The Second Half

A middle-aged lady (or old, depending on perspective) sharing this and that with whomever strays into her digital property. Of course there are cats involved ;)

WTF, Switzerland?! — September 19, 2017

WTF, Switzerland?!

Somebody in Switzerland can shit money!!! Like, literally! So far, the unidentified individual has pushed tens of thousands of euro out of their craphole!

Don’t suppose that fooled ya, did it? No, of course not. This is what a four-year-old might be inclined to accept as fact. There’s no excuse for grown-ups unless they are partial to mind-altering substances, in which case the idea of people shitting money wouldn’t appear out of the ordinary. So, let me tell you what all this is about and what happened in the aftermath.

Bloomberg (love you, guys!) reported this week that Geneva prosecutors were investigating how wads of 500-euro bills found their way into the toilet pipes of three restaurants in the vicinity of a UBS branch. For those not particularly interested in financial matters and the institutions that rule the market, UBS is Switzerland’s biggest bank and one of the world’s top sector players: it has operations in more than 50 countries and a global workforce of close to 60,000.

It might also be appropriate to mention that UBS has been involved in a fair share of controversies, some of them resulting in criminal charges. It was one of the financial institutions that held on to Holocaust victims’ assets and claimed them as its own. In more recent years, the bank has been accused of aiding tax evasion in several countries, violating US trade embargoes, colluding with certain peers to manipulate Libor and currency benchmarks, and quite a few other transgressions.

But it’s not my intention to hate on UBS. To prove that, I’ll also tell you that it consistently gets recognized by industry bodies, especially for its wealth management services, equity research, and employment practices. On the other hand, I didn’t set out to produce an article about UBS so let’s move on.

The bank had to be mentioned because the first discarded bills turned up in a bathroom close to a UBS vault full of safe deposit boxes. Within a few days, banknotes had made their way into the toilet pipes of those restaurants, the result being thousands of francs blown on plumbing repairs. Switzerland has no law against destroying banknotes but Geneva prosecutors believe the incident merits an investigation. UBS has yet to issue an official statement on the matter.

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It figures that melted cheese (fondue) would be Switzerland’s most famous dish.

All right now, we know Switzerland is a rich country but come on!!! This was one of the first things to cross my mind when I read that piece of news. Then I got to thinking this is one frigging weirdo of a country. Cuckoo clocks, mountains, cows, cheese, fondue, chocolate, bank secrecy laws, neutrality during World War 2 – that more or less exhausts my knowledge about Switzerland.

Then the usual happened. You see, when I read something and it intrigues me for whatever reason, I want to find out more. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not always in pursuit of quality information – sometimes I just want to be entertained. I was leaning towards levity on the day I read Bloomberg’s article so I set out to unearth weird things about Switzerland.

Do you have any idea how many things are against the law in this country after 10 pm? I mean routine, run-of-the-mill things, not some outlandish activities. Check this out: flushing the toilet, taking a shower, washing your car, slamming a car door, or peeing standing up. Apparently, the first two are encoded in laws that allow interpretation. Come Sunday, don’t you dare hang your laundry out to dry, wash your car (yourself, that is; going to a car wash is perfectly legal), mow your lawn, or dump bottles and cans in public recycling bins. And forget about reciting poetry while you ski down a mountain slope!

You wouldn’t believe the passion Switzerland has for animal rights! In case you are considering a guinea pig, a mouse or a ferret as pets, you’ll have to get at least two or you’ll be guilty of animal abuse because these are social species. On the other hand, the country doesn’t seem to care all that much about cats, which definitely gets my goat!

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No guinea pig is lonely in Switzerland (unless its owner is a law-breaker)

Most of its weird laws are intended to keep Switzerland clean and safe. That it is and then some! It may be the only country in the world where heads of state and government members use public transport and do so without any bodyguards in tow. Mind you, this is a country where men have to keep their rifles after their compulsory military service. So, lots of firearms around but no itchy trigger fingers.

What else made me go “WTF”? Switzerland allows discrimination on the basis of gender, age, or nationality, as well as assisted suicide. It also has no problem with illegal downloads but sharing the content is a no-no (huh?). You can go nude or start a campfire in public without fear of legal repercussions. And if you happen to be a wealthy foreigner, you can haggle with the authorities to get a flat tax rate.

So, dear readers, I now have a wealth of more or less useless information about this interesting country. Allow me to take a minute to thank Bloomberg and Reuters, whose daily newsletters keep me amply supplied with all sorts of information. Some of them carry serious stories, like world, business, and financial news. Some deal with plain goofy stuff. But you know what? They keep my curiosity alive and very often provide me with writing material. Granted, this article may not have much of a worth but I enjoyed the research and the actual writing. And I think I now want to visit Switzerland one day and cavort in the mountains among the cows, munching on a chunk of cheese and reciting poetry. Since I won’t be skiing, I don’t expect to run afoul of the law.

P.S. Remember how the Internet went ga-ga recently over the “[insert country] Second” campaign? With Trump stomping his feet and screeching it will be “America First,” a swarm of countries began jostling for the second position. The Netherlands produced the first video, setting the tone and style for the rest. Not all of them are good, but Switzerland’s is, without any doubt in my mind, one of the top three. In case you’ve let this hilarity slip unnoticed, grab a spare set of undies and then check out how the country sought to win over POTUS.

The rule of cat (and a delusion shattered) — August 25, 2017

The rule of cat (and a delusion shattered)

I have three cats!

“So what?”, I hear a chorus of voices shouting back at me. I know, that in itself is not impressive or anything. But I’ve just realized that I have three cats and I’ve had this blog running for four months and it hasn’t even occurred to me until now to introduce my cats to the world! OK, to the three and a half people (not counting friends) who are likely to read this post. I really have no idea what prompted it but here we go. So, prepare to meet my puddies: my boy Dodo and my girls, Mookie and Poofie.

The start of cat reign

It all began in 2011, when my son returned from a visit to his grandpa (that would be my father). He came home late in the evening, dumped his travel bag on the floor and unzipped it. Out came a tiny, fluffy, gray ball that was promptly furnished with the name Dodo.

Until then, I had lived under the delusion that I was a dog person. Sure, I love dogs, they are cuddly and playful and devoted to a fault. I spent my childhood dreaming that my mother would one day allow me to get a dog. I was too young to realize that such ebullient creatures would be too much for the adult version of me. Training, socializing, early morning walks and then strolls in the evening? Forget about it!

Now, keep in mind that my felines totally lack discipline. This, of course, speaks volumes about me as a pet owner. Not that I care. They sleep in my bed and roll around on the desk while I work, frequently taking shortcuts through the keyboard and wreaking havoc on my texts. Now and then, they jump on the kitchen table, which I suspect they do simply to vex me. This is one of the few things I don’t allow but then again, I’m not much of an authority figure with this bunch.

 

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That’s mah boy 🙂

 

Back to Dodo. As cats go, he’s a very cuddlesome one. He is the first to plonk down next to me when bed time comes and is always looking for an opportunity to snuggle. A very sweet creature, all in all.

Dearly as I love him, I can’t close my eyes to the fact that Dodo may just be the biggest coward in the feline kingdom! This cat will get spooked by anything: the doorbell, the washing machine, loud laughter, gushing water, whatever! And he’s a prize mumbler – the dude rarely shuts up! He just walks about the place, an incessant stream of catspeak coming out of his mouth. Yes, it does get annoying, but sometimes it’s just plain hilarious.

A lady takes over

Dodo ruled supreme in our place for a year. One autumn day in 2012, I was on my way home after doing the grocery shopping. Passing by a neighboring block of flats, I saw a black kitten and stopped to pet it. I played with it for a minute or so and resumed my walk home. I had about 50 meters left to my building and, for some reason, I turned around. There the tiny kitty was, trotting behind me.

What could I do? I took it as a sign that this adorable little thing was meant for me. Nooo, I didn’t steal her! She was a stray baby cat, lots of them in the neighborhood. This ball of cuteness was christened Mookie and became ruler of the household, winning over Dodo from the get-go.

 

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My little black panther, Mookie

 

Now, Mookie is a proper cat – aloof, regal, willful, and somewhat hostile to others of her kind. Oh, she does get silly and isn’t inclined to go for long without petting sessions. In fact, she is the one who owns my lap – every couple of hours or so, she comes sprinting into the room and jumps on my lap to get her fix of hugs and adoration.

You know how cats are very protective of their tummies, right? My little black panther seems to have missed that lesson. She is always sprawled on her back, her limbs sticking out as far as they would go. This cat loves having her belly rubbed, something must be seriously wrong with her.

Girls get house majority

Thus we continued with our lives until the summer of 2015. On my daily trips to the store, I had noticed that two kittens were living in the basement area of a block of flats I pass by. How did I notice? Well, there are barred windows at ground level and the pair used to sit there, observing the world as it went about its business. People in the neighborhood fed and watered them. I usually bought a pouch of cat food or some dry kibble and left it for them on my way home. One of the kittens was particularly friendly and always climbed up to the window when I called. Yes, this black-and-white darling became my third cat and received the name Poofie.

I took her in because her sibling just disappeared one day. I couldn’t stand the thought of this sweet, friendly kitten living in the dank basement all alone. So one day I just grabbed her and took her home and I’ve never regretted it for one second!

 

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The baby in our family, Poofie

 

Poofie has the sweetest disposition of the three. It’s a bit strange because she sports this sullen, somewhat hostile expression, possibly due to her being slightly cross-eyed. She is a passionate kneader and the only one who actually answers when you call out her name. I mean, really answers and quite shrilly, too! When she hears me calling her, she lets loose a piercing shriek and comes running.

Prayer

It’s not always a picnic living with three cats. There are days when one of them gets too cranky, which results in hissing matches, chases, and household items broken. Dodo nearly died four years ago from a urinary infection, while Poofie fell from the seventh floor last summer. And it now seems that Mookie may be asthmatic.

Despite the petty and not-so-petty grievances, I dread the day when I will start losing them. All I can hope for is that it will be to old age, not some horrible accident or disease. Please, let it be so and make it far, far in the future!

workspace invasion

 

 

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The way my desk looks on a typical working day

 

 

 

 

The call of my wild — June 24, 2017

The call of my wild

I’m living it up in the bosom of nature, people!

Well…not quite. But I am sort of there, in a place where old-fashioned ways are alive and positively thriving. Where the stars shine blindingly bright at night, and the quiet is so pervasive you can hear your brain cells working.

Do I like it? In general – not that much. Not that I mind the clear night sky, the stars and the quiet. Still, I’m not a village person at heart. I’m also not a big city girl. I gravitate towards the middle ground, so I feel happy in the town where I currently live. It’s modest in size, and you get all the conveniences of modern life minus the crowds, the traffic jams, the overwhelming distances and the general feeling of isolation we associate with big cities.

But this place where I’m at right now…It’s special for me. This is where I spent the best summer of my life. My heart still aches when I remember those days. It’s partly because the person who kept me company all those years ago is dead. It was my grandma, who needed constant care because of her poor health. The two of us spent three months here, with family members visiting once a week or so. I was essentially tasked with looking after her, but I think I got the better deal.

A quarter of a century later, I’m back here, all by myself this time. The assignment: housesit for my parents. Oh, I think I forgot to mention this. Yes, the house belongs to my parents, who are in Italy right now. Being a freelancer, I have no problem packing and relocating temporarily. As long as I have an Internet connection, I can work anywhere. Lucky for my parents, I guess.

I should explain a couple of things. I’m not a people person. That said, I’m not some rude cow who delights in insulting people and behaving like a jerk in general. No, I have proper manners, and I’m perfectly civil to strangers. It’s just that I’ve always been a reserved person, and I don’t make friends easily. I am quite content to spend time alone, and I never get bored.

This peek into my character has a point. It’s meant to tell you that I don’t mind being here alone. In fact, I relish it. I just miss my cats, but I have made friends with two local felines. There are other animals around, and I’ll tell you more about them in a minute. As I write this, one of the kitties is sleeping in my bed. It must have come through the window last night because I woke up with it curled at my feet.

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The two kitties keeping me company

I’m not telling you the name of the place because it won’t mean anything to you. Administratively speaking, it’s not a village. It was declared a town in 1984, but that’s just a label — this is a village in every sense of the word. It’s very modest in size. I think it only has two blocks of flats, and those are four or five stories high. The rest of the population live in houses. They all have vegetable gardens, animals in their barns, and hens and roosters roaming in the yards. Each house has at least one guard dog and horse-drawn carts traverse the streets. People here make their own wine and hard liquor, as is the case in every Bulgarian village and out-of-the-way town.

And you never have privacy in such places, not really. Sometimes it’s annoying. Other times, you can’t help but marvel at the bond people have. You get folks dropping by every day, sometimes several times a day, to check up on you. They bring you produce, ask how you’re doing, and offer to take care of this and that in the yard. You look at them and think, “I wish they’d leave me alone!” Then they go away, and you actually start feeling happy that you matter enough to these people, who are essentially strangers.

You know what I smell of right now? Donkey shit. No, I’m not joking. About an hour ago, I was shovelling donkey shit. My father has one of these animals. A friend of his takes her out in the morning, ties her somewhere (no idea where) to graze and brings her back in the evening. There is also a massive dog, another girl, who I rely on to guard me at night. The donkey is called Marussya, which seems to be a very popular name for her kind around these parts. The dog is Maya. The cats have no names, so I just call them all Kittie. Two are constantly around, and a few others pass through every day, mostly to get fed.

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Marussya
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Maya

Almost three decades ago, I had my grandma for company here. Now it’s these animals. Over the years, the village has changed. Not in its essence, though, just some physical upgrades. It’s cleaner, the centre has been spruced up, and some nice shops have cropped up.

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The fountain in the centre of town

But you can still sense that the spirit of the place has remained intact.  I like that. I couldn’t live here all the time, no way. Still, I’m blissfully happy right now. More important than the preserved spirit of the place is the spirit of the past I can feel. My own past. A time when I felt useful and needed because a frail human being depended on me. A time when the peace and quiet of this place were a welcome respite. A time when I was truly happy.

As melodramatic as it may sound, it feels as if traces of my past happiness still linger here. I walk around the yard at dusk, and it’s as if no time at all has passed – I’m young, beautiful, free and full of hope. I look up at the clear, starry sky at night, and it overwhelms me in a good way. And I can’t help but think that we really don’t need much to be happy. As long as we’re open to it, happiness will find us anywhere.

I’ll leave this place in a few days. When I visit my parents, it doesn’t feel the same. It’s not my place then; it’s theirs, and I’m just a guest. However, I’ll keep hoping that my future holds more of these solitary retreats. Maybe I won’t have to wait for another 26 years before it happens again…

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