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Jared Bloch
Speaker at the 14th International Humanitarian Conference
Sitting in on the 14th International Humanitarian Conference, entitled Facing the Psychological Impact, I was struck once again by the wealth of human resource at our fingertips here in Geneva.
The conference, which began yesterday, February 26, and runs through today, is co-organized by Webster University Geneva, the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) and other Geneva-based institutions.
Jared Bloch
The Rhone, where it empties Lac Leman, travelling South past the Quai de L’ile, is an aquatic bicycle cementary.
Bike Aquatic
Why do people throw good working bikes into the Rhone river? As far as I can tell, this is akin to my fifth grade escapade involving breaking into my elementary school and plastering my home room in waterloged toiletpaper; I was 9 or 10.
I don’t think I ever contemplated tossing a bicycle into the river; the joy must be short lived, watching two wheels sail through the air and then the inevitable plunking sound they must make. I don’t get it. But apparently, this has replaced cow tipping for Genevoise entertainment, because on a typical Saturday there are no less than ten bikes submerged in the Rhone.
Jared Bloch
Living mummy in Geneva
What is it that Americans love about Halloween beyond the childish thrill of having license to consume endless plastic pumpkin containers of sweets?
In fact, as a child growing up in rural Vermont, the best treats were always the homemade caramel apples and candied popcorn our neighbors 4 miles down the road made every year for the handful of kids who would appear in their yard. Beyond the sweets, it was a social occassion, a chance for parents to show up unannounced, at friends houses for a bit of local gossip and maybe a sip of hard cider from the recent apple harvest.
Jared Bloch
The view from my bike
There is nothing finer than going to your best friend of 20 year’s wedding, unless it going to his wedding and catching up while riding motorcycles around aimlessly.
I wake up again as we are arriving to Milwaukee and see whitecapped waves breaking on Lake Michigan.
Jared Bloch
One of my recurring fears is the image of locking myself out of my apartment. I check, once, twice for my keys before leaving in the morning and even jingle them in my pocket on my way to work. And today when I went to log in to my blog for Geneva Lunch, and seeing the error message, I felt the same sinking feeling I imagine, standing outside the apartment door with information slowly dawning that my home is suddenly inaccessible; I panicked thinking I had confused my login information yet again, until my wife informed me that Geneva Lunch has moved to a new format, erasing the old login codes.
Jared Bloch
It is an evasion of sorts and an escape marked by sadness. My sister in-law passed away last week at the age of 52; too young a death to accept, and yet that is exactly what my wife and I need to do in order to honor the life affirming woman that Conny was. In that spirit, I headed to the mountains of Valais, invited by friends to take over their chalet while they were on vacation.
Train ride from Geneva to Valais
Part of me is reticent as I board the train with my faithful dog Rocky of 12 years to head off into the hills. I am not experienced at mourning, and even as I savour the Paul Auster novel I am reading on the train, I think of my love, rushing off to Colombia to bury her sister. Only the book’s bittersweet commentary on love and loss consoles me as we trundle along through the pass from Vaud into Valais. Riders are a mixed bag of kids soaking up the European summer, moms taking their kids out to visit out of touch friends, and locals headed out to the country for some fresh air.
Jared Bloch
[Ed. note: Jared Bloch's post is so moving that I am leaving it at the top of the page for a couple days, to encourage as many people as possible to read it. Please note that it continues on another page.]
Tuesday,
My daughter wakes up lazily – she’s on vacation – and calls to me from her bedroom.
”Dad come here, come here before you go. I had a dream of the baby,” she tells me. “She was born and she was a girl. She had gray eyes and brown hair.”
I smile imagining the baby she is describing and savor this thought on my way to work. Some days earlier she had a nightmare she told me about, where she was with friends and they all died. I tell her that dreams are metaphors and that they point us in a direction but don’t tell us the whole story.
Two days later,
My wife calls me at work, desperate, telling me her water has just broken; she is five months pregnant.
I race the ambulance to the hospital on my bicycle and arrive just as they are pulling her out on a stretcher. She is pallid and terrified, crying. They admit us into an operating room and connect her to all the lines and machines meant to sustain life.
After 10 minutes a doctor comes in and tells us what we already know – she is in labor and she will give birth shortly. We ask the doctor if there is a chance of saving the baby, any chance, can we keep any hope? He tells us first in French and then in English, that a 5 month old baby cannot survive outside of the womb. He repeats this to make sure we understand and says he will return in a few minutes to confirm we are ready to give up our baby even as she enters the world – but really we have no choice in the matter.
