in the knit of time

with spring just a breath away, i managed to complete some long-abandoned knitting projects. this sweater for isabelle (wool and pattern from la droguerie) was begun in the early winter of 2006-2007. luckily i tend to overestimate when it comes to sizing, so when the last seam was finally stitched (some time last week), it fit her perfectly. now i hope for a cold spring and no arm-length growth at all this year.
this little item was actually ready on time and made its deadline beneath the christmas tree (a record). however, christmas morning brought the devastating news that although it fit our dumpling perfectly in all body parts, the tight collar wouldn't go over his head. in an attempt to salvage the sweater, i accidentally unravelled half the neck and it took me another six weeks to pick it up again. but here it is. cute as a bun. and the colours make stains utterly invisible.

as for my cold little right foot friend, there is little hope for her this year. luckily, she doesn't grow that fast. and she is a patient little creature.

saving the planet...

... Mega Mindy (with a recently vanquished snake (about to be deported to the snake asylum) (the snake, that is, not Mindy))...
... and her weird-looking (but very precocious) side-kicks.

new love

a month ago (and as a result of dilligently doing the seemingly silly tasks of the Artist's Way), i fell hopelessly in love with a plastic turquoise box made in china. i have no idea how i managed to live almost 35 years without an accordion hanging down my front. the way it straps around my back, the weight of it on my thigh, the smoothness under my fingers. but mostly, mostly, mostly, the magic of that sound that seems to come straight from my soul through my chest into the box and out at the other end. i practice every day. and all is changed, changed utterly.

more january joy

i know they are always around, but it is only in the depth of winter, with grey skies and blue moods always at my heels, that i begin to appreciate their deep sunny colours, their thick cheerfuly bitter skins,their aromatic scent, their tanginess and juiciness.

citrus fruit.

(i read once that a study was done which showed that the one consistent difference between men and women was whether they adored (women) or hated (men) the skins of citrus fruit. our household at least confirms the study; the girls are mad about them and the boys spit them out. but i asky you: who pays to have such studies done? and are they hiring?)

so here are three favourites, sunnying up my days:

in the foreground, the bergamotte. the name alone. yes, i know, names are big around here at the moment. one of the key ingredients in earl grey tea. looks suspiciously like a lemon, but has a far stronger, more aromatic scent and taste(although the local detractors claim they can't tell the difference...). to be used sparingly, one slice at a time, in your cup of tea.

the large deep orange fruit are mineola. a new addition to our family repertoire, they are a softer, sweeter, more interesting version of the orange (again, the detractors etc....). yum. love the deep orange colour.

finally, never to be forgotten, my personal secret for coping with all potential january nastiness, to be gobbled whole, in order to fully experience the bitterness and bite on the tongue, the sweetness and softness of the just-under-the-skin inner flesh and the lemony sour burst of juiciness. wow.

kumquats and cold showers. for a truly zingy midwinter.

january joy: the matching woolies

eat more kale

is the title of a beautiful print in Nikki McClure's Collect Raindrops, a book i have been leafing through for two years now, looking for, and finding, inspiration, quiet and beauty. time and again, as i leafed, i would stop by this particular print, somewhere in the winter section. eat more kale.

slowly, it acquired a special meaning, kale. it became symbolic of an entire lifestyle, a beautiful sane engaged grounded lifestyle, involving rich wholesome organic home-grown food, time on one's hands, a place in the countryside, a wood-cutter musician for a husband, and somewhere between the nappies and one's art, between the apple and the tomato sauce, deep peace of mind.

a lifestyle which clearly Nikki Mc Clure had, and i did not. but, not to despair, i told myself, for one day, all that would change. one day, i would simply start to eat more kale... and the world would open its secrets to me. the name alone, k-a-l-e, i loved to say it out loud, kale... sheer poetry...

of course, and please not to laugh yet, until two days ago, i didn't actually know what kale was. not that that was important. a vegetable. a winter vegetable. exotic yet grounded. beautiful. tasty. filled to the brim with the best mother earth has to offer, vitamins, minerals, the works. oh, kale.

then, last week, on the-day-before-the-market-when-all-meals-for-the-week-are-planned, i happened to be leafing through this cookery book (the cover of which was done, suspiciously, by none other than... Nikki McClure) and i happened to happen on the recipe for "white bean and kale minestrone". my heart skipped a beat. this was it. THE moment had arrived. tremulously, i penciled 'kale' onto my list, with a mental reminder to google for kale's dutch name.

except i didn't (google), because life got in the way, and suddenly, there i was, at my usual vegetable stand, with a list in my hand proclaiming 'kale' and still no clue as to what it was i wanted. i asked my vegetable man (sometimes he knows the most amazing things), he said he didn't know... wasn't sure... it sounded familiar... he would ring someone to ask. so he did. ring. ask. and he came back...

... with a boerenkool.

i think maybe you have to be dutch to appreciate the true amplitude and depth of my disappointment. boerenkool is not poetic. it means 'farmer's cabbage'. which is not poetry. boerenkool is also not exotic. every dutch family has eaten it every week of every winter for the last ten centuries. granted, it is a winter vegetable with all the good stuff, but it's pretty hard to chew, and it tastes (not together surprisingly) of cabbage. pffff!

what an anti-climax. i could barely stop myself from bursting into tears in front of the vegetable man. but i managed somehow. took the 'kale' home. laid the 'kale' on the table. looked at the 'kale' for a while....

...and got to thinking... that maybe this incident really was a parable for 2009. what if kale really is everything i always thought it to be, and i have been eating it all along. what if maybe in my husband's soul, there is music and wood-cutting, and maybe maybe my life actually is wholesome, organic and peaceful. as peaceful as it would be if i were Nikki McClure. if not more. what if i actually already make applesauce and tomato sauce and art. and what if, maybe, 2009 is all about that. about the fact that the boerenkool you eat is amazing kale, and that amazing kale is good old boerenkool. that poetry is right here, in my kitchen. that it has been here all along. waiting for me to see. waiting for me to take notice.

all right, 2009! i am ready. ready to stop wanting and start having what i already have. although, if it's all right with you, i would still prefer to call it kale...

lost and found glass museum

sand

we blew into

glass

sand

slowly

smooths

back

into

sand

her/him

snow-white/cook

nut-cracker/wash

dancing/dishes

ink-pens/first word

drawing/ball

numbers/light-switch

moon/ask for

phases/help

reading/little hand

slide-bed/pulling

film-making/big hand

horses/empty

cows/dishwasher

sad eyes/dancing

dogs/birds

godd/ess

etc.

corners of my house

(see Keri Smith, How to be an explorer of the world)

who said you had to go to seedy tenements in bad new york neighbourhoods to get the paul auster, charles bukowski, leonard cohen feeling? why, my house does a fine job...

advent

by hand

artist date #2

the challenge: "to find two fabric items at the kringloop, chosen solely for their prettiness, and to deconstruct and reconstruct them into as many different items as possible as fast as possible"

the items: blue lambswool sweater, flower-pattern nightie

the price: 1,50 euro

the results: a hip-skirt with belt; funky patch to mend torn woolen caleçon; blue wool leg warmers; winter joker hat; stella the fruit bat.

90

my grand-father has turned 90 today.

Pozdravljaju s dnem rozhdenja, ded! kakoj ty u nas molodets... i krasavits! krepko tseluju tebja i zhelaju tebe eshe mnogo mnogo schestlivyx let.

sinterklaas

...

to show up
at the page
at the needle
at the thread
at the pen
tired
sad
elated
beating pulse
in the temple

to show up
hands frozen
hands open
pulse in the heart
of the hand

to show up
to pick up
the needle
to thread
the pen

to wait

breathing

to wait

to move
a little
gentle
darning
or
drawing the sky
down
or ...

moving
fingers
still
heart

restless

leaky toilet
running water
restless
all the pens run out of ink
restless
cold fingers
wrapping yarn
hand to elbow
leaky toilet
restless
endless
stories
in my head
restless
'if i had...
will she now...
and what if...
wrong! wrong! wrong!
me she her me wrong!'
restless
cold fingers
wrapping yarn
elbow to
clenched jaw

...

outside the window
the endless sky
shape-shifted
one million times
in the times it took
for one same small story
to spin one same small circle
again and again
in my head...

3

this blog turned three years old today. three years and 493 posts. such a long time for a blog, such a short time in a human life.

and yet...

... please to consider the following:

three years ago, on the day i began this blog, i had

- never taken a photograph except the occasional unfocused holiday snapshot;
- never read a feminist treatise;
- never read about buddhism;
- never baked bread;
- never meditated;
- never done a single yoga exercise;
- never visited an organic food store;
- never touched a sewing machine;
- never sewn anything by hand except perhaps a grand total of three buttons;
- never heard of homeschooling;
- not touched a knitting needle since that deplorable incident in third grade involving mlle. Hardy and the infamous bootie;
- not made a drawing since age 6;
- not sung out loud since age 10;
- not written anything since the diary i kept as a teenager;
- not yet met my son.

most importantly, i had never, ever, ever ever, not even in my wildest dreams, thought of myself as an artist.

incredible, isn't it? the distance travelled. and although i guess i deserve at least half the credit for travelling it, i would not have been able to do so without this blog. and without you people.

quote

(it's not very pc, but i am sure my more conservative and/or male readers will forgive me, for how can one resist sharing the irresistible)

heard in the car on the way to leiden this morning:

'mama, nu moet je echt ophouden met praten over je tompons, want mijn yoni raakt ervan in de stress...'

(mama, now you really have to stop talking about your tompons, because my yoni (as in sanskrit for female genitals, in case you were wondering) (and that is a long story) (which luckily for my more conservative and/or male readers i am not going to share right now) is getting really stressed out...)

the curse has come upon me...

i am menstruating for the first time in exactly two years. november 2006 was the last time. odd thing, this baby-belly-breast business. odd thing too how much one can miss monthly bleeding. i felt all new yesterday, full of possibilities. real. strong. big. with lots of argggghhhh in my belly. and an odd urge to treat myself to something to mark this new phase. so in my usual weirdo way, i went online and got myself these. and this (i tell you, medieval torturers had nothing on me). i also found this little piece of additional information:

"The animal of the new moon menstruation is the toad, with all her knowledge, her slipperiness, her ability to be quite alone, and her untouchable (poisonous) exterior."

yep, that's me to a t. slippery. poisonous. and alone (or desperately wishing to be). oh, and knowledge. yes. much knowledge.

taai taai

afternoon baking with new friends. Jet and Isabelle had a great time baking and a great time eating, and Antoine came up with a creative toothless solution for his 'falling star' (suck on it until it melts). even the mamas managed to try one each before they cooled down and turned into rocks (the taai taai that is, not the mamas).

(marc just came in to say they taste great (the taai taai, not the mamas), although some are a little hard...) (... he also mentioned making tea and watching morse with me...) (... and i can hear him cleaning the kitchen now...) (... and clearly these are the very reasons i married the man)

only

it's only november. and already i am depressed, exhausted, sick, tired and ready for summer. can't believe there is still december, january, february, march and (if last year's luck holds out) april to go before the sunshine, the warmth, the light. bah. am recovering from third flu in a row. the farm bankrupcy situation is still up in the air, unlike the gorgeous autumn leaves, which lie in sad dried up heaps on our street, brown and dejected, sneakily concealing dog diarrhea and other surprises. bah. i managed to miss autumn, my favourite season. it simply passed me by.

all right, this is depression. barbara has a song about it. here (with subtitles in catalan, no less...).

anyway, back to the usual medication: yoga. fresh air. movement. writing. dancing. hugging favourite small people. colour therapy.
(PS. for those whose french is as good as my catalan, i have taken the freedom to translate:

It sends no warning, it simply arrives
It’s coming from far away
It has been shuffling from shore to shore
With its sulky face
And then one morning, as you wake up
It’s almost nothing
But it’s there, making you sleepy
In the small of your back

The ache of living
The ache of living
That you must keep on living
Whatever living may cost

You can wear it on your shoulder
or as a jewel on the hand
As a flower in your buttonhole
Or just on the tip of your breast
It’s not necessarily misery
It’s not Valmy, it’s not Verdun
But it’s tears in the corner of your eyes
At the thought of the day that dies, at the thought of the day to come

The ache of living
The ache of living
That you must keep on living
Whatever living may cost

Whether you come from Rome or America
Whether you come from London or Peking
From Egypt or Africa
Or from the Porte Saint-Martin
We all make the same prayer
We all walk the same road
How long it is, the road, if you’re walking
With that ache in the small of your back

No matter that they try to understand us
Those who come to us with naked hands
We no longer want to hear them
We cannot, we are all spent
And alone in the silence
Of a night that knows no end
Suddenly we think of them
Of those who did not return...

...From the ache of living
Their ache of living
That they had to keep on living
Whatever living may cost

...And without warning, it arrives
It’s coming from far away
It has been walking from shore to shore
With a smile on its lips
And then one morning, as you wake up
It’s almost nothing
But it’s there, filling you with wonder
In the small of your back

The joy of living
The joy of living
Oh, come and live it
Your joy of living...)

free

we came home yesterday from a wind-blown weekend by the seaside with our beautiful belgian friends (two-footers and four-footers) to find a letter waiting on our doormat. not just any letter, though, the letter. after a suspense-ful two weeks, two letters to the town council and some excellent advice from a homeschooling lawyer (not a contradiction in terms for those of you who wonder), Isabelle has been granted an exemption from the dutch schooling act. she is free!

on the phone to england

joint art

isabelle and i have devised a way to immortalize her art. it involves plain second-hand t-shirts, one of her drawings, and my free-style reproduction of the latter on the former. it's good for her (she gets most of the credit, and can burrow for hours in my large stash of fabric scraps). it's good for me (since i am not 'the creator', my editor tends to shut up, and i can practice with imperfection. loverly).

the critics have been giving us raving reviews. so beware, oh various december recipients, you've got yourself some old t-shirts coming.

quiet

it has been quiet around here for a long time, for which i have an odd urge to offer an apology... until i start wondering who it is i am apologizing to, and then i get into trouble. you know, the usual (who's reading this? who am i writing it for? why am i writing? and other existential blah blah questions). so. no apology then. i have been busy surviving. had a burnout (difficult stuff). sort of clambered out of burnout only to find ourselves in a potential bankrupcy (the farm we were buying and then not buying and then maybe buying and finally really NOT buying, enormous legal difficulties with that, lots of uncertainty and the damocles sword of having to pay incredible amounts of money for sure (but not knowing as yet how much)). it turned out to be too much for me to also keep up with this here space.

now i'm here once again (this blog seems to be having trouble dying an honorouble death). feeling a little small, a little exposed, a little fragile. and really glad to see you all.

self-portrait with fancy new shirt and burn-out