Week of 27 December 2009:

Crystal wonders: does every church in Geneva
have such a door to its basement bomb shelter?



Preparation for a trip to Paris: Sunday, we drove to Lausanne under beautiful blue skies for sacrament meeting, where Rob and Crystal were given headphones to listen to an English translation of the talks in French, as provided by two of our young single adults, Eric and Serge. Even though this was just the third time we’d been in that building, we were all impressed with the friendly enthusiasm with which we were made to feel welcome. That afternoon, after driving down to the train station in Geneva for a “dry run” for Rob and Crystal’s 5-day trip to Paris and to show them how to get to the correct gate and track for their trip, we enjoyed a Raclette dinner of melted cheese over boiled potatoes, after which Dede and I shared some stories about our parents before we all turned in by 9 pm, since we had to get up at 4 am to get them to the train station.

A young friend from Toledo goes home: A couple of emails announced the death on Christmas Eve of Jason McCarter, a young man from Toledo whose father had served well as my counselor in the bishopric back in the late 1980s. Both have now been taken by Huntington’s disease. Jason’s sister Melissa is still in a care facility there, as she too has the debilitating disease. In one way, it was sad to have him go, but on the other hand, it’s good to know that Jason is now free from the physical and mental impairments that had greatly limited his time in mortality. Unfortunately, whatever had hit Rob and Crystal on Christmas hit Dede Monday afternoon, and the rest of the week was spent with her trying to recover.

An almost fire in the apartment: A definite tender mercy occurred on Thursday (a little miracle). During the morning we had lighted the four advent candles on our little wreath, which sits on our dining table. At some point, I looked over at it from where I sat at the computer and noticed that the fir needles had caught fire. Fortunately, only about 3 inches along the circle were burning, so it was not hard to extinguish the fire. The miracle was the timing. Had I not “happened” to look when I did, the whole thing could have been ablaze, and that could have led to serious damage to the apartment or even to us. Happy New Year (Bonne année)!

If you can’t see Mt Blanc, go see a glacier:
Saturday Dede had recovered substantially. The weather had cleared, so after picking up Rob and Crystal from their trip to Paris, we decided to head to Mt Blanc and Chamonix. Interestingly, when we tried to purchase tickets for the cable car up to the needle (Aiguille du midi), the lady didn’t want to sell us any. Instead, she directed us to the webcam that shows continuous views both of Mt Blanc from the needle and of the surrounding mountains and the valley; she said it was just too foggy to make it worth the $40 per person.

The cogwheel train pulls up
to the “Sea of Glass” station

The view was worth the chill in the air







Red berries in January?



Trees glisten in the snow














She suggested instead that we take the cogwheel train up to the glacier (called the “sea of glass” or “mer de glace”), and she gave us a map to help us get to the station. The miracle of the day was that from time to time holes in the clouds opened up and allowed the sun to shine on one or another of the surrounding mountain peaks. The views were breathtaking (as was the cold air). We viewed crystals formed under the mountains in a wee cave, and we enjoyed a little museum with lots of stuffed animals representing local fauna: mountain sheep and goats, deer and elk, badgers, wild boar, and birds, among other things. Rob wandered off to take pictures from a nearby ridge, waded thru snow 3 feet deep in places, and returned above us to a slide that someone had made in the snow. He slid down a couple of times and even enticed Crystal to do likewise.



Here comes Rob (Crystal looks dubious)



After enjoying a cup of hot chocolate back in Chamonix, we spent some time checking out souvenirs in a couple of shops as darkness fell on the valley. In the hope that we might locate the bakery (patisserie) where I’d had a really tasty croissant a year and a half ago, we wandered up the streets – and amazingly were able to locate the place. Their croissants were made with lots of butter – or better butter – or something, but they were the best we’ve had on our mission. We got home around 8 pm and finished the day with some traditional French village food: cassoulet with hot dogs (French pork and beans), and sauerkraut with meat, to complement our wonderful French bread.




These Alps are really sharp