Sailing between the sun, the moon, the stars

I am sailing, I am sailing,
home again 'cross the sea.
I am sailing, stormy waters,
to be near you, to be free.

I am flying, I am flying,
like a bird 'cross the sky.
I am flying, passing high clouds,
to be with you, to be free.

Can you hear me, can you hear me
thro' the dark night, far away,
I am dying, forever trying,
to be with you, who can say.

Can you hear me, can you hear me,
thro' the dark night far away.
I am dying, forever trying,
to be with you, who can say.

We are sailing, we are sailing,
home again 'cross the sea.
We are sailing stormy waters,
to be near you, to be free.

Oh Lord, to be near you, to be free.
Oh Lord, to be near you, to be free,
Oh Lord.

Lyric by Rod Stewart

Our gorgeous dog is sailing, flying, I do not know where he is. Chasing bunnies and chicken on the Forever Hunting Fields, playing with the previous dachshounds that lived here. Jumping from star to star in the moonlit night, who knows??
All I know is that I maybe need two pairs of sunglasses today when we go sailing, because my eyes hurt of crying, and that the silence in the house is horrendous.
Yesterday we had to call the vet to say goodbye to our dog forever.

Glorious weather

Two more weekends of sailing and enjoying the shoresides of the river and the lakes.

I am a great admirer of John Singer Sargent's paintings. Many years ago I got acquainted with his paintings through a huge fat table diary on my office desk, representing art every day. Really so much to enjoy next to all the business in that diary. A yearly Christmas gift by a pharmaceutical company, a tradition which alas they stopped. But of course, we are all digital these days.

My husband will not be painting, it is not quite his style anyway. I will not be lazing about. Apart from the sailing we will do winter preparations on where we usually stay on the waterfront and -as if my garden is not enough to keep up- I will be trimming greenery. Wonderful hydrangeas all over the place, hanging plentiful over the water line.

Our dog will snooze away in his life jacket. He is ancient and fragile, but enjoys the wind in his hair and the scents in his long nose.

The BBQ will sizzle on the island and we will sip wine as we watch the sunset with a sigh, listening to the waterbirds all around us and the silence of nature otherwise, gazing at the glitter of the water and the abundant colours all around us.

Irresistible

On a recent Thursday in the garden center (yes, the same one where I got my purple rhododendron) I bumped into but one specimen of Buddleia ‘Île de France’. At the time I did not know where to put it in the garden, so I turned away from it. You know what it is like in a garden center anyway, if it was up to me I would come home with half the contents of the store. The lovely blue color of this buddleia kept lingering on my mind. At home I reviewed the situation and decided on a place for it. Alas, when I came back on Monday it was sold.

There are many garden centers in the neighborhood. On Friday I went on yet another plant shopping spree. By then it had become a ‘must have’, but I had to settle down for a pretty Buddleia ‘Nanho Blue'.

In my second job I assisted a professor of market research and market psychology. Because of his lectures I remember well all the tricks of how things are on display and how we, silly buyers, tumble head over heels for things we cannot resist. Well, there was a birthday gift voucher itching in my handbag, so I could live it out.

I followed the routing: a hydrangea with gorgeous tiny blooms turning up, 'Pink Annabelle'. It is not easy to guess that it ended up in my cart, choosing the most fully grown plant.

Another surprise was the tomato red Echinacea, named ‘Tomato Soup’. What a wonderful name! The huge cheeky colored blooms really made me smile. Several times I have tried echinaceas, but they seem to disappear and not to perform like I see in other gardens. This one was high on display (not to be missed!) with big radiant flowers and I just had to have it because it looked so cheery. Let's keep our fingers crossed this rudbeckia will survive in my garden.

It was only the day before I had watched a video on how to go about landscaping your garden. Some very good tips and certainly taken to heart, but I must admit in the garden center I forget these tips immediately. However, with sturdy steps, having no idea where I would plant the hydrangea and the rudbeckia, I followed the signs ‘exit’, protecting myself from other buys and quandaries like walking around the garden with this question ‘where am I going to put you?’.

The double shocking pink 'Busy Lizzies' went straight into their planned baskets. Plenty of work to do in the garden, so there is not much time for blogging. Hedges to trim, lawns to be mown, a part being under reconstruction by myself, leaves and twigs falling through the wind, trees shedding their nuts already, plenty of raking to do, etc. etc. .... I'll be back once in a while, when it rains like today. But even then there is work to be done: my agaves are swimming and I don't think it is very healthy for them.

Apologies

In the Walled Garden, George Dunlop Leslie (Victorian-Edwardian painter)

It is not only that old age is creeping up on my dog, it is creeping up on me as well, it seems.

I am not so frantically blogging at the moment as there seem to be so many things taking up my attention. I do read other people's blogs though and leave comments, but I forgot what I had done to my own blog a few weeks ago. I changed settings. And see what happens today: 10 comments to moderate!!! I never logged on to my own blog since my last post. What a lovely surprise to read you all and hereby my apologies for not publishing your comments earlier.

The picture was shown on Princesa Nadie's blog. It is one of my favourites and on my list, because of the never ending flow of wonderful art she introduces to us. It is the first time this painter crosses my path.

At the spirit of the moment I change the pictures on my desktop. Being in a 'rose mood' I have placed this picture in a matching green and try to understand the painting. Lovely summer light, red picked roses on the floor and on the bench, rose petals on the floor, a beautiful 'English rose' wearing a necklace of red roses, looking composed startled, apologetic almost, holding her heart with her left hand. Maybe there is a story behind the painting, but I always like to look for myself.

Roses, roses, roses

Down the road lived a Chinese-Indonesian lady, her front garden full with roses. Every time I passed by with our dogs she would reach out 'Wait, wait ... let me pick you some of my roses'. One of those roses was Just Joey.

She could not keep up with her garden and had to move.
There are a few things I shall never forget about her and her garden. First: her lovely wedding picture and how fate destroyed the ultimate dream they were hoping to find at that moment. WW II disturbed all their plans, life and health would never be the same again. Second: the moment she moved away and the house was on sale I saw a guy with a wheel barrow full with her rose plants, carrying those roses to where??? Until today I just do not know what kept me back in saying to him: what do you think you are doing to her roses?!
The house was sold, the lady lived for a while in an elderly home where we talked about her history while eating yoghurt ice creams.
She was adorable.

It is not just that I love my purple rhododendron, I love my roses just as well. It is not until recently that I am aware roses seem to be all around me: on my coffee mug in my office, Valentine roses dangling on a string in the same office, roses on my garment prints, and a huge variety in my garden, even overtaking the roof. But that is a nice story for a future post!

Two years ago I planted Just Joey in what used to be my herb garden. It is a gorgeous rose, but somehow mine is not quite the same as was hers. It is blooming now and I just cannot get enough of looking at the phases of how the blooms unfold. Of course remeniscing on the moments with this lovely lady.

In love with a rhododendron

Occasionally I pass this newly designed and realized garden, stunning purple rhododendrons prominently shouting at me: look how beautiful we are! Every time I pass I think: ‘hmmm, interesting, what would the name be?’ Searching internet left me with a large list of purple rhodo’s and plenty of discussions, but somehow none of the pictures shown matched what my eyes at had seen on passing by.Pictures shown on labels can also be so confusing. Of course I could have dropped a note through the letter box of the owner, but somehow I was reluctant to do so. If you have just spent a fortune on a new garden you do not want anyone to copy it straight away (I would imagine). A visit to a nursery would have been one of the possibilities also to broaden my view on names and colors of rhododendrons.

The other day I had 45 minutes between meetings and decided to visit a garden center. No plan in particular and just wondering around. It is so soothing for the mind to just walk about in a garden center. There is no hurry in a garden center, every plant says to you: ‘take me home with you’, the wind gently rushes through your hair, the sun kisses your face. I do not go to garden centers when it rains.
My eyes caught a huge purple rhododendron. It seemed a miracle that this unusual color was actually there and then, and for sale.

I grew up in an environment where rhododendrons abundantly colored impressive lanes with names like the King’s Lane, Princess Lane and the Regents’ Lane. In massive high plants in reds, pinks, lilac colors. Our own garden filled with deep reds and pinks. This deep purple one is new to me. Even when I drive about I seem to see all the ‘standard’ colors, whereas when you search on internet there are so many varieties. Our gardener keeps telling me the soil in this polder land is not suitable for rhododendrons, so I have always been reluctant to buy and plant them. I am afraid I just fell in love with this one.

For three consecutive days I went back to see it. Every time there was the same garden assistant and she just smiled: ‘People have just loved this rhododendron, but everyone considers it as too big, you do not have to worry it will be gone if you do not buy it today’. The price tag was not visible and the lady warned me the price was sky high. We exchanged names and she promised me to call me before noon the next day to tell me the name and the price. She called me at 9 and said: ‘Is it not too early?!!’, ‘No, no, I am sweeping my terrace’. 40% off the price, how tempting, yet phenomenal. I still had to think it over and told her this. But you know what it is like when you have fallen in love ...

At noon I walked into the garden center once more, pottering around and then determinant to go and get it. It was funny, I turned my cart and there it was at the distance: my rhododendron ‘Monsieur Marcel Ménard’. My heart made a little jump and I went straight at it.
I looked around, plenty of assistants, but no sign of the lady I had spoken to all the time. But there she was, smiling again as if she understood my passion for this rhododendron. I said: ‘I must confess I have absolutely fallen in love with it and I am going to buy it, but how do I get it home?!?!’ More assistants, discussions, my car driven to the back side of the center, plenty of plastic as if we were wrapping up a large Christmas tree, taking the hood down of my French car. There it went with strong arms, at the back seat of my car, filling the complete car as if I was joining a flower show on wheels. I had a few worries: the zillions of bumble bees in the flowers (would they creep in my ear?) and would I come across the police, maybe finding my journey too dangerous? I could see left and partly right, and in the side mirrors, but even my head was covered in blooms. What a sight on the scenic route, people laughed, and what a relief to arrive home though! Getting such a huge rhododendron in your car is not the same as getting it out of it. My husband had dubious thoughts on this plant anyway, ‘why is it 40% off?!’, he was not too eager to give me a hand and thought I was just mad in buying such a huge plant anyhow. Well, we managed, but my husband left me to my plant the moment it ended on what we call in Holland ‘a doggy’, a wooden thing on wheels to move furniture. Nothing could discourage me; I looked for a car tow rope and started my journey. In the mean time I talked to the thrush looking at me with sharp eyes from her nest in our firewood storage, telling her I was only passing by and only delivering a wonderful new plant to the garden. My husband laughed at the sight of my ingenious way of transport when I appeared around the corner of the yew trees. He does agree it is a wonderful plant, very suitable for the position I have chosen. At the moment it is still standing in the pot on the terrace. We enjoy the bumble bees and the butterflies it attracts. I shall wait until the flowers have gone and then plant it. Or get a gardener to plant it, because I read on internet the hole you have to dig has to be three times the size of the pot and just as deep ….. Sigh ….. The things you do for love (or have to do) …

Now, what is it again when you fall in love? Love makes blind. I picked one of the blooms to put on a vase and see the flower buds opening. One of the leaves showed lice and I thought: ha ha, now I have got it! It is not the mid season, it is not because this plant was uneasy to sell, it was the lice that made it go for 40% less. Maybe my husband was more practical than I was. I just saw what I wanted to see: the purple blooms.

Never mind, I just love it, and as I promised the lady in the garden center: I am going to look after it very well. She had grown attached to it, because of the color and the bumble bees.

Internet tells me the following on this rhododendron: Compact upright plant with convex dark green leaves. Large dark purple flowers in upright trusses, with a golden flare in the throat. Stunning with creams and yellows.

Would you not fall in love with it?

Old age creeping up

Just now I had a phone call from the vet on the extra lab examinations that had to be done on our dog. More to be done next week, as there is still the puzzle of what is wrong with him. Last week we had to take him to the clinic to have him diagnosed under anaesthesia. Most of the night I spent staring at the ceiling, wondering of what might be happening to him or would be the matter with him. I just love my cats and dogs.
I was asked to stay with him as long as possible. We walked up and down the consultancy room until his nose touched the ground, disappearing in dreamland. The assistant took him up, he seemed so fragile, like a mop almost. A couple of hours later we could pick him up, staggering around a bit, but only too happy to be put in the car to be taken home.

At the beginning of March we were at Bergen aan Zee, wind force 8 almost blowing his and our ears off our heads. He used to love running along the beach. A free, independent and intelligent dog. Today his walks are limited though, old age creeping up. He loves being near us all the time, cuddling up against us.

And now, what do you think of this deck chair?! It looks so inviting, also to our dog, but there is a sign on it: do not touch. Unfortunately I cannot upload the picture any bigger than this. The beach restaurant is called 'Bruintje aan Zee', and that is a nice word play: my brown dog being near 'Brownie at Sea'.

On Sunday I was pulling weeds out of the terrace, sitting on a very low seat. He pressed his nose against me, I took him up and said: 'OK, we can weed together'. He rubbed his nose in my face, closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun, moaning: 'life is just wonderful'. I have my silly talks with him, silly words that are invented there and then.
He loves hearing 'Come on, let's go and do something in the garden'. Most of the time I put him on a day bed eventually, so that he keeps warm and sheltered. He follows everything we do through half closed eyes. The privileges of old age!

Celebration time

The other day I sat at the back of a car with an artist. She makes beautiful paintings, but today the world around her absorbs her completely. ‘A painter’s block’ being the result of all the energy draining elsewhere. ‘A painter’s block?!’ , ‘Yes, like a writer’s block’. Maybe I was not precisely tuned in and asked innocently ‘Do you keep a painter’s blog?!’. No, this was not the case. I told her I had presented myself for art classes which were about to start on Saturday morning and would last until summer. Unfortunately the classes were cancelled as the number of people necessary had not been reached. With disgust the artist said: ‘Why paint?! Everybody paints these days …’ Well, because it is so much fun to do and besides I had made nice things in the past. With so much depreciation of somebody else’s artistically talents I decided it was pointless to tell her that one my of sisters makes wonderful still lives and that the youngest one runs her own gallery with her magnificent huge and colorful paintings.

We changed the subject and discussed the world passing by in the car, the full moon lighting up the lakes.

With painting in my mind I googled for daffodils the next day and placed a lovely daffodil painting as background on my laptop. After having seen this popping up a couple of times I realized that somewhere there should be a daffodil attempt by myself in watercolor. Looking at it now it seems unfinished, but it is fun to look at and certainly encourages me to take this up again once I am out of the rat race. They are just exercises, but I like them when I look at them because of their color.

In autumn I planted a variety of bulbs. At the moment I am watching anxiously what will become of them. The daffodils already present in the garden have been showing their faces abundantly: white, yellow, tête à têtes which I have collected from everyone who throws them out once they have finished blooming in a pot. They re-live in my garden.

Unfortunately I am experiencing huge problems with my laptop. All my photographs, texts, etc. have disappeared; the system keeps throwing me off the internet. I am heart broken and it is so frustrating, but there are worse things going on in the world right now than my pictures. Of course I hope we will be able to retrieve one or two things.

Talking about painter’s and writer’s blocks: I had a bit of blogger block. The huge amount of pornographic spam that kept streaming in at the post that I loved best myself - ‘A geisha teacup’ - forced me to delete this from the blog. I just do not understand the fun of spamming.

Spring is full of busy moments: the garden has to be done, the boat has to be brushed up before she plunges in the water on 4 April, my ancient dog needs a lot of attention, tremendous and fabulous things workwise happening, and last but not least: a nasty cold that would not disappear after the long and cold winter running me down and making it impossible to do as much as I want to.

The sun shines! My boat is waiting for the final touch today, many subjects in my head to write about!

It is celebration time today: it is now exactly one year ago since I started blogging. It was great fun to do and I have so enjoyed everyone’s creativity. New and unexpected followers recently and I thank you all for your wonderful comments!

The water colors I show you here were made 23 years ago and have been sitting on a shelf all this time. This is the nice thing of blogging: you can show things to the world that are normally hidden in drawers, on shelves, or just for the odd one to see at home.

Soon you will be reading my comments on your blogs, as I have not been around your blogs for a while. Happy weekend!

Award Free Blog and a bit of Dutch courage

By it seems Dutch sailors drank a lot of Dutch gin to fight the English in the thirty years of war against them in the 1600's. The misleading fact is that it did not keep them as warm as they thought it would do, but it did overcome their fear to face the enemy. What is even worse is that they were given a bottle of gin as part of their wages. Ever since Dutch courage remained an expression, or a remedy, against difficult moments.

Now! I need a bit of Dutch courage ...

On 31 January, Rita, with her wonderful blog Shabby Chic Roses, http://ritashabbychicrose.blogspot.com, awarded me with the Stylish Blogger Award. Busy as I am I did not notice this wonderful surprise until almost a week later.



On 20 February Jesse, with his three incredible art blogs, http://theartofjesse.blogspot.com surprised me just as much with the same award.

Thank you so much Rita and Jesse! I am immensely honoured. I love reading both your blogs and enjoy your creativity, each in your own very special way.

When you receive an award you have to do something with it. Here comes the problem. I have to sit up straigth and take a deep breath to confess that this is a big hang up for me. The conditions stated, naming things about myself and nominating other blogs, is not the problem. It is easy to state things about myself and it is easy to make a huge list of wonderful blogs which deserve the award just as much, but I resent doing this so much because I think I impose on other people. For the past weeks I have not been able to post anything that I had in mind because of this. So - and here I need the courage to write it down - I have decided to make this an Award Free Blog.

I read many many blogs and thoroughly enjoy all the blogs I follow. Sometimes it seems one big family in Blogland, not only sharing creativity, but also ups and downs. Juliana has been ill for a long time, Natasha experienced the biblical floods in Queensland, Marja is still feeling the after shakes of the earthquake in Christchurch. You follow the news and think: how will Marja be, how will Natasha's family get out of the aftermath, how will Juliana recover?
At other times I sit behind my computer and am absolutely flabbergasted about everyone's creativity.

I need freedom, I need to be free as a bird in the tree tops of Les Trois Jardins.


Maybe I should pour myself a glass of Dutch gin now and press the button 'publish'.
It is cold out here, it is snowing again, whereas the snow drops and the crocusses were promising something else. Hopefully there are no ennemies out there.

Wishing you all a wonderful day and wonderful times in Blogland. I shall look forward to your comments because they are great fun, and I shall comment on your blogs with the same enthousiasm.

Starling swarms

After missing out on the total Moon Eclipse on 21 December 2010, because of the cloudy skies, I was determined not to miss out on the Sun Eclipse on 4 January 2011. The article on the subject in the morning newspaper was promising, so I took the text to heart and set off to work in the car with my camera ready. The eclipse would take place at 3˚ at the horizon and could only be seen out in the open.
As the route is through plenty of Dutch polder land, with a 180 ˚ view, I was convinced I would be able see it. But no such luck! The sun was rising on the horizon in wintery icy pink, the sky turned grey and it became obvious once again that one of the wonders of our universe was not going to be experienced (by me).


Illustration by Rein Stuurman in Ko Zweeres' 'Vogels om ons heen' - MCMLXVI

After a very busy day of catching up on two weeks of seasons holidays all of a sudden there was the sound of a starling, and a hundred shrieking noises following. Starling swarms passing close by in a wonderful choreography, going, coming back, starting off again from the roof right above my head.





The movements of the starling swarms are a spectacular happening between the tall buildings, over and over again. It never seizes to amaze me. Seeing this once more on Tuesday afternoon made up for what I had missed in the morning. The environment is open, right on the edge of town. Plenty of food to find and deciphering their 'talk', the messages they pass on to each other would be so interesting.
It was fun to edit the pictures in Picasa, taken through the glass window, reflecting items of the interior.



In the summer we had scaffolding up for renovations of the building. Two rooks appeared every day late in the afternoon. One of them was persistent in catching my roommate’s attention, turning its head to the left, to the right, coming closer to the window all the time. Not only this: it took the steps, going up to another level – every day the same ritual. It was amazing. Apart from this they seemed to do some meditation in the sunset. I have observed this often with my dogs and my cats: they place themselves in a spot where they catch the last sun rays, face towards the sun, curled up, in total happiness it seems.

Not only looking out and up from my room is wonderful, looking down is just the same. The sun is warming up the earth. A changing glow arrives on the tree tops.
The gardens in my work environment are worthwhile spending more time on in next posts. You can walk out of a door and forget completely that you have just left a huge building. A building so huge that when you go into it you are absorbed by it and the outer world does not seem to exist anymore. I am very privileged to have a room with such a magnificent view and so in touch with the outer world. On going home I hear the endless loud conversations of the starlings as I walk to the parking garage.



The spring itch has affected the gardeners: they are renovating the terrace. Soon we will be sitting out there at lunch time, looking out on a wide rectangular pond with in the distance two buildings called ‘The Popes’.

Licht

Gelukkig dat
het licht bestaat

en dat het met
me doet en praat

en dat ik weet
dat ik er vandaan

kom, van het licht
of hoe dat heet

Hans Andreus


Blauwe luchten, de regenboog, sterren om zo van de hemel te plukken. Sneeuwklokjes, tulpen, narcissen die zich laten zien: het gebeurde allemaal op deze eerste en tweede dag van het nieuwe jaar. Nieuwjaarsochtend was ik verbaasd dat alle sneeuw helemaal verdwenen was. Waar was die betoverde wereld gebleven? Ik wilde nog naar het bos voor een lange wandeling. Als ik mijn blog teruglees heb ik het niet gedroomd ... Een beetje overmoedig heb ik met blote benen en voeten in Birkenstocks blad geveegd op het terras. Ik moest iets doen in het heldere licht. Een optimische start in de tuin.
Het gescharrel van de tortelduiven doet me denken aan mijn eerste baantje. In de wetenschappelijke bibliotheek op de eerste verdieping van het statige pand zat in januari een collega met de ramen wijd open te zonnebaden. De duiven die daar in de bomen zaten maakten elkaar al het hof.

De vijver begint te smelten.



Deze tulp is kennelijk ongemerkt weggerold. Ik heb ze kriskras geplant en ben benieuwd hoe het er uiteindelijk uit zal zien.



Scherven brengen geluk!
Ieder jaar overkomt het me dat bloempotten kapotvriezen.



Oud en nieuw: de (uitgebloeide) bloemen en nieuwe knoppen van de klimhortensia zijn mooi om te gebruiken. Ze belanden steevast samengebonden in de kerstkrans op de voordeur.



Januari blijft feestelijk: nieuwjaarsrecepties op mijn werk (ja, meervoud), van het verenigingsleven en bij vrienden.



De gastvrouw gaat over 10 dagen met pensioen en had daarom alvast haar Griekse pantoffels aangetrokken, de teckel dacht: ik ben wel uitgenodigd, maar wanneer krijg ik nou eens iets om te snoepen? Een gast had haar slag geslagen in de uitverkoop, het prijskaartje zat nog aan haar jasje. Met teamwork werd het eraf gehaald. Hoe veel bubbles zitten er nu ook al weer (wetenschappelijk bewezen, zegt mijn echtgenoot) in een glas champagne?!

Voorlopig blijven de kabouters nog even het werk alleen doen in de tuin, want morgenochtend gaat vroeg de wekker en ga ik weer de wereld in.

Bonne Année

To all my followers, readers and dear friends who follow me on here:
a very Happy and Creative Year!

This card was sent to me in 1951 by my Uncle Raymond and my Aunt Marie, who lived in Bruxelles. Maybe the first New Year's card I ever received?!
There you are: the past has its question marks, and so has the future. Let's hope the future will be just as wonderful as cherishing this post card.

Once more: Bonne Année!


Bruxelles, 1951: my twinbrother and I, ... and my mother's handbag

De tijd en (zoete) herinneringen

Door de sneeuw en weersomstandigheden was de Kerstnacht misschien wel de stilste die ik ooit heb meegemaakt. Luidende klokken om 7 uur, maar daarna immense stilte. Het is fantastisch om dan buiten te zijn en dat te ervaren. Ooit zong ik midden op de oceaan Christmas carols, zag ik kerstversiering in een zonovergoten Sydney en Kaapstad, stond ik in de rij om Kerstpostzegels te kopen in het postkantoor op Madeira, maar altijd – overal ter wereld – was daar het verlangen om thuis te zijn. Toch leerde ik al heel jong dat Kerst niet altijd helemaal compleet was. Er werden foto’s van ons gemaakt om op te sturen naar mijn vader die in het buitenland was. Ik las het Lucas evangelie voor tijdens het Kerstfeest van school als 6-jarige, maar waarom zat mijn Oma die naast de kerk woonde niet in de zaal?
Naarmate de jaren verstreken kwamen en gingen er mensen op mijn weg die ik eigenlijk altijd bij mij had willen houden, en zeker met Kerst. Aan die feestelijke tafel met rode linten die mijn moeder maakte, en waar mijn vader in zijn deftige kleermakerspak Tokayer schonk in kristallen glazen.
Je kunt op je levensweg niet iedereen bij je houden, dat gaat nu eenmaal niet. Het verlies van near and dear – en zeker en juist als dat rondom Kerst gebeurt – blijft immens voelbaar. Als je het nest uitvliegt kom je alleen nog maar af en toe terug om te zingen op een tak. Eenmaal uitgevlogen verlang je naar dat nest, en weer terug in dat nest verlang je weer naar wat je op je vogelvlucht tegenkwam. Dubbel!

Dubbel is het ook op Oudjaar – terugkijken, de balans opmaken en vrolijk vooruitkijken!

Ons huis is warm, knus, gezellig en vrolijk versierd. De traditie van het ouderlijk huis heb ik overgenomen. Gister heb ik de guirlandes van blauwe sterren, dennenappels, hulst, taxus en coniferen naar beneden gehaald. Op Oudjaarsdag maak ik een boeket van narcissen met wintergroen. Trompetters die symboliseren dat er iets nieuws aankomt!

Met een hoofd dat op en neer springt in herinneringen aan het ‘Feest der Feesten’, en alles wat daaromheen gebeurde, verschijnen er ook beelden van wat er gegeten en gesnoept werd: eigen gemaakte appel beignets, zelfgemaakt Brabants worstebrood, angel cake, Deense droomcake, American fruitcake. Ik vergeet nooit hoe dat smaakte toen ik dat voor het eerst at.

175 gr sinaasappelschil, 225 gr dadels, 225 gr rozijnen, 25 ml sinaasappelsap, 100 gr walnoten, 1 tl zout, 225 gr Marasquino kersen, 125 gr ananas, 150 gr bloem, 1 tl bakpoeder, 225 gr boter, 0,5 tl nootmuskaat, 3 el bruine suiker, 25 ml honing, 5 eieren, 1 tl kruidkoek kruiden, 0,5 tl kruidnagel

Snijd de dadels, rozijnen en noten in stukjes. Halveer de Marasquino kersen. Laat de stukjes ananas goed uitlekken. Doe alles in een kom en voeg een deel van de bloem toe. Vermeng de boter en de suiker en roer het met een lepel tot een gladde massa met de honing. Voeg een voor een de eieren toe en roer goed na iedere toevoeging. Voeg de rest van de bloem, bakpoeder, kruiden en zout toe, en vervolgens het sinaasappelsap. Voeg het fruit toe en roer alles goed door elkaar. Bekleed een bakvorm met een dubbele laag bakpapier en laat zeker 2 cm boven de rand uit staan. Vul de bakvorm met de mix en laat het langzaam (4 uur) op 145 ˚C bakken. Hoe langer je deze fruitcake bewaart, hoe lekkerder hij wordt!

Eet smakelijk, proost en veel geluk in het Nieuwe Jaar!

Vogels in de tuin

In een blik met op het deksel een feestelijk zwaaiend Moors figuurtje, waar ooit heerlijke Zwitserse chocolade in heeft gezeten, bewaar ik bijzondere kerstkaarten. Kaarten die handgemaakt zijn, kaarten die iets voorstellen waar ik heel erg van houd, mijn moeder's laatste Kerstkaart waarop zij schrijft dat zij zich zo verheugt op de grote familie reünie in haar warme en gezellige huis aan de rand van het bos.

Deze kaart, 'Vogels', van Laetitia de Haas zit er ook tussen. Een aantal jaren geleden heb ik een werk van haar gekocht dat 'Uitzicht' heet, op een moment dat ons 'uitzicht' dramatisch en blijvend was verstoord. Een leeg landschap met bijna hetzelfde beeld als wat ik nu zie door mijn voorkamerraam: bomen, struiken, een glazen schaal met rode en rood/oranje kerstballen. Op haar 'Uitzicht' is een stilleven te zien van kersen in een mandje en peren. Er is altijd uitzicht, er is altijd weer licht aan de horizon en een nieuwe weg om in te slaan.

Het werk van Laetitia de Haas laat een intieme wereld zien: stillevens, interieurs, tuinen, terrassen, Amsterdam (waar zij werkt en woont), mensen zijn veelal afwezig. Ik ontdekte dat zij een tentoonstelling houdt in de Oude Pastorie in Lisse vanaf januari, dus dat is alvast een van de eerste uitstapjes in het nieuwe jaar!

De tuin is 'open' en een eldorado voor vogels. Nu de sneeuw grotendeels gesmolten is kunnen zij zich weer te goed doen aan de insecten tussen het blad dat ik nog niet heb kunnen opruimen. De Vlaamse gaai, de koperwiek, Turkse tortels, een verdwaald waterhoentje, er zit van alles.
Toch was er een moment dat ik extra brood en voer heb klaar gezet.
Toen de meeuwen in de heldere namiddagzon al krijsend neerstreken leek het bijna magisch. De zon weerkaatste in hun fladderende veren. Er was een prachtige afdruk van de uitgespreide veren in de sneeuw, maar helaas, door het ijverige sneeuwvegen voor een paadje heb ik dat beeld verpest met klodders sneeuw.







Onvoorstelbaar hoe iedere beweging wordt waargenomen. Wat doe jij daar met je camera?
De foto's zijn gemaakt met mijn mobieltje, vanuit de warme kamer en door het dubbele glas van de ramen. Het boek 'Digitale fotografie, een praktische gids voor de amateurfotograaf' ligt klaar op tafel. Voorlopig red ik me nog het snelst met mijn mobieltje en Picasa. De vakantietijd vliegt voorbij, net zoals de meeuwen ...



De merel heb ik het meest dapper zien rondstappen en vliegen. Er hangt nog aardig wat te eten aan de malus.



Zelfs het Deense vogelhuisje biedt niet veel bescherming meer om het voedsel droog te houden.



De wereld was zo wit, dat onze teckel de merel wegblaft als hij er een ziet. Als hij slaapt (en hij doet bijna niets anders meer, hoogbejaard als hij is) droomt hij ervan en maakt hij gekke blafgeluidjes. Zouden honden herinneringen hebben? Zou hij dromen van de gekke stoeipartijen in de sneeuw vorig jaar met zijn neef teckel? Van de sneeuwwandelingen langs de rivier, van de sneeuw die klonters vormde onder hun pootjes?



Voor het roodborstje heb ik een schaal onder het raam gezet, maar het is een klein duveltje, hij speelt spelletjes met me. Uit de verte zie ik zijn rode borst in de taxushaag, hij vliegt heen en weer met omtrekkende bewegingen, komt te voorschijn uit de beukenhaag, kijkt nerveus links en rechts, maar kijkt mij ook dapper en brutaal aan met zijn zwarte kraaloogjes, en floep! weg is hij weer: ik laat mij NIET fotograferen!

Tell me how did you feel when the angel came into the garden?

Tell me how did you feel when the angel came into the garden?
How did you feel? How did you feel?
When he said "if you're afraid I beg your pardon,
but you're the one to bear god's son."

Tell me how did you feel (how did you feel)
how did you feel (how did you feel)
Oh Momma, Momma Mary,
we wish you joy, we wish you joy.
Oh Momma, Momma Mary,
your little boy, your little boy
Soon to be our saviour.

Tell me how did you feel on the final day
How did you feel? How did you feel?
When you arrived in Bethlehem to hear them say
"No food no table, save in the stable"

Tell me how did you feel when the wise men came to see him?
How did it feel? How did it feel?
When shepherds and kings with precious things adored him
it had begun, here was the one.

Lyric by Roger Whittaker

Herders, engelen, licht en het Kind

de Bijbel, Lucas 2:

Niet ver daarvandaan brachten herders de nacht door in het veld, ze hielden de wacht bij hun kudde. Opeens stond er een engel van de Heer bij hen en werden ze omgeven door het stralende licht van de Heer, zodat ze hevig schrokken. De engel zei tegen hen: ‘Wees niet bang, want ik kom jullie goed nieuws brengen, dat het hele volk met grote vreugde zal vervullen: vandaag is in de stad van David voor jullie een redder geboren. Hij is de messias, de Heer. Dit zal voor jullie het teken zijn: jullie zullen een pasgeboren kind vinden dat in een doek gewikkeld in een voederbak ligt.’ En plotseling voegde zich bij de engel een groot hemels leger dat God prees met de woorden:

‘Eer aan God in de hoogste hemel en vrede op aarde voor alle mensen die hij liefheeft.’

Toen de engelen waren teruggegaan naar de hemel, zeiden de herders tegen elkaar: ‘Laten we naar Betlehem gaan om met eigen ogen te zien wat er gebeurd is en wat de Heer ons bekend heeft gemaakt.’ Ze gingen meteen op weg, en troffen Maria aan en Jozef en het kind dat in de voederbak lag.


Toen ze het kind zagen, vertelden ze wat hun over dat kind was gezegd. Allen die het hoorden stonden verbaasd over wat de herders tegen hen zeiden, maar Maria bewaarde al deze woorden in haar hart en bleef erover nadenken. De herders gingen terug, terwijl ze God loofden en prezen om alles wat ze gehoord en gezien hadden, precies zoals het hun was gezegd.

Illustraties: Sulamith Wülfing

Doornroosje

Illustratie: Sulamith Wülfing

'Toen ging hij verder en zag in de zaal de hele hofhouding liggen en bovenaan de troon lagen de koning en de koningin te slapen. Toen ging hij nog verder en alles was zo stil, dat men zijn eigen ademhaling kon horen en eindelijk kwam hij bij de toren en opende de deur van het kamertje waar Doornroosje sliep. Daar lag zij en zij was zo mooi, dat hij zijn ogen niet van haar af kon afwenden en hij bukte zich en gaf haar een kus'.

'Toen hij haar met zijn lippen beroerd had, sloeg Doornroosje haar ogen op, ontwaakte en keek hem vriendelijk aan. Toen gingen zij samen naar beneden en de koning ontwaakte en de koningin en de hele hofhouding, en zij keken elkaar met grote ogen aan. En toen werd de bruiloft van de koningszoon met Doornroosje in alle luister gevierd en zij leefden gelukkig tot het einde hunner dagen'.
Hans Andersen



'How beautiful shall be my bride
How orchids bloom when she's near
Her gown is clothed with spring's tide'

(from: Winter to Spring and Spring to Winter, Andrew Michaels)



Gister was het drie jaar geleden dat Rosanne en Jasper trouwden in een prachtige omgeving, een kapel midden in het bos. Alles was zo stil en bijzonder, de muurschilderingen in de kapel, de vele mensen die er waren, de sneeuw die buiten viel, de ijsglitters op de jurk en in het haar, de parels, het mooie pak van de bruidegom, het was een sprookje .....



Rosanne was niet alleen net Doornroosje, een prachtige winterbruid, zij was ook net Maria met haar hoog zwangere buik zo mooi bedekt met satijn.





In het donker gingen wij na het feest naar huis, door het klooster, door het bos, in de sneeuw, in de maneschijn, en helemaal onder de indruk. Sprookjes bestaan: Rosanne en Jasper zijn heel gelukkig met hun heerlijke zoon!