Mastering the language of my second home
In 1975, I married a man with dual U.S.-Swiss citizenship. His father was Swiss, his mother Norwegian-American, and Rob grew up in Connecticut.
Shortly after our wedding I applied for and was granted Swiss citizenship, snappy red passport and all. Our honeymoon, delayed until the following summer, could be no place else but Zurich, replete with welcoming relatives. Who was I to argue? I’d been to Europe several times,
