Mon Aventure

Four weeks have passed since I returned, disheveled, from the Middle East. I’ve settled back into my previous routine in Geneva and am loving every minute of it. There is a time and a season for everything and I’m  content that this is my time to be home… home meaning “with my husband.” After moving so many times I have very little concept of “home” being a place, except maybe Virginia, the land of my birth. Our time in Geneva is an interesting thing, however. We don’t intend to stay here forever, maybe only a few years, and yet, I feel a sense of belonging here for however long it lasts, more than any other place I’ve lived as an adult. It’s an amazing feeling… to belong.

As I write this, I’m snuggled up under my covers. It’s chilly outside and I've opened the windows to air out the apartment. We’re on the fourth floor, but with windows open I can hear the sounds of the city. Workmen just below me, laying a new sidewalk, clanging and banging away, cars picking up speed and fading into the distance, buses, motorcycles (so many motorcycles!) and sirens. Of course sirens. What would a city be without sirens? I’ve actually come to love the sounds of the city. It makes me feel connected, a part of something larger than myself, something that doesn’t need my help to keep running when I run out of steam.

I don’t, however, love it when the guys in the next apartment keep us awake at night, talking loudly on the phone. They run a call center of some kind over there. Slowly but surely I’m learning to tune them out.
I also don’t love it when I’m walking up four flights (90 stairs!) to reach our beautiful apartment. It’s an old building with no elevator. In the beginning I found myself uttering MANY bad words every time I huffed and puffed my way to the top. I’m getting more in shape with every step and getting used to it. The bad words have gone. Hatred has turned to mere dislike.

Overall I do love our apartment in this old building with 12 foot high ceilings, crown molding and plenty of natural light.  At some point I will want a house again, with a yard and a garden, but in the meantime I’m content with my window boxes. Doesn’t every woman dream it would be lovely to plant window boxes in Europe? Well, I’m doing it! I have boxes for every window of the house and a few for the balcony. Gladiolas and Red Lilies are growing from bulbs, tomatoes and basil growing from seeds.

Take a look at my tomato plants, still quite fragile. I’ll keep them indoors most of the time until they get stronger and I’ll take picture again for you when it all blooms. It’s just getting started.





Here’s Bear, soaking up the sun in our empty living room. Aren’t those double doors splendid? If you walk out those two sets of double doors onto the ever so narrow balcony and look to the right, you’ll be looking down a hallway of buildings and in the distance, two blocks away, you’ll see Lake Geneva, the lake with the swans and the fountain jet. You can’t see the swans from the balcony, but it’s nice to know they are there and we’re so close.




Two more days and our shipment of belongings will finally arrive from the U.S. After 4 months without our stuff, it’s going to be like Christmas morning, unpacking everything. Oh, to bounce and sit on my comfy yellow couch!............

Every once in a while I sit in a cafe, looking out the window and watch sunlight caressing a person sipping coffee on the other side, and I'm temporarily swept away by the romance of it all.  But then again, I've had these moments in America too.  The romance of life is everywhere.  I guess there's just something about the spirit of Europe that makes us pause more often and notice the daffodils.  I just hope I can carry this spirit with me when I return.