Easter Tradition in Normandy

Though Gérald and I will dine tête a tête this Sunday, our hearts are filled with memories of holidays past when our children were younger and we were surrounded by family. As with every celebration in France, Easter begins and ends à table.

Normandy is appreciated the most at mealtime when land and sea are perfectly marinated. Mamie cooks the traditional Easter favorite, leg of lamb. At the head of the table, Papie carves the tender meat fresh from a newborn romping on the rolling green hillside only days before. But back up, each course is an event worth savoring.

toasting champagne

First a toast of champagne and a light aperitif. Next is naturally an egg based, a soufflé as light as cotton candy, followed by a platter of seafood: shrimp, crab legs, clams, oysters, something for everyone’s palate.

The main lamb course is always served with flageolet, a mini lima bean, that reminds me of the word flatulence and of course, bean jokes inevitably enter the conversation, sending the children into gales of laughter. Mamie always has a special dish for every family member, so a garden of vegetables -beans, broccoli, potatoes, spinach, tomatoes - also grows out of the linen tablecloth.

The children eat with the adults where they risk being reprimanded to sit up straight. However, I never notice table manners; my fork and knife are usually in the wrong hands. Softhearted Mamie excuses the grandkids early and they scamper upstairs to read Lucky Luke or Astérix comic books until called for dessert.

Each course is accompanied by wine, a light white Burgundy for the seafood starters and then a heavier Bordeaux for the meat and cheese. Every big meal is followed by a green salad and cheese platter with triangles of creamy local cheeses like Camembert and Pont L’Evêque.

family feast

Dessert always includes seasonal fruits, which in the spring means luscious strawberries. Like little elves, the children reappear to gobble up berries dipped in fresh cream. The kids magically disappear again when they smell the coffee brewing. Papie ceremoniously opens the antique Normand hutch and pulls out his bottle of Calvados offering, “a little taste.” True Normands swear that the fiery apple brandy aids the digestion. During weddings and christenings, the “trou Normand,” a shot served on sorbet in the middle of the feast, is customary.

boy with easter basket

Throughout each course a lively repartee of sarcasm, word play and arguments ensue that to a soft-spoken Norwegian American sounds like verbal abuse, but is only part of the French art de vivre and their love of language and debate.

Just when you think your belly will burst, Mamie rings a bell and the children race downstairs, for in France, bells, not bunnies, deliver eggs. As a token of mourning for crucified Christ, church bells remain silent from Good Friday until Easter Sunday. On Easter, when the chimes ring again, children rush outside to see the bells fly home to Rome, after dropping chocolate Easter eggs from the sky.

The children crowd onto the wrought iron balcony to find eggs tucked behind the potted geraniums and tulips. While they devour the chocolate figurines, the adults, too, savor a delicacy from the local chocolate shop . Everyone moans of stomachaches and swears they will never eat again, but a few hours later after a stroll by the sea, we are à table again discussing the favorite French topic, food.

The Malt Shovel Pub — A Pet Parrot, A Mascot Dog and Stories A-Go-Go

The ol’ pub (aka public house) has been a part of British culture for centuries.
England is known for its cozy and welcoming pubs; the best pubs create a sense of belonging, a place to be that isn’t home, but can become like a second family. Gaydon’s eclectic Malt Shovel is no exception.

The altered building, made of Hornton Stone, an ironstone found nearby on the Burton Dassett Hills, was first referenced in 1849 as an unnamed beer house. In 1874, it became known as the Malt Shovel when it was licensed to Robert Ayres.

Just off junction 12 of the M40, the Malt Shovel, opened daily, serves fresh, locally sourced food and a wide selection of cask ales, lagers, wines, spirits and soft drinks.

Everyone is welcome here including four legged friends. Though tolerated in many pubs, at The Malt Shovel, pets are offered their own doggie menu.

The pub has so many personal touches — a cozy, reading corner on a deck, stained glass windows, its’ own mascots, a parrot, a miniature schnauzer and knick knacks galore.

In addition to the special doggy menu, the proprietors’ humor can be seen in the proposed children’s menu.

-I don’t care (chicken nuggets, skinny fries)
-I’m not hungry (bangers & mash)
-I don’t know (chicken nuggets, fries? whatever (burger, skinny fries)
…all served with choice of beans or peas) bubble & steak, homemade pizza

When we stopped in for a drink, the man at the table behind us was sneaking fries to the schnauzer waiting patiently beside his table.

“Can I take a picture of your dog?” I asked.

“Of course,” the man said and chuckled, “but Belle’s not mine. She belongs to the pub owner.”

Sure enough, the little, gray and white dog had his own doggie couch where he could reign over the bar.

The man, a friendly trucker, pointed to the names written in chalk on wood beams around the bar,

“See the names up there?” He explained. “They were people who worked for JLR (Jaguar Land Rover) engineering centers at the edge of Gaydon on the land that was once an air strip of the RAF.”

Many of the patrons lining the bar look like they just finished a work shift and stopped in for a quick pint on their way home.

The charismatic pub was cozy and charming. Gemutlich. Nicknacks decorated the walls, including a tea pot collection.

“Where you from?” The trucker asked.

“Illinois,” I told him and then added, “My husband’s French.

“Where about in France?” he asked Gerald.

“Normandy on the coast.”

“Ever heard of a tiny place called Trouville?” the trucker asked.

Gerald about fell off his chair. “That’s where I grew up.”

“ I hauled a load there,” the trucker said.

“What do you haul?”

“Blacktop and gravel when they strip the road to repave.”

“What kind of truck you drive?”

He pulled his phone out and showed me pictures of his rig.

“Drove all across France, but grew up in Warwick,” he said, “Now I live in Casablanca. When I’m on the road, I live in my truck.”

As we were leaving, I thanked the bartender and told him, “We’re just visiting, but our son and daughter-in-law moved to the area.”

“Oh I know them,” the bartender said, “they live across street from me!”

It’s a small, small world!

In the spirit of the ol’ English pubs, The Malt Shovel unites people still today.

Health Care Professionals Deserve Standing Ovation

I stopped blogging when overgrown connective tissue crippled my fingers from Dupuytren’s Contracture, a hereditary condition. A hand surgeon split my palm open, removed the diseased tissue and attempted to straighten my little finger. The dozens of ragged stitches across my hand healed, but on top of muscle memory, the tendons and ligaments pulled my finger back into a clawed position in a protective natural reaction.

If my pinky was the only problem, I could cope, but while addressing other ongoing health issues, doctors concluded my spine, damaged in too many areas, can’t be fixed. Nothing more can be done medically to alleviate my back problems. My knees are kaput too.

I limp along trying to remain upbeat.

And failing.

Never a candidate for back surgery, knee replacements loom ahead and my finger may be contracted forever. Un-huh. No way. No pity party for me. A hearty can-do cheer would be welcomed.

When my surgeon suggested I see an ergo-therapist,(occupational therapist, aka a hand specialist) for the first time, I thought, “oh no, another specialist!”

Then, I gave it a go.

After a half a dozen visits, the ergo-therapist put my hand in thin, plastic glove and dipped it in warm, melted wax. Then she kneaded my palm and finger to break up scar tissue, restore mobility and coax tendons to loosen their hold on the joint.

I fought back tears of frustration.

“Go ahead. Cry,” she said, patting my arm. “Progress is slow, so hard to see or measure.”

While I gathered my composure, she crafted splints to straighten my finger.

“Wear the hard, plastic orthotic at night; the velcro one in the day,” she instructed. “If it’s too uncomfortable, take it off. Wiggle your fingers. Go for a walk. Relax. Sometimes our bodies need to heal in their own time.”

My physical therapists and chiropractors, too, have always emphasized that mind/body connection. After my accidents, they partnered with me to help me recover and regain as much mobility as possible.

Modern medicine has evolved thousand-fold, but healing remains an ancient art. Those called to the profession — like my son, my daughter, my nieces — are gifted.

Lately, the medical field has been broadsided. Healthcare workers face endless scrutiny and skepticism under a tsunami of misinformation on social media and inaccurate directives from the authorities. That, along with major funding and resource cuts, make their job even harder.

Skilled surgeons helped spare my life, but it was auxiliary health care professionals — therapists, chiropractors, masseurs, counselors, nurses— that saved my broken heart when I wanted to give up.

Never underestimate the healing power of those dedicated people, whose soothing voice and gentle touch (like my “hand whisperer”) ease suffering and save souls.

They restored my faith in humanity.

Kindness matters.

More than ever.

Hope in Hopeless Times

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
And the wisdom to know the difference.

My paternal grandmother taught me The Serenity Prayer when I was a child. I turn to this verse in the troubled times of today. Replace the word God with the name of whatever deity you worship or ideology you believe in. An estimated 4,200 religions exist in the world and most adhere to the same tenets.

Each culture is rich in its own way, with its own language, religion, literature, art, music, poetry, traditions and philosophy.

My heart breaks a little more each day knowing that my birth land, a country built on the backbone of indigenous tribes, immigrants and African slaves is now being split apart by violent rhetoric, divisive ideology, religion intolerance, systemic racism, sexism, classism and ethnocentrism.

In the USA, civil rights are being threatened daily by policies eliminating immigration and human rights. Nationalism is sweeping across borders with extreme right wing leaders rising to power in Austria and Italy and threatening to succeed in Germany and France.

Have we forgotten our past?

I never thought I would witness war on European soil during my lifetime. Yet three years after Russia invaded Ukraine, Ukrainian’s battle for freedom and defense of democratic principles rages on. A potential US-Russian peace agreement for Ukraine, without including Ukraine in the discussion, echoes of the disastrous appeasement plan of the Nazi Era that led to WWII.

Europe is not a far away place somewhere. Europe is your neighbor. Europe is my home. In the past, my grandfather fought in WWI; my French in-laws and Norwegian relatives survived the Nazi Occupation. My American peers and I grew up fighting against discrimination and inequality.

My family, through birth and marriage, is American, British, Chinese, French, Irish, Norwegian, Scottish, Swedish, and Ukrainian.

My people are all people.

Set our differences aside. Take off our rose-colored glasses and pie-in-the-sky illusion that conditions are improving. We must face the stark reality of what is happening, not only in the USA, but around the globe. Natural disaster, civil unrest, a wave of extreme right wing ideology and nationalism is spreading.

A half century ago, as an idealistic university student, I started studying social work. When I realized that I could not save the world, I trained as an educator. Serendipitously, while teaching at an International School in Switzerland, I had the privilege to work with students and families from around the globe.

From my experience, I learned that we are more alike than different.

We all want the same things for those we love — a roof overhead, food on the table, a right to a good education and an equal chance to work and prosper.

Yet as individuals, we remain impotent, helpless and hopeless. How can one human being, especially one with a broken body, ever change the world?

I can’t. But I can reach out to those in my entourage.

We must begin within our immediate circles — families and friendship groups, neighborhoods and schools, churches and communities.

As my former coach said, “We have to continue to do the right things, for the right reasons, for all of us.”

It’s so hard to believe integrity matters when countries’ leaders seem to be so hell bent on spinning lies, disbanding public education, health care, social services, and the human rights we fought so long to assure.

How can my country go from being the world’s leading democracy to one of the planet’s biggest bullies?

Political ideologies aside, if any civilization anywhere on earth is to survive, we must find ways to work together on global issues. Poverty, climate change, cyber security, natural resources, future pandemics, nuclear threats and pollution affect all mankind.

An estimated 8.2 billion people representing 4,000 different cultures, speaking 7,000 languages share this planet. We all have to do more at every level in each country to communicate in a common language — the language of humanity.

How International Women’s Day, Title IX and Sterling Basketball Tie Together

Today, March 8, 2025, is International Women’s Day! Coincidentally, the United Nations began celebrating International Women’s Day as part of the International Women’s Year in 1975. That same year the Title IX (June 23,1972) Amendment stipulated full compliance with the law.

Title IX transformed education for women. After centuries of discrimination, the landmark civil rights law leveled the playing field in sports and allowed millions of women to earn degrees.

Speaking at Illinois State's 50th Title IX Celebration with legendary basketball coach Jill Hutchison, Olympian Cathy Boswell and other superstar alumni.

Gradually, Title IX revolutionized women’s lives in the US by opening doors to education and athletics.

Unfortunately here and globally, women are still subject to sex abuse and domestic violence and denied access to health care, education and equal opportunity in the work place.

In our hometowns, we see firsthand Title IX’s impact, as our daughters, granddaughters and great granddaughters enjoy the opportunities that my generation, and women prior to my time, fought so hard to ensure.

The 2025 Sterling High School Golden Warriors basketball team fell a game short a trip down state to Redbird Arena, my alma mater, in their run to repeat the 1977 first Illinois state championship. Their rise to glory was no less phenomenal. In four years they turned a 3-26 losing team into a championship contender.

This year's team with their tough defense and fighting spirit were reminiscent of SHS’s 70s and 80s teams like that 1977 state championship team, which included Coach McKinzie and Coach Smith, a dad/daughter, brother/sister combo, the 2025 team was also a family affair uniting sisters, coaches, dads, daughters and their families.

With perfect timing, Coach Jackson’s team gave the community a reason to cheer at a scary time when many civil rights and federal departments protecting health and education threaten to collapse at an alarming rate.

I am proud of Sterling’s stellar basketball season. Like many Sterlingites who may have moved away, I still bleed blue and gold. Our Sterling High School days remain tattooed in our hearts.

As a pioneer, I lived daily the battle for equality and I have had the privilege of seeing opportunities for women explode. I am also old enough and wise enough to know our rights could disappear.

Today, in the Caitlin Clark and Paige Bueckers era, we celebrate the popularity and media exposure of women’s basketball. We love watching the NCAA’s March Madness, the Unrivaled 3-on-3 inaugural season and the W. We appreciate the opportunities awaiting our daughters, not only in basketball, but in so many other arenas.

But work must continue in the US and around the globe to improve women’s health care, to protect reproductive rights, to guarantee equal pay, to curb the epidemic of violence against females, and to allow the voices of other women to be heard worldwide.
Today women succeed, not only on the playing fields, but in education, business, medicine and other professions where we were never allowed before.

Today we are winning, but the risk of losing all has never been so great.

Today, we must fight to guarantee these rights will remain for future generations.
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Five decades ago, the UN started the First National Women’s Day. Fifty years ago Title IX was fully enacted.

What can we do today to assure women’s opportunities and their contributions will stand in the next century?

Hometown Teams Unite Us in Divisive Times

Nearly 50 years ago, in the infancy of Title IX, an odd trio, McKinzie a respected boys’ coach, Strong, a GAA coordinator, and Smith, the first African American teacher in the conference made sure female athletes had equal opportunity at Sterling High School(SHS).

While our nation struggled with civil rights and gender equity issues, a small town team united blacks, whites and Hispanics in one dream — a state championship. In 1977, Illinois State University hosted the first IHSA girls’ basketball tournament. It could only happen here where legends like Jill Hutchison (basketball), Linda Herman (volleyball) and others assured Title IX’s enactment into law. https://goredbirds.com/

https://goredbirds.com/

Right place. Right time.

In my era, pre Title IX, girls’ teams weren’t allowed on the shiny wooden fieldhouse floor. We played on tile courts in half-flight “girl’s gyms” with chalk scoreboards. We wore the same uniform for every sport each season.

Fast-forward to 2025, another athletic family with Sterling roots, Novak Carbaugh/Jackson, returned to teach and coach today’s SHS Warriors capturing the essence of that earlier time.

Coach Jackson’s mom, Laura Carbaugh, a friend of my sister Karen’s (1977 team), sent me the livestream link to the games, so I could see Sterling defeat Naperville. The hoop-a-la in Homer Musgrove Fieldhouse blew me away. The jumbotron flashed names, numbers and stats as players warmed up in stylish blue and gold uniforms. The Sterling players’ introductions were nearly as spectacular as WNBA players starting line-up announcements that we can see on national TV.

A Title IX pioneer, I had to move abroad for the right to play basketball. A half century later, I saw the SHS live game transmission on my laptop. With tears in my eyes, I watched as coaches, players, and fans rose to sing our national anthem in front of our flag.

After tip-off players ran the court, drove to the basket and rebounded with heart. Jackson and her coaching staff inspired an intensity reminiscent of the golden girls of yesterday. Austin stepped up and under from the low post. The James’ girls picked off passes. Who was that tiny guard dishing out assists on a dime? And feisty Harris? Any relation to Marche Harris?

Forgive me for not knowing every player’s names. Forty-four girls are listed on the SHS roster. Regardless of playing time, each participant having the opportunity to represent the Blue and Gold, will learn the same values of teamwork, sacrifice and loyalty .

Like basketball, the Sterlings girl’s 2018 state championship volleyball team was a family affair with sisters, brothers, moms, dads and grandparents.The recipe for success: take the Borum sisters, add the Gould combo and toss in a Lexi Rodriguez libero.

Over the past decades, coaches like Dietz, McKinzie, Smith and so many others dedicated their lives to guiding our youth. The generosity of citizens, the Pete Dillon’s, Mo Duis’, Roscoe Eades, Homer Musgrove’s, Jim Spencer’s of the community worked tirelessly behind the scenes to provide the foundation of excellence.

We never realized how spoiled we were to have access to public recreational centers like Westwood, Duis Center, the YMCA and dozens of parks, Sinnissippi, Kilgore, Platt and a many others we learned to play early on.

Our SHS sports’ facilities (and performing arts auditorium) are so outstanding opponents kiddingly call us Sterling U.

No matter where the alumni ended up, we still feel proud to say, “I’m from Sterling.”

In 2025, women’s sports has unprecedented popularity, media interest and monetary incentives. The Alex Morgan’s, Caitlyn Clark’s and Simone Biles’ inspired millions of girls to be all they can be.

Opportunities abound for the Lexi’s, Maddie’s, Nia’s, and others, who can today aspire to becoming pro athletes, doctors, lawyers, CEO’s and mom’s.

Alone, we cannot hold back the tsunami sideswiping our country, but together we can strengthen the bridges between our families, neighborhoods, schools and communities. Together, hand in hand, do the right thing in the right place to preserve the human values on which we were raised.

Tolerance, integrity, solidarity.

It begins at home.