Every now and then, I get to flex my writing and psychiatric muscles simultaneously, and this time it’s all glamour, all the time. I was asked by Canadian film director Kris Booth to offer my perspective on what might happen if 6 souls were thrust into space on a trip to Mars…and things went horribly wrong.

The movie, Red Horizon, is a contender for the Cinecoup competition, and with a grand prize of one million bucks to finance a Canadian feature film, there’s a lot on the line (you can vote for the film on the Cinecoup website).

I was thrilled to be asked to contribute, and I fully expect to pick up the Oscar for Best Psychiatric Advisor next year. So, while I’m picking out my dress, have a read of what I had to say here.

I often forget just how good I have it—easy to do with Rusty the Wonder Husband at the stove, and living in a place where spring comes exactly when it’s supposed to.

As a former psychiatrist, I should know better than to be bragging about rosebuds and the smell of spring like I did last week. Not exactly a model of empathy, given that I was raised in the North Atlantic. I picture everyone I know, shaking their ice-crusted mittens at the sky and hurling their shovels into the street, screaming, “We’re mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore!”

I haven’t suffered through a Big Winter for a few years now, and I’m not going to anytime soon if I can help it. In fact, it’s a major issue as we think about where we’d be willing to live other than La Suisse. But there I go again—is there no end to my insensitivity to those suffering from EWS, known to non-shrinks as Endless Winter Syndrome?

So, with the victims in mind, I thought I’d share these beautiful images of the season so often connected to discontent. Looking at stunning pictures like this one…

makes me want to add Alaska and Siberia to the shortlist of possible next stops on my personal tour of chaos—way, way down on the list, but still.

If you are suffering from EWS, relief is on the way. Before you know it, you’ll be coming down with a raging case of Spring Fever, or for those in my homeland of Newfoundland, ERDFD (Endless Rain Drizzle Fog Disorder). But I’m not worried about that lot, they’re tough. For them, ERDFD feels like a case of the sniffles after a long bout with Bubonic Plague.

Anyway, I’d love to hear more about hard winter has been for you, really I would, but I’m just going out the door. Those roses aren’t going to smell themselves now are they?

Holy god in heaven, with so much going on over here—major decision making and now what appears to be hot flashing (information on that mess will be provided on an absolute need to know basis)—any pleasurable diversion is most welcome.

This past weekend, I finally watched a movie I’ve been meaning to get to for some time now: Searching for Sugar Man. Now I don’t normally bore you with the ins and outs of my Friday night activities, the highlight of which is usually a bag of chips, but this film is so extraordinary, so full of what it is to be human, that I just have to devote a few words to it.

It’s the story of ’70s singer/songwriter Sixto Rodriguez, an unknown in his native America, and unbeknownst to him, a legendary, believed to be dead superstar in apartheid-era South Africa. Sort of like me—I’m a nobody in Canada, but I’m huge in southern Lithuania. Continue reading “Gimme Some Sugar” »

Ah yes, uncertainty. It seems it’s only human to desire the known and the sure. But that would be just too easy now wouldn’t it? And probably exceedingly boring. That said, I could use a little tedium right about now. I’m so used to the humdrum of my day to day life that all this excitement threatens to lead to some sort of radical action on my part, like baking or getting dressed.

We’re all over the map these days—one minute it’s Switzerland at all costs, the next minute it’s Canada or bust! There’s even been a brief, and I mean brief, consideration of a sojourn to the US of A. If Hilary Clinton calls looking for a personal therapist, I’ll put it back on the table. Otherwise, the land of the free will be free of me.

It seems the only certainty chez nous is a lack of certainty, but who the hell cares I say. No matter what kind of chaos life conjures up, there is one thing you can always count on: the passage of time. The sun rises and sets without care of what happens to be going on in my little life. Continue reading “Hope Springs Eternal” »

Despite perhaps glaring evidence to the contrary (lounging about the home for over 2 years), I’m not much of a homemaker. Oh I can tackle toilet cleaning like it’s a gold medal event, but the rest of it remains beyond my grasp. A woman’s place is in the revolution I always say, and in our house there’s a corollary for a man’s place: the produce aisle. He who cooks has to get the groceries.

But every now and then, I tag along. When you don’t have to worry yourself with melon thumping and bread squeezing, you have time to have a look around at the coming and goings of people, an interesting pastime for foreigner like me. Not long ago, I was intrigued by some unexpected shoppers: monks.

Perched high above Vevey is a Buddhist monastery, and for some reason I was surprised to see the faithful in the aisles of the local Migros chain store (as opposed to their food magically appearing by meditating really hard). They were all robes and smiles and shaven heads, and I found myself following one of them—one could say stalking, I say casually observing. I figured if I could just see what they were buying, I could duplicate the purchases and eat my way to inner peace. Continue reading “Eat, Pray, Text” »

I’ll tell you one thing, upheaval is good for a marriage. We haven’t talked to each other this much for years—occasionally fretful, rarely fractious and often funny debates about the next phase of the Big Adventure that extend into the wee hours. All this between being joyous and serene. Oh, and a big merci for all the encouraging comments. Worry not dear Finders, we are doing just fine. It’ll all work out for the different.

Anyway, here’s the deal: I’m taking this blog down to twice a week. Now just stop with the moaning and the whining. You try churning out these doodles while giving your already twice made over life a full re-do. Cripes, I couldn’t make this merde up if I tried, but just because I’ve got a delicious influx of plot doesn’t mean that I have the time to narrate it. You’ll still get all the sordid details of this small but occasionally interesting life.

So, after this week, I’ll be here Mondays and Fridays as usual, but Wednesdays you’re on your own. You’ll be so busy finding solutions for me that you won’t even notice, the most obvious one being the richest of you decides to pay me to write about nothing (hey, it worked for Seinfeld) and everybody’s happy. Continue reading “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad” »

Honestly, sometimes I think the universe sends me crap to deal with as a way of encouraging me to keep writing. Sure, a minor life crisis is great blog material, but truth be told, I don’t need to suffer for my art. I’d be more than happy to press on with little stories about whatever mundane foolishness happens to be rattling around in my head.

Well, all I can say is I had it coming. I asked for this. Why just the other day I said to Neil, “What in the name of god am I going to put on that blog next week? You cooked, I ate, end of story.” Neil, as usual, didn’t have too much to say, but the universe said a mouthful. “Here, I got something for you: a total shitstorm. More uncertainty and existential angst than you can shake a stick at. Think of the fun people will have reading about that!” Continue reading “Stranger than Fiction” »

So there we were, living our dreamy yet slightly risky Swiss life. Risky because any time a couple lives on one self-employed income in a foreign (and expensive) country, well, there’s always the chance that things can change quickly, leaving said couple in a precarious position. One day we were rolling along on our skin tight budget. And then, literally overnight, as they say in my homeland, “There it was…gone.”

Neil’s major source of income, a beloved Canadian company for whom he worked joyfully for 15 years, has decided to close—a sad event for all involved. We’ve always known this could happen, and that uncertainty was a point of discussion at every point along the way in our Big Adventure Abroad. Continue reading “Overnight Sensation” »

So, yesterday was Valentine’s Day and I have to admit my sweetheart did not disappoint. Oh now I know you think I’m going to regale you with a tale of romance done Rusty style. Please. I live in Switzerland where they sell the world’s best chocolate in gas stations, I get dinner handed to me 7 nights a week, and I haven’t worked for over 2 years. What’s left?

No, my monsieur knows me very well. The path straight to my heart was in his good morning greeting, “Happy One Billion Rising Day.” See, for me it doesn’t get any better than that.

In case you missed it, V-Day, an organization dedicated to ending violence against girls and women, challenged every human being on the planet to refuse to accept that 1 in 3 females are subject to violence in our lifetimes. That’s a billion people, and that’s a billion too many.

Yesterday, sisters (and brothers) everywhere answered the call to Rise, Strike and Dance and it was beautiful. I’ll take rights and respect over roses any day.

Continue reading “Dance Like Everyone is Watching” »

Well, given the long awaited arrival of the Finding Me in France e-book, my delightful former French neighbour and ambassador of adventure (and book promotion), Jean-Claude returns just in time.

He sent me this photo and I wondered whether he’d joined the French delegation to Mars…

but then I realized space travel would be far too boring for JC. I mean does this look like a man who would be caught dead in a spacesuit?

This is the Sahara desert and I’d say Jean-Claude looks like the King of it all. He dragged his FMIF copy along (god love him) to make introductions: Modern book of doodles, meet some of the very first doodles ever recorded.

He sees this as the earliest blog in existence, and he may be right. I’m proud to be associated with this unknown ancient storyteller. I’m thinking we have a lot in common, perhaps we’re kindred spirits or at least kindred giraffes…

It’s amazing to think about someone sitting in the Sahara desert thousands of years ago carving out their world for all to see. Maybe we haven’t changed all that much. I bet if he looked hard enough, he’d find there’s a rock out there with a perfect depiction of an arse and a red-headed husband. Merci JC, you’re the best!

Well, it’s time for another language rant. You have to agree it’s been a while. Let me preface this whole thing by freely admitting that I am a ridiculous person. That’s never stopped me before, won’t stop me now. I say ridiculous because I still expect to be visited by the French Fluency Fairy who will sprinkle glitter on my tongue while I sleep, allowing me to wake and recite Balzac and Baudelaire with ease.

I’ve been so busy marvelling at mountains, moving apartments, zipping up to Zurich, and starving half to death while Neil was away that I haven’t so much as blown a bit of dust off my French study books. And yet, I walked into a computer store in French speaking Switzerland and assumed all would be well. Continue reading “Say it Again Sam” »

Cripes, it’s like CNN over here. We interrupt this blog break to bring you breaking news. Finding Me in France (the book, not the now multiple award-winning blog) is going into its third printing. It should be done on or about February 19 and available at Indigo, Amazon.ca and fine independent bookstores across Canada. Not in Canada? Well, hold on to your chapeau…

The even bigger news is this:

The e-book is here!! http://www.kobobooks.com/search/search.html?q=FINDING+ME+IN+FRANCE

Now you can have stories about my arse and over 140 colour pictures wherever you happen to be. So Facebook it, Tweet it, Pinterest it and, in a nod to old times, tell all your friends.

A few weeks back, I received notice that I was shortlisted for the 2012 Canadian Weblog Awards in not one, but two categories: Best Blog by an Ex-Pat and, drumroll please, Best Written Blog. Well, you’re never safe from surprise ’til you’re dead.

The first was thrilling, doubly so because I actually won this award last year. To be nominated and then shortlisted again, well, a lovely surprise that. But the second was even more exciting. I was stunned to see my doodle collection being recognized for the quality of the writing.

Mostly I don’t give a merde about awards and accolades or uninhibited criticism for that matter, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t stuffed with squealy delight to have been whittled down to one of the top 5 best written blogs in Canada. I had visions of trying to load the washer while wearing a tiara, a huge bouquet of red roses in one hand and the Stanley Cup in the other.

Well, late last night, the results came in and SWEET JAYSUS I’M DOUBLE FISTED!! First place in BOTH categories—moi! I’m speechless, well, figuratively. I’m not one to blow my own horn much, but I’d say congratulations are in order. I should say I’m humbled and honoured and all that crap. Too bad, I’m running with this for all it’s worth. Cripes, poor Neil, there’ll be no dealing with me now.

Seriously, though, it is an honour and my sincere thanks to the judges and to Elan Morgan (aka Schmutzie) who runs the awards. Another big merci to Scott McCulloch, blog tech extraordinaire.

Of course Best of This or That really doesn’t matter. What means something to me is the fun I’ve had writing about my life as a French femme and now as a Swiss Missus. And what matters more is that you Finders have found me. The kindness and positivity and joy of this crowd is what deserves recognition. What we need is an award for Best Blog Followers on Earth—you’d all be wearing crowns and swigging champagne from gilded cups. Merci bien mes amis.

And now I’m taking a well-deserved break for a week. Don’t look at me like that or I’ll smack you with my Queen of the Blogosphere sash.

I like to think of myself as a friend to Mother Earth. Now I’m not out lying naked on glaciers to protest climate change, so maybe I’m more of a casual acquaintance. But I do use those cellulite enhancing light bulbs that last 100 years, I have fabric grocery bags, and I recycle as much as I can. Plus, I’ve signed up to donate my organs once I’m finished using them—the ultimate recycling program.

Of course I have no idea what is truly eco-friendly, I don’t think anyone does, but I have to say that buying less feels like a step in the right direction. Back in my days of pagers and paycheques, I bought a lot of stuff, and then I bought some more. In fact, I had no idea just how big a consumer I was until I resigned myself to carrying an empty wallet. Continue reading “Second Hand Rose” »

Thanks be to Jaysus my husband is home. I met him at the train station last Friday afternoon and he looked a little less than fresh, but who wouldn’t after that mess? A delayed midnight flight from Halifax, Nova Scotia to London, hours of hanging about in Heathrow, followed by a flight to Geneva, although the view from that leg of the journey can’t be beat—”Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing shortly, please put your chairs in the upright position and your eyes in the open position. The Alps welcome you.”

Then through Swiss customs, a train to Lausanne and finally another train to Vevey. All that on top of two very busy weeks of work. Poor man, I’m exhausted just typing it out. But never mind him, unbridled narcissism is the theme here, so in fine Finding Me fashion, it’s all about me. Continue reading “Rusty Rides Again” »