzanne sent him care packages of dried fruit, books and yarn.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">He and his buddies spent long hours knitting!</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDaplMemytSP8FV9jaACCZdRlLRqoZCdPuxViPsFuDk5dU238rpZKAkDJ5C7E16M06Je2FoTnkbBfA5pOUARGYWTcWhUdiHXc0m_cYCuBYsWj2rsuMmCmcw3D2PhDkykJHLvag1ZkobM7-/s1600/Asskrem-Hoggar-Argelia.-Author-Gruban-Patrick-Gruban.-Licensed-under-the-Creative-Commons-Attribution-Share-Alike-599x330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDaplMemytSP8FV9jaACCZdRlLRqoZCdPuxViPsFuDk5dU238rpZKAkDJ5C7E16M06Je2FoTnkbBfA5pOUARGYWTcWhUdiHXc0m_cYCuBYsWj2rsuMmCmcw3D2PhDkykJHLvag1ZkobM7-/s320/Asskrem-Hoggar-Argelia.-Author-Gruban-Patrick-Gruban.-Licensed-under-the-Creative-Commons-Attribution-Share-Alike-599x330.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rugged Algerian mountains.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">Pierre, the second son, was in college in Lille. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">He attended </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">L’Ecole National d’Arts et Métiers</i><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> and was studying to be an engineer.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">He came home for holidays.</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">I’ll have to admit I was smitten with him, but then again I was smitten with several French boys and young men at the time.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Oncle Louis, Grand-père, Pierre and Luce. I believe we were attending a wedding. I didn't have a party dress but I did have my white gloves!</td></tr>
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Luce and I became close friends. That year she was studying for her Baccalauréat exam. This test is taken at the end of one’s high school studies and is the ticket to move on to university. She needed to study assiduously that year but we managed to have a lot of fun. Luce returned with me to the States the following year.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luce and I in the gardens of Versailles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We took a picture of Luce with all the books and dictionaries she used for her baccalauréat with a Latin major.</td></tr>
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Annie and I attended classes together although I was a bit older. Due to my rudimentary knowledge of French, I was placed a year behind in school. In spite of this, I seemed closer in maturity to Luce. Annie was a cheerful, fun-loving girl.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie after a snow storm -an exciting and rare occurrence in the Paris area.</td></tr>
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</style>Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-56483535771123216282016-10-28T02:57:00.000-07:002016-10-31T07:35:50.575-07:00Medicare and Travel Musings<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the last six months I have recounted my experiences living in Italy, Belgium and France as a young woman and mother. Now I’m going to back track to my first trip to France when I was 14. I spent a year with a wonderful French family.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poetic French Countryside.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve been thinking about my travel experiences. I googled TRAVEL QUOTES and read a selection of <i>Brainy Quotes</i>. Many of the citations express the idea that through travel one discovers oneself. Perhaps the idea is that by leaving home and what is familiar, we are forced to change and grow…to accept another way of being.</span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>“To travel is to take a journey into yourself.” Danny Kaye</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Here's another quote I like: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people. Let your memory be your travel bag." Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was incredibly lucky to have parents who pushed my brother and myself out into the world to seek and discover new lands and new people. In the process, I think I learned about myself and to be somewhat independent.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am before the big departure. I was so excited.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1957 I was living in the Washington D.C. area and had just finished 9th grade. My father, Kenneth Williamson, was the Director of the Service Bureau of the American Hospital Association. The bureau provided health care information to congress. Of course at that time there was no internet to google quick facts and figures so lobbyists provided information. During his tenure congress wrote the Medicare Bill. My father was considered an <i>architect of Medicare </i>for his input into the bill<i>.</i> He was present at the signing of the historic bill with President Johnson and former President Truman. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">President Johnson signing the Medicare Bill. President Truman received the first Medicare card.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In June of 1957 I left Washington D.C. to spend the summer with a French family in Montmorency, France. I was fortunate to have parents who felt that learning a foreign language and traveling abroad were important learning experiences. My </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">father worked with a French woman named Renée Tanière. Renée grew up in Paris. As a child she played with the children next door on the adjoining balcony. At my parents request she contacted her childhood playmate, Louis Orsoni, and arranged my summer trip. As it turned out I stayed with the family for a year.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A TWA Lockheed 1649 Constellation</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All in all the flight over took 20 hours. From Washington I flew to New York. From there we stopped in Boston and Shannon, Ireland for fuel. Then on to Paris and Orly airport.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the hats and gloves. That's how ladies traveled.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I recount my travels in a leather-bound journal. My flight companions were two “middle-aged women…one quiet and passive, the other chubby with a jolly face.” (Who knows? At 14, 35 year old ladies could have seemed “middle-aged.”) In my journal I consider the value of travel: “I think when you leave your country and home, you change your life and character completely, your manners improve and you momentarily forget the past, look to the future and use the present as guidance.” (I like the part about the manners.) Further down I write: "In only 19 hours I will be in France and be my new person and a more learned and appreciative one at that. So I say au revoir old Debbie and welcome to the new Debbie." Ah, the confidence and innocence of youth!</span></div>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-66724121969305057552016-10-21T01:50:00.000-07:002016-10-24T12:27:15.549-07:00From Paris With Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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While we lived in France, Vincent was working for Cryo-Diffusion. It was a division of Minnesota Valley Engineers, itself a division of Beatrice Foods. The company made cryogenic containers for the storage and transportation of liquid neutral (non explosive) gases: nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, argon, helium. These containers were used in off-shore drilling.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo of a container courtesy of Cryo-Diffusion site.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">Initially the company produced cryogenic thermos bottles that were used to transport semen extracted from prized Charolais bulls. Those spermatozoa found their way to far flung lands like India, Australia or even Texas. This caused Vincent to quip at a cocktail party that his business was in the exportation of “French sperm." Très drôle!</span></div>
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When Vincent began working at the plant, they were losing money. With financial skill and the development of an improved product, he was able to turn the company around. Beatrice Foods named him employee of the year and we were invited to a dinner at <i>Taillevent. </i>I believe there were 7 of us and the dinner cost 3-4 thousand dollars!! Much of that was due to the excellent wines. I remember delicious veal medallions and an exquisite dessert. Strawberries were arranged in a meringue nest. Hardened caramel strands had been woven over the the whole…like a cage. Too pretty to eat!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I found this photo on Pinterest. Apparently you can weave hot, liquid strands of caramel over a lightly greased ladle or small bowl!</td></tr>
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In spite of Vincent’s admirable success, there continued to be problems. Minnesota Valley Engineers disagreed with the production of a new type of container developed by Cryo-Diffusion. Vincent was under a lot of pressure. He was caught between the Americans and the French who often didn’t see eye-to-eye. Eventually, the French company was no longer able to sustain its profitability, and Vincent resigned. This was a difficult time.<br />
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Eventually it was decided that the children and I should leave France to stay with my parents in Yucca Valley, California. Talk about a change of scene...<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My parents house.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the living room windows.</td></tr>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-34402677605216642122016-10-14T02:49:00.000-07:002016-10-14T02:49:04.420-07:00Happy Family Times - Paris In The Fall<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Château de Chenonceau</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The best thing about those years is Saint-Nom-La-Breteche, was being near Vincent's family. We got together for the holidays and special events. One summer we celebrated the wedding of Vincent’s brother Denis. There was a lovely reception at a château. Champagne and hors-d’oeuvres were served in the formal gardens. Later inside, the dinner was capped off with desserts displayed on magical ice sculptures.<br />
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are ready for the wedding. </td></tr>
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<div class="p1">
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We celebrated Christopher’s first communion and invited the family to our house.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three generations complete with a new baby.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christopher and I in front of Vaux-Le-Vicomte, a jewel of a château. As an adult he returned here to propose to his wife.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four laughing children: Chris, Charles, Marie-Juliette with little cousin Priscille.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">At that time all three kids were enrolled in horseback riding lessons. Vincent had taken lessons as a boy at the Ecole Militaire de Paris. This is a vast complex of buildings that dates back to 1750. Napoléon did military training there.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxr-JwQnKXb0mkDYK4sjNxYoMvygXSwvgAhN-Pcu5A7Gzopfa3z5bC229byY5n1aSJh2zgcqLY5WU6E2ZIoAor0kXT3KvRZYx0_Jl6gp8E-Gr1fjavK3dbaVT2wJEUD04enAqi1HbKlFAW/s1600/Central_building_of_Ecole_Militaire_at_dusk%252C_Paris_7e_20140607_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxr-JwQnKXb0mkDYK4sjNxYoMvygXSwvgAhN-Pcu5A7Gzopfa3z5bC229byY5n1aSJh2zgcqLY5WU6E2ZIoAor0kXT3KvRZYx0_Jl6gp8E-Gr1fjavK3dbaVT2wJEUD04enAqi1HbKlFAW/s320/Central_building_of_Ecole_Militaire_at_dusk%252C_Paris_7e_20140607_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="text-align: start;">Here is the Ecole Militaire(By DXR / Daniel Vorndran, CC BY-SA 3.0, )</span></span></td></tr>
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Vincent believed that equestrian competence was essential to life. He used to say something like: <i>If you can manage/control a horse, you can manage your life</i>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marie-Juliette ready for horseback riding lessons.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1">The children also took piano lessons for a year with a young American who had won a major competition. The prize was to study in Paris with a master pianist. The fellow's apartment was along the Seine</span>. I would drop the children off and then walk across a bridge to a cozy café.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOsPRdPJSd_NdKahhOSX0RC9s38mCMtwPRtM93SqFL7WKxe0UTPnrFNNnPIMLzM-_iMyIYl-hYHWBWltV5LkGFShZlr5UehQMALRc1ISxL214DIMh1jDDlnXqAtbpUemv8KJkBZha5QYLi/s1600/65210-004-C06EBC70.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOsPRdPJSd_NdKahhOSX0RC9s38mCMtwPRtM93SqFL7WKxe0UTPnrFNNnPIMLzM-_iMyIYl-hYHWBWltV5LkGFShZlr5UehQMALRc1ISxL214DIMh1jDDlnXqAtbpUemv8KJkBZha5QYLi/s320/65210-004-C06EBC70.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">I remember walking along the sidewalk in the late afternoon. The slanted light of autumn illuminated the falling leaves. The mournful beauty played with my heart strings. Just like Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra crooned:</span></div>
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<div class="p3" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1">I love Paris in the springtime</span></div>
<div class="p3" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1">I love Paris in the fall</span></div>
<div class="p3" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1">I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles</span></div>
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<div class="p3" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="s1">Ooh, I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles…</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs1FBZ1pSXNRgUbzKu0MIQmE51GY7TGDykcbTJL7o4dr7VeWFaVJ-dalsatvcroO2MSNshGfDBzO1XLUaFY9xMMQnlo2KYh4IoY4_cCYfREeC2JHYtHMv_s08ULYUC3c9Q3bAUr2Tpqrdw/s1600/2d3589680b54e4922a533f664fef0fd9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs1FBZ1pSXNRgUbzKu0MIQmE51GY7TGDykcbTJL7o4dr7VeWFaVJ-dalsatvcroO2MSNshGfDBzO1XLUaFY9xMMQnlo2KYh4IoY4_cCYfREeC2JHYtHMv_s08ULYUC3c9Q3bAUr2Tpqrdw/s320/2d3589680b54e4922a533f664fef0fd9.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-48084823432938409032016-10-10T07:58:00.001-07:002016-10-10T07:59:38.820-07:00FACE BLIND<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wV7HbPl5CjmTzYMYNkksv1yoWt_J2bMQkRtNo3oq5KkZLoAi5x3rkm-IUsmsyt6AxcWZ_eor6D6L6QVRvN7k5b_7YVexvGpj9ZDzM8vV4FGfmDFBgDehNP94uscTfkYewyfG5QEeRvK7/s1600/dRineCoverWebImage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wV7HbPl5CjmTzYMYNkksv1yoWt_J2bMQkRtNo3oq5KkZLoAi5x3rkm-IUsmsyt6AxcWZ_eor6D6L6QVRvN7k5b_7YVexvGpj9ZDzM8vV4FGfmDFBgDehNP94uscTfkYewyfG5QEeRvK7/s320/dRineCoverWebImage.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="page number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
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Francesca‘s world is up for grabs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heroin is pouring into the village of Banner
Bluff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A teenager dies from an overdose
and hit men are stalking Martin Marshall after he witnessed a grisly murder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Francesca plunges into an investigation that
puts her face to face with the Russian mob.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then there’s Governor Crenshaw who makes a suspicious visit to Banner
Bluff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His slimy advances make
Francesca’s skin crawl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile her
romance with Chief of Police Tom Barnett grows in fits and starts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a fast paced mystery novel with
complex characters, real-life situations and delectable food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a winner!<o:p></o:p></div>
Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5693580916326620047.post-9983839595112397152016-10-07T02:35:00.000-07:002016-10-07T02:35:09.114-07:00Memorable Luncheons, The Church and A Delicious Pavlova<br />
<div class="p1">
While living in Saint-Nom-La-Bretèche, I went in to Paris on Tuesdays to have lunch with my mother-in-law. The drive in and out of the city in the middle of the day was not a problem, but finding a parking place was a nightmare. I gather it's even worse today. So sometimes I took the train.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYUPOBklT7e8T3zy8h522INKF44xRlwjl7_iknBPJHGv3AKi6ZFtl94jSIKcdqFPWHgZZzw8sM9FmcdQWPI05-LKq9X5Hj_bXsYWGOOjxFY-I4F-IYOVHSGpyfXIzmNw4E-nuX7TyyWaz/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsYUPOBklT7e8T3zy8h522INKF44xRlwjl7_iknBPJHGv3AKi6ZFtl94jSIKcdqFPWHgZZzw8sM9FmcdQWPI05-LKq9X5Hj_bXsYWGOOjxFY-I4F-IYOVHSGpyfXIzmNw4E-nuX7TyyWaz/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tricky Parisian parking</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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My father-in-law had passed away a few years earlier and Mère lived alone in a large apartment. We enjoyed a delicious lunch and pleasant conversation. We discussed politics, friends, the family and THE CHURCH. Mère was a conservative Catholic who disagreed with many of the changes brought about by Vatican II. Once I accompanied her to a clandestine mass in latin. Vatican II had proclaimed that the service should be said in the local vernacular. We went down a narrow street, through an unmarked doorway and down into a basement. Luckily we were not arrested by the Pope’s Gendarmerie, sent to Rome and imprisoned in the Vatican for our transgressions.</div>
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<span class="s1">This reminds me of the first lunch I had with my soon-to-be mother-in-law. In the summer of 1967, I was staying in Montmorency at the home of my French family, the Orsonis. This was a family I had lived with for a year when I was 15. Montmorency is a suburb north of Paris and is the home of the Jean-Jacques Rousseau Museum. I was writing a paper on Rousseau for my Masters…probably something highly erudite! </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHu5qRlps7RKNQuUE5-1KdJGknKCrbyTx6HWwq6sDdQCY73w5NvkDd3f47zhU61borVQxeC3NpwOBhCChFRcKUXYqCb9r-4KQ2r8hXFViOfe7WcVnpmwEbRbEUVQxdlumCQIlMI0NNrF1/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdHu5qRlps7RKNQuUE5-1KdJGknKCrbyTx6HWwq6sDdQCY73w5NvkDd3f47zhU61borVQxeC3NpwOBhCChFRcKUXYqCb9r-4KQ2r8hXFViOfe7WcVnpmwEbRbEUVQxdlumCQIlMI0NNrF1/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I am with my French "parents"-The Orsonis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksi83AGicdQO3VxOyZmfR-TttImjE1EO7N5s0z0EaWwm7eHH7uMuVr1JtOBtFktttQrTwcrDaCRtaLXNd22yu0yLDwfKsncIZkfcwW27m-MxOyeFN1aMFHU56z2G24leEHBigFq4BjYfx/s1600/440px-MontmorencyMuse%25CC%2581eRousseau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgksi83AGicdQO3VxOyZmfR-TttImjE1EO7N5s0z0EaWwm7eHH7uMuVr1JtOBtFktttQrTwcrDaCRtaLXNd22yu0yLDwfKsncIZkfcwW27m-MxOyeFN1aMFHU56z2G24leEHBigFq4BjYfx/s320/440px-MontmorencyMuse%25CC%2581eRousseau.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rousseau Museum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span class="s1">That summer I became engaged to Vincent. We went to the <i>Parc de </i><i>Bagatelle</i> and Vincent presented me with an engagement ring. It was a beautiful, romantic spot.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cGZMCQabgT2Xup-Ul6RksujJLFwyX_9OVVDZA3c046wgsb-nbryyiuL-xEVnpMK5hMSqxxEC6ZeBWtAo0DogASgVVwqudKlyrF2OIDX8gvv_CbdL1zauRdHxnzeXUqAcK5ZdssvtNVt3/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4cGZMCQabgT2Xup-Ul6RksujJLFwyX_9OVVDZA3c046wgsb-nbryyiuL-xEVnpMK5hMSqxxEC6ZeBWtAo0DogASgVVwqudKlyrF2OIDX8gvv_CbdL1zauRdHxnzeXUqAcK5ZdssvtNVt3/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bagatelle rose garden.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8TAGGkxihEMA_unmcudRnoopOpng6LLNVOOdClLSVkRxrK2xAdPMiUTERYrq5m2uPw4XtdLHGZNxhikqOCYh84R90uEFeWqpvXfmJ-GKAPUVSYoE3KIY6KNCmYKS6RiwCGJtHhjgnmrU/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG8TAGGkxihEMA_unmcudRnoopOpng6LLNVOOdClLSVkRxrK2xAdPMiUTERYrq5m2uPw4XtdLHGZNxhikqOCYh84R90uEFeWqpvXfmJ-GKAPUVSYoE3KIY6KNCmYKS6RiwCGJtHhjgnmrU/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Newly engaged, sniffing a rose.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This was followed by a mass to celebrate the event at <i>La</i> <i>Madeleine</i>, an impressive Parisian church. It was designed as a temple to celebrate Napoleon’s victories and after his death it became a church. After the mass there was a luncheon at the family apartment. I particularly remember a fresh berry Pavlova for dessert.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3WHejnEZ-WitO2WFSEpVElv309MuxGS60cOhAHSWWd4rH_DRQp34KdjWWUzHhCI9rxEID9tZfP8jubFTZeuyduCiufXVrl5AYCLZkdw7TNR54AIVacCSy7bkpdx2rC22IdvIEXPKPJ8P/s1600/500px-Madeleine_Paris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3WHejnEZ-WitO2WFSEpVElv309MuxGS60cOhAHSWWd4rH_DRQp34KdjWWUzHhCI9rxEID9tZfP8jubFTZeuyduCiufXVrl5AYCLZkdw7TNR54AIVacCSy7bkpdx2rC22IdvIEXPKPJ8P/s320/500px-Madeleine_Paris.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L'Eglise de La Madeleine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv0hZoGq6ipX4QXcgUH_UNm2BBoV5Q2MHxdeno2wlmvRIFYqTds_sm1gKaCZ5gWqyaxPBjrtdwP-QbigFF9p7vdA5RLopsdRvcQqV_KpYouNGd6fE1l2nilCXTJmxlCorR1aZgvuNTc2wp/s1600/1418259.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv0hZoGq6ipX4QXcgUH_UNm2BBoV5Q2MHxdeno2wlmvRIFYqTds_sm1gKaCZ5gWqyaxPBjrtdwP-QbigFF9p7vdA5RLopsdRvcQqV_KpYouNGd6fE1l2nilCXTJmxlCorR1aZgvuNTc2wp/s1600/1418259.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Pavlova - a meringue base with whipped cream and berries.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="p1">
But Vincent’s family was suspicious of an American, non-catholic girl... notoriously free and easy. My mother-in-law invited me for a tête-à-tête, a lunch with just the two of us. It was somewhat a trial by fire. The one meat that makes me gag is liver. Of course, I was served a large piece of liver since Americans LOVE meat. But I managed to eat it with a smile. I feel the two of us became friends that day; a friendship that grew into love and respect.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDAewWHUaJ8d5DfNPW-oPMvlxmjC_GVQECXmeJFfu4DOkIq-cSgCS8wLvLuY_HcUo8HeXWU-Q01UemQbCir5SOrUv2IX1kdB63I1WmL80f5MNgtQou2kKlHTXtHYOUdCjPHP37cTGr7Nw/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDAewWHUaJ8d5DfNPW-oPMvlxmjC_GVQECXmeJFfu4DOkIq-cSgCS8wLvLuY_HcUo8HeXWU-Q01UemQbCir5SOrUv2IX1kdB63I1WmL80f5MNgtQou2kKlHTXtHYOUdCjPHP37cTGr7Nw/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Debbie, Laurence (sister-in-law), Mère, Père - in the country after engagement.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Deborah Rinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17823223129799756436noreply@blogger.com0