gipsies

it was as good as always (despite the rain, the wind and the cold). and here is a small real-life impression of last year's version (if you have extremely good eyes, you can catch a glimpse of Isabelle...).

myosotis

the hike (take 3)

Rhenen-Veenendaal West. 17.5 km (+1.5 because we lost our way) (a few times). warm and sunny day with just enough of a breeze. gorgeous best friend and boiled eggs with norwegian caviar. lots of carrots (sticks) because very good because providing fast sugars, slow sugars and fiber. two perfect pakistani mangoes.

there were rolling hills, fields of wheat (or was it oat?), cherry orchards, tame chestnuts, a magical hidden black pool where the frogs did indeed croak their (and our) desire and satisfaction, blueberries already turning slightly blue, an entire alley of red beeches, a meadow with wild(-ish) horses that came as close to paradise as any place i've ever seen, wild flowers, a lake with no water, blue swirling clouds, a young jay fallen to her death from the nest. some tears. much laughter.

i find it difficult to describe happiness. can you tell?

specialisation

the tree-climber...

... and the treasure collector

(and lest i should be accused of that greatest of crimes, child-labelling: they have a number of other specialisations to choose from on a daily basis: flower eater, tracker, day dreamer, tree hugger, bug observer, ant fan, butterfly follower, grass stamper, stick thrower, arrow sharpener, bow builder, maypole dancer, dandelion blower, blossom sniffer, stone classifier, bark caresser, and sun worshipper, to name just a few. don't you just love the month of may?)

anniversary

my grand-father died one year ago, and this morning, for the first time since his death, i listened to a recording of his voice. i heard him speak about the weather in moscow, on an april day in 2006, and it took my breath away. it was so now, so here, and so gone forever. that it broke my heart.

Mary Oliver wrote

"To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go."

the loving and the holding are so easy, the letting go so hard...

in awe

of my little girl's huge talent

forager's bliss

i've said this before, but there are few things in life that give me more pleasure than finding food. this weekend, P. introduced us to the joys of wild garlic, which grows in abundance in the dune park near our house. we made soup from it, and it was truly yummy!

i think i'd like to make an 'edible' map of the hague. any tips anyone?

artistes en herbe

in the midst of this cold and rainy spring, we are searching the sky for pockets of sunshine, and running into our favourite forest to indulge our new favourite hobby: sketching (in) nature. with the exception of toini, who persists in drawing dangerous sharks and large machinery, no matter where he is.

wednesday sadness

crying into the soapy dishwashing water with the rain from the open window on my face. crying while listening to veronika dolina. crying on the cold and wet beach, under a sky of lead and a wind of ice. crying with my nose pressed against the third button from the top on marc's shirt. crying into my grand-father's handkerchief, inhaling for memory.

it's been almost a year. it feels like a wound that just won't heal. every time it might, i run into that which splits it right open again.

monday happiness

a good night of sleep, the first 'berm' bouquet of the year, the smell of smoked garlic, a walk on the beach by myself.

blossom

Blossom (by Mary Oliver)

In April
the ponds open
like black blossoms,
the moon
swims in every one;
there’s fire
everywhere: frogs shouting
their desire,
their satisfaction. What
we know: that time
chops at us all like an iron
hoe, that death
is a state of paralysis. What
we long for: joy
before death, nights
in the swale - everything else
can wait but not
this thrust
from the root
of the body. What
we know: we are more
than blood - we are more
than our hunger and yet
we belong
to the moon and when the ponds
open, when the burning
begins the most
thoughtful among us dreams
of hurrying down
into the black petals
into the fire,
into the night where time lies shattered
into the body of another.

dialogue

- Toini, wat ben je aan het doen?
- Wat ben ik aan het doen? Wat ben ik aan het doen? Dat vraag ik ook... Dat vraag ik me al de hele tijd af: WAT ben ik aan het doen?

("Toini, what are you doing?" "What am i doing? What am i doing? I am asking that too... That is what i keep asking myself: WHAT am i doing?")

(it turned out that what he was doing was shuffling through the kitchen on and with his potty. we didn't get around to finding out why he was doing it)

le temps du lilas

at the stop of tram 11 near our house grows a huge lilac bush. this year, for the first time, i remembered to 'trim' it on time. just a little, mind you. and here is the other classic i've been meaning to share (with subtitles in spanish, for if your french is not good enough). the spirit of May.

the hike (take 2)

Driebergen-Zeist to Maarn. Again. Still 14 km (what can i say, i am an animal of habit...). This time not with best friend, but with best husband. Not in 9 hours, but in a little under 4. The latter maybe related to slightly different meteorological conditions (10 degrees centigrade and uninterrupted pouring rain being less conducive to lovely picnics than gorgeous warm sunny day). And walked on bare feet (because of weirdo reputation to maintain and unpleasantly soggy water-engorged running shoes). Which just goes to show: in this life, you shall never step twice in the same puddle.

the urban indian...

...has moved on with the times. he has exchanged his horse for a tricycle and his mocassins for timberland sandals. and although she eats beef jerky, she likes it best in combination with sushi and steamed broccoli. she still pursues her traditional pictorial art, but is resigned to decorating the pavement, rather than ancient cave walls.

and although he may have forgotten how to build a tipi, he certainly remembers how to climb one.

(featuring this year's queen day's market hit: the indian dress-up clothes...)

on marriage

sometimes, this is exactly what our marriage is like. we stand there, toes in the sand, looking at each other, you peering through the lens of a camera and me wearing sunglasses. at best, all we see are blury reflections of ourselves. at worst, a piece of plastic. and it is the arduous, continuous and repetitive, mundane and heart-breaking, sometimes discouraging and infuriating, often hilarious, surrealistic and moving, but always, always rewarding work of this marriage to keep putting away the camera, keep taking off the sunglasses, so we can actually see each other.

'hey! there you are... i know you'.

on boundaries

In discussions on homeschooling, i am often told that children need boundaries (this usually arises when my conversation partner realizes that i am an insane wacko who is not providing her children with any), and that it is the parents' role to set them. When asked why such boundaries are required, people tend to give one of three answers:

a) because.
b) because it makes the child feel safe.
c) because it makes the parents feel safe.
(note that i have taken the liberty of grading these in increasing order of self-awareness on the part of the speaker)

My response to any of the above has traditionally been 'hhhmmm' (which is code for 'this is not quite right, but since i can't explain how or why i better leave it').

Until today, that is, when in the midst of a heated discussion on this very topic, the truth suddenly spat out of my mouth (it does that sometimes), and i heard myself say

'Actually, boundaries are just a poor substitute for being there'.

I didn't really know what i meant, only that it was true. But i've had the rest of the day to figure it out, and this is what i have come up with. Boundaries are indeed there to guarantee that both the parents and the child feel safe. But this safety is only required in the absence of the parents themselves. After all, if your mama is right there with you, by your side and engaged with whatever you're doing, even the oft-quoted 'playing with matches' feels (and is) very safe. What these boundaries do then, is send the following message:

'listen, honey, for reasons that i cannot go into at present, i cannot actually be there with you, to make you safe in the world, to guide you through life with my knowledge and wisdom, to learn together with you, to watch you explore and explore with you, to answer your questions and to have fun together, so... here is a plan B that i have come up with: i am going to build you a cage, made of seemingly random rules, restrictions, regulations and prohibitions, and you will just have to trust me that if you stay in that cage, you will be safe. and you have to promise me, promise me for real, that you will stay in there, because otherwise the big bad things might come to get you, and i will be terribly worried'

And so it really is true: children living in boundaries do feel safe inside their little compounds. Until the day (usually referred to as 'puberty') when they rebel and run off into the big bad scary world, in which they feel pretty much the way escaped zoo animals must feel. Alone and very very unsafe. Forever and ever (or until they find another cage).

Somehow, the alternative of exploring the world hand in hand with one or more loving adults, until the day when you yourself turn into a loving adult, sounds like more fun. So next time someone tells me that their children need boundaries, i know what to answer : 'Actually, they don't need boundaries, they just need you'.

the wizard of oz

We were sitting on the grass in the little local park, right next to the playground. There were six of us, five children and i. We had set up the tent, trying it out in preparation for much camping this summer; we had spread our blankets, picnic, crayons, ant-catching equipment, buckets, spades and books. Next to us stood our bicycles, including the massive bakfiets that we used to transport all of the above. The sun was shining and the sky was as blue as the eyes of the princesses in Isabelle's drawings. All was quiet on the western front.

Suddenly the most incredible thing happened. First of all the entire contents of the sand-box of the playground was lifted up into the air, formed neatly into a whirling column and started to move towards us at great speed. An incredibly cold wind hit us in the face, and our eyes and mouths filled with sand. Then we saw the bicycles lift up into the air, move forward in Mary Poppins style and drop heavily onto the ground. I heard the children scream, and maybe i screamed too, and then the tent which was right beside us was lifted up really high into the air and flew away. I stood up and ran after it, managing to catch up with it just as it fell to the ground 100 metres from where we sat. The whole thing lasted less than 10 seconds.

And there we were, in shock. The children were crying, and all i could think of, as i tried to gather our stuff which had been spread all over the park, was that whatever it was, if its path had run 1.5 metres more to the left, i would have had five children lifted up into the air and dropped down again. Not a pretty thought. The most insane thing though, was the way everyone at the park just pretended that nothing had happened. The other children kept on playing, the mothers kept on sitting on their benches. If it hadn't been for my five little witnesses, i would have doubted my own sanity (yes, i know, i already have enough reasons to doubt my sanity...).

The internet tells us it was a dust devil. All i can say is, it's time to get the Wizard of Oz out of the library. Again.

the ice-cream season

... is officially open!

the hike

Sam and i went on a station-to-station hike. It was a 14 km hike, from Driebergen-Zeist to Maarn, through woods, woods and more woods. The sun was shining, and the pine trees smelt so sweet. There was a little breeze that loved us, and millions of promising blueberry bushes. Little light-green things were waking up wherever you looked. I think it was the happiest day of my life (except for the day i gave birth to my children) (and my 7th birthday, spent in Odessa with my grand-father, when i got the light-blue checkered dress and the orange umbrella with the orange fish handle) (and the day i quit my job at the university) (and the day i decided it was possible after all to homeschool Isabelle) (and the day when i saw my dad for the first time after many many years) (and a whole bunch of other days...) (but still...).

Since it was 14 km, and we had started around 10 am, we figured we'd be done by lunch-time; so you can imagine our surprise when we sat down to partake of our third light meal (the one where i was finally allowed to get out the roast chicken) at 2:30 pm, to discover that, according to the map, we weren't yet half-way. By the time we reached Maarn, it was after 7pm, and the sun was displaying distinct setting tendencies. There are only two logical explanations: either we crawled through the woods on our bellies, or the route description does not take into consideration the eight or nine breaks that we just had to have in all those absolutely-perfect-cannot-afford-to-walk-past-it spots.

(We'll just have to remember this when we are planning the 25 km hike)

The greatest difficulty we encountered, funnily enough, was linguistic. Both Sam and i have been in this country for so long, and are generally considered by the locals to be so fluent that i don't think either of us expected to be stumped by the route description. We did our best of course, but 'flauw links'??? (turns out it is not the name of a political party) (though we could think of a few the epitath would fit like a glove). The romantically named 'greppel', which we assumed to mean 'delightfully meandering riverlet' turned out upon our return to be the much more prosaic 'ditch'. While the 'vennetje' we had understood to refer to the heath turned out to be a pond. (It is therefore little short of a miracle that we made it to the end at all...)

But the one that still puzzles us completely is the 'schuine kruising'. If anyone would care to explain...